[continued from previous entry]
That happened a while back, maybe ten years ago, when my mother was beyond elderly, the curtain slowly, gradually coming down on her final act. I lived in Cambridge, