Pride

My grandfather was a meticulous man, to the point that today some people might claim that he suffered from some form of Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder.

He was already retired when I was born. To keep busy he subdivided his property. He left the family home in front and had two more houses built in the back. He performed all of the maintenance that the two houses required.

In particular I remember the way he kept the lawns and gardens in pristine condition.

When he mowed a lawn, the grass was cut to a perfectly even height. Each weed he found attempting to put down roots was immediately removed. The grass along the fences, sidewalks and laundry lines was perfectly trimmed.

One of the rental houses had a rock and rose garden. Several rose bushes surrounded by a layer of white rock. Ten years after planting the roses and arranging the rocks the garden looked just as perfect. His secret: once a year he would remove and clean the rocks one section at a time. Before replacing the rocks he eliminated any weeds and put a sheet of fresh plastic down, the rocks were than laid out once again in the garden.

A tool used by him was never returned to garage dirty, each item was cleaned and placed in its proper location before he quit for the day.

His tool bench was kept in pristine condition. He had a collection of small boxes filled with screws, nuts and bolts. Each had its own box sorted by size and type. Another section contained a collection of washers. Each tool was arranged by type and than size.

Being a smoker he had several ashtrays, on his workbench, next to his chair on the porch, in the kitchen and one next to his recliner in the living room. Like everything else the ashtrays were cleaned immediately and returned to their location in pristine condition.

From the kitchen cabinets to his dresser drawers and his closet everything he owned was organized, folded, hung up or placed in its proper location. I can never remember walking in the house and finding dirty socks on the floor or empty cans on the counter. Dirty laundry was always in the hamper and his bed was always made before he left his room in the morning.

As the years passed I began to realize that without words he had been teaching me the meaning of pride in oneself and in ones work. He was raised in a world where pride in performance was the norm and not an exception. By his example he was attempting to pass that pride in performance on to another generation. Hoping to keep at least a part of the world the way he remembered it.

Today I cannot with all honesty say that I have lived my life by his example. In our to and fro world an organized life seems to be one of the ideals we have left behind. Clutter seems to be a natural byproduct of our time. I find that the hours of the day pass so quickly that I hardly have a chance to maintain much less get ahead.
I am sure though that if we were still alive he would have words of wisdom ready to share with me. He would remind me that peace of mind can be found in a home that is clean, organized and uncluttered.

So in his honor I think I will get off of the computer and go clean out a closet.