Domestic Chaos

Given the absence of guests or cleaning woman, I can descend rapidly into my own kind of chaos. My housekeeping is reactive rather than proactive. For instance, I always figure a geographical cure will fix me for once and for all. Downsizing so extremely into a one-bedroom apartment as I have done would be a superb motivator, I thought. A brand new me, organized and ready for anything.

Well, no. In analyzing my behaviour I come to the conclusion that it is a case of not putting stuff back where it belongs when finished with it. I never seem to be "finished" with anything and am highly visual. I like to "see" items - my knitting, my wools, my books on the unread shelf, my clothes, my shoes, my food.

Now to the clothes. A purge is desperately needed. I made a "rule" for myself many years ago that if not worn in a year it gets donated. Also one item comes in and another gets donated. The latter formula has been neglected so my closet needs to be investigated thoroughly and dealt with. I have (unfortunately) a rather large bathroom and I use a clothes rack there to dry some of my more vulnerable items rather than throwing them in one of the communal dryers. I deal with those only when under threat of a visitor, it is far to easy to walk around them and think, oh yeah, well tonight. Tonight never comes. I have a toolkit in my hall that I can't seem to find a home for. Drives me a little batty as I step around it and shake my head. And unhung pictures are still an issue though shrinking a little in quantity.

I do keep the kitchen relatively tidy as it is small and awkwardly designed. For instance there is an enormous built in pantry which in concept you'd think would be just great for everything foody. But in practice it's another story entirely. Note the sets of shelves on the left (I brought these from the utility room in my house) as is was just a wide open space for what gawd knows. I have taken it apart several times and bought step-shelves to go on the right-side shelves but I've never seen such a poorly designed space. I may have to break down and get someone to install pull out wire drawers so it could hold everything in an organized but visual way. There is a serious lack of counter-space and only one sink. We take our double sinks for granted don't we? I did. So dirty dishes left lying around can impact the tiny space in the kitchen making of me an (almost) instant washer-upper.

Joanna, my cleaning woman, my saviour, was here yesterday and did the needful: dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping and counter-shines.

Into every life should fall a reassuring Joanna, garrulous but now under control somewhat, a woman who takes pride in bringing order to domestic upheaval.

The Beginning of a Marriage

I had quite a hunt for a cleaning lady. I've rarely been without one in all my adult life. I'd put a good cleaning lady before food and drink and gas in my car.

I never thought this one was going to fly. I'd interviewed a few who made enormous demands with regard to products, allergies, refusing to do stove or windows, etc. I should start at the beginning and tell you I am clueless about housekeeping and am delighted that I am now of the age where it's too late to learn. I've been fortunate in that I've had long term cleaners for the past 50 years who stick to me like glue and I to them. We develop a lovely understanding of each other. They appreciate my baffled limits and I accept their expertise unquestionably. We're all happy.

Then I heard of this lady who cleans for a gentleman in my building and charges a laughable fee. I interviewed her and she seemed amenable and didn't stagger off screaming into the sunset after seeing my place which I've kept hygienic but nowhere near a Betty Crocker level. She talked a lot. But passed the test of no demands on her simpleton employer.

Today she started and we had to sort out some stuff together. I figured I'd impress her by getting a steam moppy thingie for the floor that is plugged in. It took us a while but we figured it out together and dear goddess, she was delighted. As was I with the kitchen and bathroom floors, effortless mopping with steam with no nasty cleaning products.

The place is now spotless and she did windows and baseboards and stove, bless her.

She talks. A lot. But works hard in between.

And we bond over knitting.

She hugged me when she left and assured me that now she knows where everything is, she'll take good care of me and I'm never to worry about housework again.

I know.

I have horsehoes up my arse.

Nasty Job

My house in the throes of massive repairs and painting.

There is always one nasty ugly job in my life that I keep putting off and putting off.

Almost like sticking my head into a bush with my bum sticking out thinking no one could see me. Don't laugh. I had a dog that did that. I'd be calling her: "Tara, Tara!" and she'd head for a bush and hide and I'd have to laugh, watching how she'd let her bum hang out and tuck her tail around it and lie perfectly still. She was always amazed when I'd stick my head in the other side of the bush and go "na-na-na I'm smarter than you!"

But I digress. Today I was in my office up the road all morning. I want to put a park in our town. With a BBQ pit and nice benches and maybe a stretch of boardwalk on the shore.

But that put-off nasty job in my house? it kept jumping into my brain.

It's like this: I get infested in my utility room with ants every July and put down bait and spray and powder and eco-friendly solutions (baking powder and icing sugar mixed 50/50), etc. And all this takes place behind a freezer and all over a window where they get in and down from the ceiling where there are gaps (old wood ceilings and I do like them, the ceilings, not the ants). And the mess this year, people?

Do you know that ants cart off their dead for they have their very own graveyards near wherever the hell their nests are? Yeah, they do. But this year I killed so many I imagine I must have been lucky and killed the graveyard attendants plus the funeral corteges and the mourners too. So the massacre sites on windows, in poison buckets and behind freezer? Beyond imagining

This avoidance had to come to an end. I am leaving for Ireland this Friday and I thought the job is too awful for Emma, my twice/month cleaning treasure to deal with. There are limits to demands I can make on her or on anyone else for that matter.

So I had to bribe myself. I talk myself into doing deferred nasty jobs. I have been doing it since I was, like, 4.

