One evening, I visited my friend at her home. I had never been there before and it took me a while to find it since it was dark outside. No matter. I was looking forward to seeing her and her husband.

She smiled at me as I entered her home and then, immediately after greeting me, she looked at me with a worried expression and said, “Please don’t judge the house and the way it is, and this…”  

For a moment I was literally startled.  

“Don’t worry about the house,” I replied. “You should see my house!” It was in my mind to say more; that seeing her was the most important thing, but I am not sure I said that out loud.

Whoa! In that moment I realized that I do that very same thing when someone visits me at my home! I immediately start to apologize saying, ‘Please excuse the house.’

Why do we (I) do that? Perhaps it harkens back to old values and times where one’s house was supposed to be perfect at all times and any other state reflected poorly on the person. As if the house was more important than the person.

Then I remembered a story that my grandmother, Virginia, told me about the time her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother, Emma Fleeger, came for an unexpected visit.

It was in the early 1940s. My grandmother lived in rural Pennsylvania and had three children. Like many women of that era, her identity, life, and home were organized around weekly routines of cleaning, laundry, and cooking intended to create a ‘perfect’ household. Most of the time, my grandmother’s house was neat, clean, and what I call comfortable. My great-grandmother’s house, on the other hand, was always immaculate, thanks in large part due to the help of her 12 children (yes, for real). Immaculate yes, but stuffy in my estimation.  

On the afternoon that my great-grandmother came to call, my grandmother’s house was in a tizzy. Dishes were piled up in the sink. Toys were strewn all around. Laundry was overflowing in the baskets sitting about. The oldest child was nowhere in sight, the middle child was running about making a ruckus, and my grandmother was rocking the youngest child who was sick and crying. There was nothing clean, organized, nor orderly at my grandmother’s household that day.

“I looked up from where I was sitting,” remembered my grandmother, “And there stood your great-grandmother, hands tightly clasped in front of her, surveying the scene of complete disarray. I was mortified!”

“I immediately stood up, baby in one arm, and started scrambling about using my other hand to rearrange and put in order whatever was within reach,” said my grandmother.  

“I’m so sorry, Mother Fleeger, that the house is such a mess,” my grandmother exclaimed. “It’s just that the baby is sick, and I haven’t had time to get all the chores done, and ….. “

“Sit down, Virginia, and rock your baby,” said my great grandmother in a stern voice. “I never had time to rock my babies. The housework can wait.”

Astonished, and not quite believing her ears, my grandmother followed the order. She sat down and rocked her youngest baby who continued to cry. Meanwhile, my great grandmother cleared off a nearby chair, sat down, and silently waited until the baby stopped crying and drifted off to sleep.

“Only then did we have our conversation,” mused my grandmother. “And all the while, I continued rocking the baby.”  

“She gave me the greatest gift,” sighed my grandmother. “She allowed me to be myself and everything else was not important. I guess she really did come to see me. It was a good conversation.”

So, my friends, whenever you come to visit me, or I you, let us remember that we are coming to see each other, not our houses.

Most importantly, let us say to one another with a heartfelt smile, “It is good to see YOU!”

Feb. 3, 2023

Until next Friday, this is Melinda Grohol signing off saying, “Good day!”