Ponder Post: Cleaning

We had some pretty heavy rainfall the past couple days here in Livermore. But the sun was out today and I couldn't help but marvel how clean everything looked outside, having been freshly washed off. The sky was a brilliant blue, the clouds a snowy white, like all the dust particles had been pummeled away, allowing the sun to beam clearly through. I was also reveling in that the inside of the house was clean, too. We'd hired a cleaning service and last Thursday was the first day they'd come. But what inspired this? I no longer have a 40-hour a week job. I should have plenty of time to clean.  But I don't want to!

Fresh after a rain!

Maybe it was Dan and Carrie moving into a spit-spot clean newly constructed home. Maybe it was just a teensy-weensy bit of jealousy that niggled at me when I realized that Robin and Dan (and actually, Alex, too, in a way) have a cleaning service and Frank and I do not.

Maybe it was a phrase from a book I started reading that clinched it. The book was called Can't we talk about something more pleasant?, a memoir by Roz Chast that was on the New York Times best seller list. I had not appreciated that she is a cartoonist and the book was in comic strip style, not my favorite genre to read. I skimmed the first couple chapters and, even though the author had found a humorous way to deal with the depressing topic of aging parents, I did not want to read the book. Both because of the subject matter and method of delivery, I returned the book to the library unfinished. But a topic the author touched on in the first few pages was GRIME, and here is what she had to say about the home of her elderly parents when she visited.

What I noticed first was the level of GRIME. It's not ordinary dust, or dirt, or a greasy stovetop that hasn't been cleaned in a week or two. It's more of a coating that happens when people haven't cleaned in a really long time. Maybe because they're old, and they're tired, and they don't see what's going on.

I do not consider us geriatric. But in retirement and as we age, I did not want Frank and me to slip into the grip of grime. I did not like cleaning when I was working. I like it no more now in retirement. Plus, Frank and I are here a larger percentage of our time, we make messes more quickly, and they stare us in the face while we are home. Anyway, several days after we returned from SoCal and Dan and Carrie's move, I got up the nerve to dial the phone number I'd received for a recommended cleaning service. I'd been saving the e-mail with that recommendation for months, procrastinating. The person who gave us the number claimed that cleaning day was his favorite day of the week because it felt so great to come home to a sparkling house. He was right!

The service requests we stock certain products and store them in one pre-defined location for the cleaner's convenience and efficiency. The cleaning woman did great job, she was also very cheerful and friendly, but did not speak any English. She and I giggled as we tried to use an app on her phone to translate for us. Anyone who has used Siri can laugh and appreciated how what is said is often misinterpreted. Add a bilingual element, and the results are even more amusing. After the women had cleaned, the supervisor walked around and checked places for thoroughness that I never even noticed. But now I do.

The house is clean and it has the added bonus that it has inspired us to de-clutter more. I am chagrined at some of the items that were cleaned that just should have been thrown out. My biggest chuckle came a couple days later when I noticed a bit of decor in my bathroom. I truly do not think it was a commentary on how hard she worked. It was just proof of how thorough she was and that English was not her primary language.

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