I’m not usually in the mood for cleaning come Spring, wanting instead to run outside after the long cold. But the turn of the year seems like the best time to rearrange and pay attention to the corners of my home.
At the foot of the stairs I hung the framed print of my grandfather’s book plate — illustrated with a thistle, for Scotland, and a bee since he kept hives. Above a tiny solo mitten holds a dried hydrangea blossom that blew into the driveway from the neighbors. Below the volunteer fireman certificate earned by the 1861 owner of this house and miraculously recovered on ebay by the owners before me. And for company, a postcard of a dancing lady tucked into the light switch.
The clean floor is dirtying fast, but the little grouping delights me every time I pass.