I have met the enemy

and it's me.

Being a southern woman means I love my home. And I do, in spite of the fact that an occasional visitor may surmise otherwise. It's just that housekeeping, however hard I have tried, befuddles me. When I had a houseful of children, lots of cooking and piles of laundry, I blamed my messy house on my many duties, yet I was aware that the homes of my peers did not appear nearly as unkempt as mine. What was their secret? As my babies grew up and moved out, my home did not get miraculously cleaner and more organized as I believed it would. And now with only one other person in the house, a husband who is away a good bit of the time, it is still an uphill battle. I have faced the fact. I am the messy one.

You can tell when a person is good at something. Olympians perform their astounding athletic routines with ease. A nurse on the IV team can whip a catheter into a vein in a flash. With talent, effort, repetition and commitment most people can develop some pretty good skills. I'm thinking maybe it is the talent piece that I am lacking. I try and struggle, really I do, and am sure I spend more time cleaning than than a skilled person would. That is how I know that I am no good at housekeeping. It does not come with ease. Far from it.

Maybe it isn't too late to blame the cats. If they would just quit leaving their fluffy fur all around the place, my house would be purrfect.