No More Housework!

Do you subscribe to The Writer's Almanac? I do. Every day I get a message from this organization that has a poem at the top, followed by famous authors whose birthdays are that day, with snippets about each author. I've learned quite a bit from it--and it's fun. Highly recommended.

But that's actually not the subject for today's post. Not entirely. See, at the end of July, I got my daily email from TWA, and one of the authors featured was Rose Macaulay. Here, let me just show you the snippet:

It's the birthday of the writer Rose Macaulay, (books by this author) born in Rugby, England, in 1881. She wrote 23 novels as well as travel books and biographies. Her family were all scholars and Anglican clerics. She studied at Oxford and then began a career as a writer. During WWI she worked as a nurse and then in the British Propaganda Department, where she met Gerald O'Donovan. He was a married man, a lapsed Catholic priest, and a novelist. They had an affair that lasted until his death. In her novels, she writes about mystical Christianity and about trying to reconcile adultery with religion. She said, "At the worst, a house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived."

OK, so Rose had herself a pretty fascinating life. But you know what I like best? That last quote:

"At the worst, a house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived."
--Rose Macauley

HA! Take that pile of dirty dishes, dirty laundry, and overall filthy house!

Yanno, I sometimes feel bad about how I let my housewiferly duties slide...and slide... I have been known to eat chicken with a spoon because there were no clean forks left, or to just order a pizza because I can't be bothered to cook (or, if I could be bothered, had no clean pots or pans with which to cook). And I feel a bit guilty about that--it's my job to keep the house clean, especially in the summer when I'm not working.

But I'd be much unhappier if I didn't live my life the way that makes me happy: playing with my dog, being with my husband, and writing my books.

In the end, who cares about that unkempt house!?