  I've developed a real excitement about urlLink Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson, a book I got for christmas (from my wishlist, I might add). It's what I always wanted and needed. - A comment that surprised many males I knew and a comment that many gals I know wholeheartedly agreed to once they saw the book. And no, we're all liberated and feminist, at least to a certain degree. "The Art and Science of keeping house" is not a "100 hints how to make house keeping faster" book.
It's old-fashioned in it's authorative tone and exhaustively detailed about issues ranging from "how to lay a table" to "carefully disregarding care labels in clothing" to "why antibacterial cleaners are unncessary". It's not about Martha Stewart-like house decorations or about style: it's about basic housekeeping chores that you never really think about until you either wonder how to do them or get into a discussion about habits with someone who does something differently to you. It's been consulted by me and various friends on such important questions as "how often should you change your sheets? ", "how do you remove wax stains from fabric? " and "when should you get rid of your chopping board?".
Indeed, the Food Safety section of the book is extensive and really helpful. Some reviews at amazon called this author, Cheryl Mendelson, a lawyer and housekeeper, a "cleaning nazi", but really, I do not feel threatened by the book or the routines described in there all or feel like I am told exactly how and when to do something. Instead it offers endless variations and stresses that *you* need to decide which routines fit your lifestyle.
In any way, now you know it: I enjoy house keeping. Until a few years back, I was always a big hoarder & collector. Aside from books, I never collected anything specific, instead I just kept all random "things" that crossed my way. I never threw away magazines, ticket stubs, the contents of kinder surprise eggs, little paper bits written in class and the like.
You get the idea. My two tiny attic rooms at my parents place were filled with these kinds of "things": Nothing of real value. Nothing that served a real purpose. Once I had read them, I hardly looked at the hundreds of magazines. I forgot just why exactly I had kept that empty champagne bottle for months. Sometimes, between stacks of useless stuff, I'd come across something I "really" wanted to keep but that had gotten lost in the masses of things I didn't *really* need. I can't pin the exact moment down when I started throwing away stuff, but one morning I woke up and realised that - as corny as it sounds- less baggage makes for a nicer treck on the road of life. - And that memories rarely depend on "things". So I started "le grande throw out", which has turned into an almost yearly ritual: I submerge myself deeply in the content of all my cupboards and drawers, sort each and every thing I own and throw or give lots and lots. A very liberating experience. Once I had discovered how nice it is to have a de-cluttered life and livingspace, I discovered the pleasure of cleaning.
It must have been building up inside my litle obsessive compulsive personality for a while: the demon was unleashed once I moved from flatmate hell to my first tiny appartment. Here, it didn't take long until my rather extreme sense of order appeared. Still have the excuse that "the lack of space makes it necessary" . In any way, I started to really enjoying house keeping. I like orderly bookshelves. I get an immense pleasure out of scrubbing the shower or the bathroom sink, I like clean shiny windows and doing a wee bit of gardening on my balcony. It's all instant gratification: You do something and see the result immediately, and they last for a little while, too, and make you happy for that little while. ( urlLink Hanne wrote something about urlLink just that yesterday ) For me, cleaning this flat or sorting and re-arranging things is a good way to get rid of anger, to activate me when I feel like really not doing a single thing, to clear my head. I'd call it meditative, actually. There are only two possible reasons for me for not looking after this flat: I am either busy spending time in bed catching up with my toyboy and couldn't care less about doing the dishes. Or I am on the downslide into the familar caves of depression. It happens. As long as I house keep, you don't need to worry about me.
While we're at it, I make another confession: Yup. I sometimes overdo it, the order thing. I need to learn to be less german, and more aussie and to relax more sometimes. And I am getting there. Having a "home" is less about cleanliness and order than about a certain feeling your living quaters give you. It's about cooking meals and eating them in a nice way with people around you. It's ultimatively about enjoying your space. Thanks Mrs.Mendelson for teaching me that. As I really do not feel like cooking now, and have no one to share meals with: excuse me while I am off to clean my bathroom. 
