Art Heals: Housecleaning

Today we learned of ever lengthening days of confinement, and stay-at-home orders that carry a $5,000 fine for violators.  For most of us, the new rules really won’t change anything we are already doing but the language of fines and punishments increases anxiety even among the most law-abiding types among us.
For me, the frustration lies in a feeling of lack of control over my environment, my choices, my life.  Have any of you ever experienced the feeling, when you found yourself on a high rooftop, that you suddenly felt an urge to jump?  Of course, you wouldn’t do it, but for a fleeting second, the urge is there, just because you can’t.
I think that is how many of us feel right now, wanting to go places and do things just because we can’t, just to exert some control.

So for me, I clean.  My house (when I had one) was never cleaner than during the days after 9/11.  I was on the bathroom floor with a toothbrush (great for grout!). The inside of my refrigerator was so organized it looked curated.
This morning the urge took over again.  The entire content of my closet is now piled on my bed, vacuum and dusters at the ready, keep or toss bins on the floor (actually I rarely toss, but it makes me feel good to think I might.) Later I will move on to the pantry and the kitchen junk drawer (admit it, we all have one.)  My husband has locked me out of the guest room/office where he works. I have learned after 48 years that I have no control over HIM.
I realize how lucky I am, and how much control I really have, despite these spikes of anxiety.  There are only two of us in this 3-room apartment, enough space to work apart from each other. A pantry full of food and even some snacks.  No struggling to make kids happy and healthy with enough toys and games and broadband to share.
 So many people are crowded into really small spaces now, and many more have nowhere at all. I saw a line of tents for the homeless on my walk yesterday.  The covered grocery cart parked outside is their organizing tool, their storage, a bit of something they can control, something they can keep clean, if only by the tarp covering their possessions.
I am privileged.  But still, a little cleaning can’t hurt.  It is a form of taking care of others, and of ourselves, as we reconsider the meaning of shelter, as we shelter in place.
Here is a beautiful image  from Phoebe Farris,  photographer and  Native American, titled “Mohegan Wigwam.” Art Heals.