"I will make you the best BLT in the world after you finish this. Homegrown Swiss chard, lashings of crisp bacon, home grown perfectly sliced tomatoes AND some smoked salmon, and yeah, okay, cream cheese on - wait-for-it - 12 grain artisan bread from the best bakery in the world. Toasted to gold."

And rubber gloves, bleach, buckets and vacuum to hand I did it. And I only came close to gagging once.

And I was so proud.

And the sandwich? Heaven on a plate.

Bribery sure works on this wuss.

Just One Housekeeping Rule

I don't know whether I've passed this one on before. But seriously, I only have one housekeeping rule. I come from a long maternal line of non-housekeepers. There was, and is, always something far, far better to do than clean a house which, come to think of it, is like an avaricious beast and will want cleaning again before you know it. Like a heroin addict.

I live by this: "A clean house is a sign of a wasted life." And let me tell you, I proudly carry this banner high.

But there are matters of hygiene and manoeverability and not wanting to be the feature of the week on Hoarders Unlimited, right?

So I pass along the tip that has saved me:

Entertain once a month.

That's all there's to it. It encourages the pickup of the creeping book pile, the re-shelving of shoes, a non-disgusting bathroom, table linens hauled out and milk put into jugs and kinda-matching cutlery on the table. And oh yes, uncovering the actual table underneath another book-pile and the clean casserole platters that weren't put away from the last monthly fiesta. And the knitting put back into the knitting basket. And the placing about, casual like, of the pots of wild flowers and candles and a bit of that nice incense from Free Tibet Now! and a review of some recipes.

I clean up so good.

And yes, lunch today was absolutely lovely with my friends. Three hours of it. And I used (adapted) recipes from two of my blog-buddies and a couple of my own.

I pass this splendid tip along to you. Free.

Reactive housekeeping in its finest hour.

My, How She's Grown!

Daughter is in South America at the moment and Grandgirl is on her VERY OWN (At 17+ OMG!) in their house in Toronto.

I've been talking to her every night. Not checking up on her or anything as I've assured her, but availing myself of the opportunity to have these nightly chats. I restrained myself from laughing out loud the other night when she said:

"Oh boy, Grandma it is so HARD to live by yourself!"

"How so, hon?"

"Well there is so much to do, you just never catch up with it all. I'm exhausted!"

"So tell me?"

"Well there's laundry for starters. Then I had to take the garbage out after sorting it. Then I had to change the kitty litter. And oh yeah, walk the dog and give her her meds. Then I had to decide about dinner and what to nuke up. And yeah pack my lunch for school. AND load the dishwasher and unload it. It never ends!"

"Welcome to the real world, darling."

"But you're forgetting something really important here, Grandma."

"And what's that?"

"On top of all of that I have, like, hours and hours of homework!"

Well I hope Daughter reads this when she gets back.

You think maybe she'll feel more appreciated?

The Only Upside to Housework

What kind of music do you listen to when you're alone? I mean really alone and you can turn the music up as high as you want (sans headphones, natch) dance, wiggle the hips, shake the booty all through the house, join in, descant, sing chorus, take a bow to the (imagined) thunderous applause of an ecstatic audience and shout bravo or brava to your heart's content?

You don't?

Oh my, you don't know what you're missing.

You do? Please share the music with us.

OK I'll go first: I have a playlist called “Housework”.

I only play it when there is a long list of tasks inside the house to be accomplished. Some simple, some involving lots of chopping of veggies or baked stuff to prepare or cleaning up of messy kitchen and catastrophic bathroom, making up guest bedroom or other procrastinations. Company coming is the best reactive kick in the arse I need, along with this treasured playlist which never fails to motivate me.

I do not share this playlist with anyone else. And I do not play it in my car or at any other time. It is a reward I give myself for doing stuff I don't particularly want to do at that particular point in time (because I am still three years old when it comes to housework, OK?).

OK then. Onto my HOUSEWORK playlist which I did play today because I was a responsible grownup doing the stuff I normally put on the long finger. In no particular order as to incitement to frenetic activity, here they are:

I Love Rock 'N Roll – AC/DC
Get Back – The Beatles
Ma'Tit Fille – Buckwheat Zydeco
It Doesn't Matter Anymore – Buddy Holly
Turn, Turn Turn – The Byrds
You're So Vain – Carly Simon
Smackwater Jack – Carole King
Proud Mary – Creedence Clearwater
Down on the Corner – Creedence Clearwater
Teach Your Children – Crosby, Stills
Don't Go Breaking My Heart – Elton John and Kiki Dee
Marie's the Name – Elvis Presley
Burning Love – Elvis Presley
Roll Over Beethoven – John Fogerty
Locomotion – Little Eva
Satisfaction – Rolling Stones
Shambala – Three Dog Night
Dirty World – Travelling Wilburys
End of the Line – Travelling Wilburys
Cocaine – J.J. Cale
When – Kalen Twins
Closing Time – Leonard Cohen
Mama Can't Buy You Love – Elton John
The Lady is a Tramp – Ella Fitzgerald
Love Me or Leave Me – Nina Simone
Did She Mention My Name – Gordon Lightfoot
From Me to You – The Beatles
Bleecker Street – Simon & Garfunkle
Let it Roll – Little Feat
Fat Man – Little Feat
The Atholl Highlanders – Steeleye Span
Jigs – Steeleye Span
Vida – Del Castillo