The Front Room

We all have our habits, our ways. When changing into my pajamas, I have the habit of putting my day clothes on my dresser...sometimes the dresser has a couple of days worth of clothing there, before I put them away. I can see the heap and when in a hurry, I can walk fast like right on by. It's not like I like the clothes there and clearly, they don't bother me enough to do something about it immediately. Take a look at your work space. Mine is neat and tiny, ready for use, except for two pieces of written on paper, sitting on the desk. Like my dresser, there are items on my desk that innocently take up space and as I write, I am wondering why this peculiarity? In my room, there is a couch, one that I often share with my dog. It is a white couch and he is not, white I mean. Over the years, it has become worn and is no longer the original white, more like a hairy dirty dog coat grey, despite the towel I have put on top of the couch for him to lie on (sometimes he pushes that towel away, as if to say "I'm good enough for this couch, why the towel?") It is washable and will be cleaned soon enough and yet, I like it just the way it is because I have spent countless hours on that couch, praying, reading, writing, always with my dog by my side...my dirty loveable kissable reliable loyal and faithful dog. And now I see, as I write, I know why the peculiarity. I grew up with The Front Room, the one that was only good enough for guests and properly respectful adults. In fact, as I write, I can look from the room in which I am sitting into the front room and see the furniture that came with my mom when we decided to live together, after my father died. The furniture is pristine and without a mark, well taken care of and...never used, never enjoyed, despite its cozy appeal, the room with its contents is a remnant, a reminder of my childhood...the don't touch that with your dirty hands because you will ruin it child upbringing I lived. My dog knows that room is off limits and yet, he has dared to enter and lie innocently on the rug. He has gone in with dirty paws and jumped on top of the couches. He has stolen pillows and shaken them in his teeth. Doggie paw marks were washed clean off these couches and pillows, restoring them to almost factory setting perfect. I like the front room, it's pretty, and as an adult, I appreciate nice things and would chose that room to sit in to pray, read and write but for my dog, and out of respect for my mom. Having my dog as companion and snoring supporter of my work is more important to me than the perfect couch to sit or lie on. The front room is the only room in my house where I can see in my mind memory, my heart longing, my father sitting, reading his paper, smoking a cigarette and throwing his head back in laughter. Dad was the King of our castle. I am grateful for my mothers good care of this room and the couches it holds with memories embedded there, and I am also grateful for a slightly off white grey couch that is lovingly shared with my dog (his name is Caesar and my mom calls him the Emperor of our home and she is the one that named him). Dirty clean, messy tidy, none of that is the point. It is loving essence that matters, all the rest is the inbetween. One Life, One Love, all yours to choose.