Things around my house can be crazy. Like, really crazy. It’s tough to stay on top of the mountains of things that a family of five can somehow generate or at least make appear as if from thin air. I have a daily battle with the things that appear on my kitchen counters (a war at which I am presently losing) not to mention the toys, books, and papers that seem magnetically attracted to the floor.
By way of context, I should point out that my definition of “mountains” and “clutter” and “mess” are probably different from most people’s. We’re not talking hoarderville here and as my husband is keen to point out, my messiest days are many other folks’ cleanest. Still, it’s cluttered to me and the worst of it is often in my studio which has become the catch-all for anything I don’t want on the kitchen counter upstairs.
In the interests of sanity, I try to maintain one space in the house that is off-limits to other people’s stuff. That space has become the table I rescued from my grandmother’s basement. Last week I removed the Yule tree and lights, gave it a coat of beeswax furniture polish, and dressed it up for a new holiday season. Some red and pink to remind me of warmth and fire (and a reminder that Imbloc is on the way), a pomegranate to bring to mind Persephone’s trip to the underworld, some amethyst, treasured antiques, my plant, and a few handmade items on which to place it all.
It’s my sunshine when the day is cloudy and the reminder of the need for a little bit of silence every day (just the sort of thing lacking in a house full of three children, two cats, and an exuberant Golden Retriever puppy).