Tidying a Room Requires More Than a Broom

 

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Barry and I often interject humor into our conversations by quoting favorite lines from The Andy Griffith Show. Lines like, "Don't get your clothes all dirty," which is what Andy said when Opie wallowed on the jailhouse floor in a pretend tantrum. Or "Got time to breathe? Got time for music," as said by Briscoe Darlin' when Andy asked if they had time to play one more song. My all-time favorite, and one that is particularly fun to work into a dialogue, is Ernest T.'s clever remark, "I'm a little mean, but I make up for it by bein' real healthy."

    Another quote that racks up a lot of mileage for us is from the episode where Andy comes up with a scheme to introduce Ernest T. at Mrs. Wiley's dinner party and fool her into thinking he is a refined individual. To help Andy pull off the feat of turning a rock-throwing, illiterate misfit into a socially adept, genteel man-about-town, Barney, who sees himself as a polished gentleman, offers his expertise. He volunteers to teach Ernest T. how to behave and mind his manners in a social setting. The first lesson is "How to Walk into a Room."

    With those words firmly rooted in my brain over time, imagine my delight when I spotted a book with exactly that title resting on the library shelf. How to Walk into a Room was propped up and prominently displayed in a way to be noticed, just for me. I grabbed it and put it in my tote bag faster than Ernest T. could pick up a rock and throw it. My purpose in checking out the book was not to read it; I only aimed to show Barry one of our favorite phrases in big black letters on the front of a book, practically in lights. I smiled all the way home from the library. 

    Prancing into the kitchen, I hid my treasure behind my back. 

    "You won't believe the book I found," I said, before unveiling How to Walk into a Room. Okay, it might not have generated the dramatic reaction I anticipated, but at least he smiled.

    I intended to put the book aside, but I could not resist peeking any more than I could resist a trip to the library. I skimmed some pages and learned that the bestselling author, Emily P. Freeman, is also a podcaster and spiritual director. The complete title of her book is: How to Walk into a Room: The Art of Knowing When to Stay and When to Walk Away. 

    Emily delves into determining when to be present and when to exit the rooms of our lives -- from virtual rooms, like the rooms of politics and relationships, to physical rooms, like school or work. In turning the pages of her book, I became endeared to Emily, especially when I read that she lives in Greensboro, where I lived for most of my life. For all I know, she could be my cousin's next-door neighbor!

    Aside from that endearment, I found the concept of rooms interesting, and on a sleepless night, instead of counting sheep, I counted rooms. I counted the writers' room, filled with wonderful people who happen to be writers; the Sunday morning worship room, full of kindred spirits; the ladies' room (pun intended), filled with special women who meet for morsels and merriment; a wedded bliss room, which is only big enough for two; a tiny cubicle for pesky politics; a grand ballroom, full of sisters, brothers, in-laws, nieces, nephews ... and the list goes on.

    Emily's book opened up another road for me to travel along in my thinking, and in my travels, more rooms are popping up. Not only do I have rooms in a house that must be vacuumed and dusted and tidied, I also have existential and virtual rooms. Hmmm. My house is bigger than I thought, and each room has to be tackled differently. In some of the rooms, a bucket of water and a mop will do, but in others, a more delicate approach applies.

    Barney Fife made a big deal about walking into a room. In instructing his subject, he strode gallantly through the door and moved through the space in a grandiose manner, turning this way and that, shaking imaginary hands, and exposing his pearly-whites in a wide smile. In contrast, Ernest T. Bass slid down the banister and leaped into a recliner. Entering and exiting rooms can be tricky. My strategy is not as theatrical as Barney's, or as crude as Ernest T.'s, or as complicated as Emily's: Try not to trip and fall on the way in or out, and try not to make a mess or break anything while I'm there. 

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