To Clean or not…

We have out-of-town guests due in sometime this afternoon and I am very excited. Cynthia is a west coast Face Book friend who is continent-hopping with her SO, Lise. We’ve never met but we’ve shared a few years’ worth of posts and heartfelt interactions via virtual space. She’s an artist and I much admire her work. She’s also a fellow traveler, blazing new trails, along with my daughter.

I can’t wait to meet her.

Which is why I have this ungodly need to put on blinders and not evaluate the state of the hacienda too closely, because…


Oh hells bells, if I do I shall run screaming to the barn and huddle in a pristine, freshly bedded stall smelling of sweet alfalfa and chicken poop (nothing’s perfect, don’t judge). What I’m trying to say is…

…the domicile won’t pass muster upon close inspection.

Herself, aka Little Miss Mayhem, sheds. The budgies are in full out molting mode. We track stuff in from outside. We don’t have a mudroom so it’s not hard to connect the dots.

We do remove the muck boots and leave them in the garage—we aren’t heathens y’all!


Why is it, when you have company a’coming, you notice stuff? (Note I said “stuff”, not “shit” since I’m aiming for a positive spin here.) The kitchen table fr’instance, piled high with accumulating mail, magazines, random bits ‘n bobs. When it’s time for dinner I yell, “Make a hole,” and Firstborn clears a spot to house the dishes and silverware. If you need condiments, they’re on the counter by the stove.

It is what it is.

I’m currently looking down the gullet of too little time, not near enough motivation, and a bad back (my go to, but very real, excuse). I foresee a quick run with the vacuum, perhaps a delicate swipe with a Swiffer dusting thingee here and there, but mostly I’ll rely on shoving whatever I can lift and carry into the spare room and calling it good. I’ll even close the door, maybe… kinda depends on if there’s room to swing the door shut. We’ll see.

Oh yeah, I’m writing, also—poised for the final confrontation as Coy and his men take on a Pride of mangy cougars looking to score new territory. I am literally Chomping. At. The. Bit. to get this one done. (By-the-by, Alpha Framed will go on sale next week ahead of the new release).

Here’s me, donning my Hannah Homemaker persona. Peace, and wish me luck.



About Nya Rawlyns

Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
This entry was posted in To Clean or not... and tagged bird feathers, cat hair is beautiful, sideways plug for Swiffer, the houseguest boogie. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to To Clean or not…

  1. Lyn Ehley says:

    Haha! My house is the same along with the extra room no one is allowed in!! We don’t even know what’s in there anymore! And my procrastination doesn’t help!! Lol!



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