"Nextness is godlier than cleanliness," as the Fuggs once said.

I've got lots more important stuff to do than clean house -- it just silts up again, anyway. I consider cat hair to be a protective mulch -- it keeps the the wear and tear and scratches and all away from the furniture. I usually know what room something is located in in -- and probably at what level. (I always did want to be an archaeologist in this lifetime.)

A friend once described our house as looking like the storage wing of the Smithsonian . . . I chose to accept that as a compliment.

My basic theory of housecleaning is that if you've got enough cool shit to look at (and a few potentially shiny surfaces are actually shiny), nobody notices that the house is an unholy mess.

My other basic theory of housecleaning can be summed up in one word: "Tarps." ('Nuff said.)

If women designed houses, there'd be a drain in the kitchen floor and you could just hose it all down.

As Pat Favorite wrote in her song, "Martha Stewart Doesn't Live Here" (to the tune of "The Old Rose and Crown"):

My house bursts with clutter, and children, and pets,
And although it's not perfect, I have no regrets,
And I have no desire for her beautiful home,
For if Miss Martha lives there, she lives there alone.

Well, no children (at least of my own), but you get the idea.

"Here's to the house, we can clean it next year!"

Linn