Spring Cleaning

Our apartment is not exactly airtight. Dust swirls in around the window ledges and seeps in through cracks in the worn siding. I should have done spring house cleaning last year, but I was too worn out to consider it - and I was about to begin the chemo. So I let it ride.

But I cannot let it go another year. The curtains and drapes are filled with dust and cobwebs lurk in every windowsill and corner. The carpets have survived the puppy adjustments to a new place and the mud and guck of Rochester winters. I must address this before it gets any worse. I warn the boys. Set aside Saturday. We will tackle this together. Right. They are less than enthused until I offer to pay for services rendered.

Still I had a hard time getting Drew up to help take down the curtains. We begin loads in the washing machine at 9am. Drew sprays the windows with my homemade vinegar water solution and wipes everything down, making sure all the black mold in obliterated. I work in the kitchen, sorting cupboard contents and wiping everything with an antiseptic solution.

We even take the ceiling fan blades down and scrub the greasy kitchen dirt, exclaiming over the bright light color we end up with. It feels soooo good to get the cobwebs out. We rent a carpet cleaning machine, and Drew, bless his heart, takes over, attacking spots and spraying the upholstery on our chairs. He is earning every penny.

I tell him stories of how I worked for the women in my neighborhood every spring, learning how to tackle the crusted grime of indoor confinement, how to throw wide the windows and let in the sunshine and fresh air, how to scrub walls and doors and woodwork and light fixtures, how to sort and weed and make glass sparkle, all for the whopping 50 cents an hour that was the going rate back then. He tries to calculate what that would mean in today's economy, trying to leverage up his rate of pay.

I do more supervising than scrubbing, being careful not to overdo. I have been warned by one of the ladies in my choir not to do so much. She doesn't want me having a relapse, and I listen to her. When I am tired, I sit, and when I am at the end of my strength, I stop. Drew is worn out too. He falls asleep in the chair almost as soon as he sits down, and he is asleep for the night.

I survey our handiwork. Like the good Lord, I can truthfully say, "It is good!"