Spring cleaning

So, in my everyday life, I write. I have always written. I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t filling a notebook with writing. Writing isn’t who I am. Writing is what I do. Today, Sunday, while looking out my kitchen window, I’m not thinking about writing, I’m thinking about cleaning. You know, springcleaning. Spring cleaning isn’t who I am, nor is it what I do. For those of you who know me, you know I’m a bit messy. I like to know where everything is, so I keep a lot of stuff out in the open, if you know what I mean. My night table is covered with books, magazines and notebooks. My desk has a lived-upon look, also covered with notebooks, sketchpads, research texts, magazines and markers. The kitchen? Well, the kitchen is just an extension of my desk and night table. However, the doors and windows of this old house have been closed for so long, spring cleaning is what’s on my mind. Maybe I’ll write a bit while I give spring cleaning a think.

When I was a kid, spring cleaning was an annual rite. It was an event for which an invitation wasn’t formally issued, nor did it require an RSVP. Everyone (please understand I mean every woman) in our neighbourhood perked a big pot of coffee and set to work, cleaning the winter out of their homes. My Mom was no exception. We were a big, messy houseful of spring-cleaning event participants. Of course, I’m talking about the girl kids, as the event participants. The boys had out-of-doors chores. The girls started by clearing the side porch of galoshes and mittens. We then hung the winter jackets, snowpants and bulky sweaters on the clothesline to air out. One brave kid got to take the curtains down and then spend some quality time in the basement with no one’s favourite torture device—the mangler—I mean wringer washer. I rather enjoyed the wringer washer and the solitude of the basement. Spending a couple of hours downstairs, washing and bluing the curtains, was where I did some of my finest thinking, twirling and writing. Don’t get me wrong, the older girls had to do a round or two with the mangler on regular wash days, but during spring cleaning, the basement was damp and chilly. There wasn’t a radio or a phonograph or a telephone in the basement, which didn’t really bother me. Rock and roll blared above the roar of the vacuum cleaner as carpets, cupboards and closets were being cleaned and tidied. I enjoyed the solitude of the basement and the freakin’ furnace didn’t scare me one bit. Not at all.

I’ve got great memories of spring as a kid in a big family. After the cleaning and airing of the house, the bikes and trikes came out of the basement. Dad would spend the better part of an afternoon patching tubes, lubing chains and maybe spit out a couple of cuss words if an inner tube popped or the lawn mower didn’t start the first time. Ice skates and hockey sticks replaced the bats, balls and gloves under the basement stairs. The laundry didn’t freeze on the line. Our dog took his business a bit farther from the back porch as the snow melted and his winter calling cards thawed. Poop patrol, my friends, was a boy-kid job. The ice rink in the park next door disappeared and a muddy baseball diamond made a comeback. Double Dutch, hopscotch, wall-ball and pop tag season commenced with gusto. After the spate of cleaning, my Mom always provided the best, home-baked treats which were consumed on the back porch steps. Fresh air and a cleaner house was like a tonic.

Today, I’m thinking about spring cleaning. I want to shut the furnace off, open all the windows and get LOML to wash all the curtains. Go on, I know what you’re thinking, but he really likes doing the laundry. It came as a surprise to him, his love of laundry. And, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even notice a mountain of winter, dreary curtains in the pile especially if I slip them in with the sheets and towels. But, I’m just thinking about cleaning as much as I’m thinking about finding the sidewalk chalk to draw the hopscotch grid and as much as I’m thinking about jumping rope to a chorus of All in together Girls or I Like Coffee, I Like Tea. Speaking of coffee, maybe I’ll clear the side porch of snow shovels, haul out a chair or two and ask LOML to perk great big pot of coffee. Ya, that’s the ticket. I know he likes to make coffee as much as he likes doing the laundry. I’ll write about cleaning and drink coffee. Spring has sprung. See you on the porch.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca