Last week was huge for me. A once in a lifetime event occurred, and I am still trying to get over it. No, I am not referring to the dreaded birthday, which came and went, and apparently is not as big of a deal as I had feared, since I'm still here to tell about it, and don't actually look or feel all that much different.

Surprise.

No, this once in a lifetime event to which I am referring is a truly special occasion - frequently contemplated, often discussed, but occurring about as often as a full eclipse of the sun. Last weekend my cousin came to visit, and since she has never been to my house before, I wanted to let her know I cared.

So I revved my motor, shouted at everyone in range, and got my entire house, top to bottom, more or less clean - All At the Same Time. [No need to hold your applause. I thrive on positive attention. Very un-Lutheran of me, I know. But I haven't lived in the Land of the Lutherans for awhile, and I am busily trying to fit into the Land of Oz, where I currently reside.]

I realize this may not sound like much of an achievement to the uninitiated Martha Stewart wannbees out there. So let me just pause for a moment to explain the significance of this event. I am thoughtful that way - I don't want to leave anyone behind. [Well, that and I want full appreciation for the achievement.]

I am not a housekeeper. I do not get chills from seeing a freshly vacuumed carpet, all the little marks neatly lined up in a row. I don't get a thrill from looking at a clean counter or table top, although I am often exasperated that I can never find anything in this place, and can find no room to work. Anywhere in the entire house, because every available space seems to be covered with stuff. Laundry is anathema to me, and while I do manage to run the dishwasher occasionally, it is not enjoyable to put the clean dishes away, either.

I used to have a decorative wall hanging, given to me by a well intentioned relative many years ago. [Might have had something to do with an ill fated marital decision, but I'm not telling.] Anyway, it talked about being happy to serve in the kitchen, because that meant there was food on the table, and happy to do the laundry, because that meant there were clothes to wear, and happy to sweep the floor, because that meant there was a home to live in.

Oh-kay. I am thrilled about the food, the clothes, the home. I still hate to do housework. [That wall hanging has since gone the way of the marriage it was intended to enrich, by the way. I hate to have lies hanging around the house, showing me up for a hypocrite.]

Housework, from my point of view, is boring, mundane, and never ending. I vacuumed two days ago, but I have two dogs, a cat, and a bird, not to mention a kid or two. Need I say more?

Wash clothes, and then you have to fold or hang and put them away. I get bored just thinking about it.

Dust, if you don't mess with it, will just lay there in a nice layer, not hurting anyone. It's only when some spoil sport runs their finger over it that everyone notices your table top is not, in fact, opaque. Hmmmm.

So anyway, I wanted my cousin to come back some day, so I thought I had better make the premises a little less scary. So I whipped my daughter into action by laying down the law. Which, in my case, means plaintively pleading with her to please, please, please pick up her stuff and put it somewhere it won't be visible. And then, in a masterly wave of action, I got busy and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned.

My house was a showcase, at least for a few fleeting moments, and I was reminded why I liked this place way back in the beginning. The layout is very open and free flowing, and it feels airy and light and welcoming. At least as long as there isn't so much stuff you can't walk through it without falling over something.

That's when the momentous realization dawned on me. It's not that I'm lazy, or even that the house is too big for two people [which it is.]

No, the real problem here is that we have too much stuff. WAY too much stuff. We have enough stuff to furnish several houses, and a random apartment or two. I don't know where all this stuff came from, because I am not a pack rat. I am not afraid to throw or donate. And yet, I have entire house filled with stuff, most of which I don't even know I have, and which I will probably never use again.

I have baking dishes in my kitchen that have never seen the light of day, or the oven. I have fancy utensils, ghosts of Pampered Chef parties past, that have never been taken out of their packaging, still pristine in their unused state. I have newspapers commemorating everything from the Pope getting shot a few years back [we don't need to dwell on how many,] to the Minnesota Twins winning the World Series [yes, I DO have a homer hanky, thank you very much for asking.] I have samples of my children's schoolwork going back to preschool. [My youngest is a senior in high school, and the stack is probably higher than she is tall, so that should give you the correct visual image.]

I have a storage room full of discarded pieces of furniture I no longer need, but can't really bear to part with, because they still have some use in them. I can't throw away a book, that is a mortal sin, in my world, but I have plenty of them that will never have their cover cracked again, either.

Now, I don't want lay blame on anyone in particular for this situation, which is frighteningly close to disaster proportions.

I'm sure that it couldn't have anything to do with a childhood spent observing a parent of the female persuasion obsessively squirreling away every obscure item in her domain in a jar or a drawer or on a shelf, because you never know when you might need it.

I can't imagine that my farm upbringing, where you made do, reused, and recycled everything as a matter of course, could have brought about this inability to monitor my own possessiveness.

No, good Lutheran that I am, I'm not interested in blame at all. I am all about grace, and moving past the disaster, so I can emerge on the other side a better person. I am going to forgive myself, and anyone else who may have contributed to this situation. [Notice how I did not name any names, that's the sweet and generous kind of daughter I am.] And then I'm going to wipe the slate clean.

Just as soon as I find it. Which, given the condition of the storage room, is going to be awhile.

Then I'm going to use it to make a list of all the stuff I don't need any more, so I can once again have a house that doesn't make me cringe every time someone comes to the door. I have tasted the elixir of cleanliness, and I'm not going back to the prison of materialism. Give me liberty or give me... well. That might be going a little far.

Until then, if you need anything, call me. I'm pretty sure I have it somewhere, and I'd love to give it to you.