The Ghosts of Good Intentions

We’re in the process of trying to sell our house, which in turn means we’re in the process of constantly trying to clean our house.

Our house is not the messiest house in the world, but it’s certainly in the top 100. Every time someone actually wants to come and look at it, we’re seized with mixed feelings: on the one hand, this is good news; on the other, we have to clean the place. For example, we have to clean the windowsills.

Houses are centrifugal. The whirl of activity tends to hurl anything that is not constantly used and essential out toward the perimeter of a room–or up here in Vermont, out onto the porch. A windowsill is as close to outside as you can get without actually going outside, so thanks to the centrifugal force in our living room alone I collected:

a planisphere (that is, a plastic revolving map of the night sky),

a packet of Nepalese incense sticks,

a pair of chopsticks,

Jolly Rancher lip balm,

a one-inch nail,

a one-inch flowerpot,

a Pokeball,

a safety pin,

a forgotten note pad of stickies headed Do Not Forget,

a crochet hook,

a sponge,

an eraser,

a tin of Altoids,

a Rubik’s cube,

two Q-tips,

a home-made arrow with a rupper tip made from a pencil eraser,

a box of pick-up-sticks,

a stained glass fish,

an ant trap,

a telescope lens,

a woven basket in the shape of a chicken, full of acorn caps,

some kind of hook and wire combination that might have been a hanger for something,

a bulldog clip with imitation human teeth,

a dog food box (which is odd, as we have no dog),

a bottle of catnip-flavored blow-bubble liquid,

a vinyl clothes pin,

a plastic glow-in-the-dark Halloween spiderweb,

a hollow pink plastic rocket ship that once contained a substance called Moon Mud,

a tiny plastic Hello Kitty envelope,

three pennies,

a nickel,

two live wasps,

leaves,

mildew, and

a small bottle labeled Sensual Sandalwood Parfum d’Ete.

To the casual ear, these may sound like junk, but I see them as the ghosts of good intentions. Every one of those objects had value and purpose, and was waiting in the wings of our house for a cue that never came.

Sunday Weekend Edition, 2006