I love the little chores, and think not a one beneath me. Dishes, dusting, washing, sweeping, wiping, cleaning. Indoors. Outdoors. Rooftop. Windows. Garden. Gutters. Worn out rugs. Scratched floors. Blinds. Corners. Each says, “You are here. You are lucky. You have food. You have shelter. You have shade. You have warmth.” I commune with keepsakes. I admire the wear and tear on our old family silverware, the chips in everyday cups my parents used and that we still do. To me, housework is a time to marvel at the beautiful, mysterious lives of what are thought of by many as “ordinary objects.” It is not a job to do, but one more opportunity to be grateful. I never say, Now I’m writing, Now I’m drawing, Now I’m dreaming, Now I’m cleaning, Now I’m shopping for groceries. I say, Rejoice. Each breath is a poem.