I'm tired and cranky. I cleaned house today. I hate to clean house, but I love a clean house. I love the end result but hate the process. It's true then that love and hate are indistinguishable. Mom enjoyed cleaning; there's not an apartment or house that I've lived in that she didn't help me clean. Well, except for that first apartment after my divorce in Austin, TX. If she'd seen that place, she would've worried about my safety. She once told me that the only thing she was really good at was cleaning. I'm glad I got the chance to tell her before she died that this was far from the truth. She had so many talents, but that woman certainly knew how to clean. She always said that she actually liked cleaning when houses were really dirty b/c then she could see how much progress she'd made. She would've been able to see A LOT of progress in my house today. You might think from all this that Mom was a cleaning lady. A lady certainly, but the cleaning she did for others, she did out of love and friendship, not for hire. And, yes, she did windows.
I cleaned and rearranged three rooms. I like rearranging furniture--makes it feel like a new room. I remember a time after Mom had cleaned and rearranged the living room. When she got up during the night to go to the bathroom, she forgot that she'd moved the davenport (that's what my folks always have called a sofa). When she climbed back into bed, my dad thought something was wrong because the bed was shaking. She then burst out in uproarious laughter as she recalled how one minute she was walking back to bed and the next, she was doing a somersault over the sofa (davenport). One of the rooms I rearranged today is my bedroom. I have to remember Mom's story to I don't walk into the dresser. If I do, it won't be laughter that wakes my husband but rather a few choice expletives.
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