Growing up, my mom would occasionally make us do deep cleanings of our bedrooms-- like pulling everything out, donating stuff, dusting spots that never get attention -- kind of clean. I remember in the midst of the mess, pulling everything out and organizing, she would say: "It has to get messier before it gets cleaner."
True of my room growing up, true of life, too, and very true of my house right now.
When we bought our little Seattle house four years ago, we knew that there would need to be (some day) major work to be done. Our house was built in 1942 and has original everything. That original everything -- especially the wiring and plumbing -- sometimes has made for some house adventures (read: lots of repairs.)
That some day of major work has come. It's an odd choice, perhaps, as I'm leaving for Africa (!!) in two weeks, my day job is busier than ever and I'm still trying to keep my head above water with other things. But sometimes the right time to do something doesn't always have feel like the easiest time.
So our house is ripped apart-- we're spending weekends working on odd house jobs, and weekdays trying move our stuff from room to room to keep it out of the way of the electrician replacing the ancient wiring. I can barely get to my sewing machine and there was one point last week when we didn't have heat and we could barely get to our bed. Our living room is full of the boxes we once hid in our basement. The contents of closets can be found in our guest bedroom and on various chairs. There are several things I can't find right now. I'm sure they're beneath some ginormous pile, somewhere.
But, hey, that's life, right? Literally so very messy. And as my husband points out to me, there is nothing I can do about this mess but just enter into it and work with it. It's a good metaphor for life, I've decided.
And on the bright side, look! Walls going up in our basement! And a shower! A small light to the end of the messiness.