What scratches? I don't see any scratches.

In August my son Ezra and his lovely Sarah are marrying in a garden surrounded by vineyards. Their idyllic spot is about an hour north of our home. Which means when it comes to the wedding we’re off the housecleaning hook. Yeah, right. Four generations of our family will be traipsing in and out of Fox Manor all weekend so bring back the hook ’cause we are so on.

Since it’s pouring today (again) I decided it was time to take inventory of… The Mess.

You know how when you’re expecting company every flaw of your otherwise spotless home comes into sharp focus? Suddenly it’s like “Woah, how long has that gunk been on the door? When was the last time anyone looked in this corner? Have you seen the vacuum? We still have one, don’t we?”

I cleaned my glasses and headed to the stairwell, where well… the scratches and gouges on the wood panels made me wince. Seriously, I go up and down these stairs dozens of times a day and I swear I’ve never noticed how crapped up the walls are. No one could miss the crazy webbing of gashes and slashes. And yet, apparently, I had… for years.

House cleaning isn’t fun, but there is an element of problem-solving to it that I can get into at times. After rummaging through my arsenal I spotted a 32 oz (Value Size!) bottle of Orange GLO 2-in-1 Clean & Polish “Great for Wood Cabinets” Granted it didn’t say “Great for wood paneling!” but scratches are scratches, right? So I sprayed the wood panels and for an instant the scratches seemed to miraculously vanish! Kewl! I thought. So I sprayed and wiped some more. But then something not so cool occurred. The oily Orange GLO glommed onto and into the gouged out surfaces and instead of disappearing they started coming out… with attitude. It’s like every single mar, mark and blemish now shouted: Look at ME! Aren’t I distinctive!?”

I slumped, disgruntled, embarrassed staring at this wall of… mistakes when I began to recognize some old friends.  That scratch over there happened right before Ezra was born and me and David and little Fayette helped to carry Fay’s old crib up to the new baby’s room. And that one… when Fay was 14 and the four of us hit the wall several times as we carried her bed frame downstairs because she wanted to sleep on a mattress on the floor. And that happened when Ezra was 16 and scored a used couch for his room and we all helped to lug the behemoth up the stairs.

For 27 years dogs, cats, computers, desks, printers, books, lamps, loaded backpacks, kids, friends have gone up and down these stairs. Sometimes we lose our balance. Sometimes we misjudge the distance and hit the wall. Nothing to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. We just keep moving.