It is quite easy living alone, with the exception, of course, of Rex, my “puppy,” now 11. It is a thought that comes to me not infrequently.
Today, it popped into my mind as I took a break from “income producing” work, to touch up my apartment. It was just a matter of cleaning the kitchen counters and the glass table in the dining area.
There is a simple satisfaction in these mundane tasks, even in cleaning the two bathrooms. I suppose it is, in at least small part, seeing the results of one’s “labors” immediately. In greater measure, though, it could well be an issue of “control.” The order of my home is something over which I alone control.
Many see the word “control” in the pejorative in almost any sense. However, I see it, in this case, as just having, in Hemingway’s words, “A clean, well-lighted place.”
There is pleasure for me in walking about an orderly home and viewing the art I’ve bought and placed, I think quite well, on the walls. It is comforting to stroll the short stroll down my hallway taking in the photographs of my family on either side.
I can see Rex from my office, sprawled on the cool floor of the bathroom. He appears comforted as well by this place we call home.