Thursday, February 4, 2016

living clean

Just about everyone I know — regardless of house or apartment square footage — has someone to help occasionally with the cleaning.

I have only had two regular housekeepers in the past 20 years, Maria and Christina; I liked them both.

But for the past few years I've relied on no one but myself.  I am very very neat, and my house, at a glance, looks clean. But it's not.  

When I was living alone, my home did stay cleaner longer. But now I'm sharing my apartment with a 23-year old male who doesn't have the same aesthetics as I do. He is blind to dust balls accumulating in corners. Fails to see a sink that needs cleaning. Doesn't understand my frustration when feathers from the sofa drift to the rug. Thinks it's fine to leave dishes in the sink. And sees no need to make a bed that will be unmade a few hours later.

When my mom visited me a few weeks ago, she suggested I get someone in to clean. My mom — who is reticent to say anything about my housekeeping —was right. I was looking for an excuse to go back to having someone come in regularly to make my apartment not just presentable, but sparkling clean.

Reyna is the woman who cleans for my next door neighbor. She comes to him every week. I ask her if she can come to me every three weeks, except for the first visit. On the first visit, I figure five hours will be more than enough time to clean my small apartment. 

Reyna comes today. She knows how to clean in ways I never learned. In fact, I'm I don't  have the skills to clean like she does. 

Reyna moves the furniture around. She gets into the corners. She washes in places I wouldn't have thought of. By the time she leaves (six and a quarter hours later, not five) my apartment looks like a veil has been lifted from it. 



If I could, I'd say to Alexander, "Hey, let's not use the bathroom or kitchen anymore." At least then the apartment could stay looking good a little bit longer.


1 comment:

  1. i am pretty much as neurotic as it comes when it comes to cleaning.
    i still wash my floors on my hands and knees.
    i use a tootbrush to clean grout in the bathroom.
    i am forever cleaning grime off of open shelves
    and still i have a cleaning woman who arrives every other week and spends 6 solid hours.
    despite the fact that i run the dishwasher and washing machine.
    i know not what she does, even when i have watched her in action
    and yet my apartment is sparkling when she leaves.
    she is a cleaning fairy.
    nothing beats order when it comes to restoring mental health.

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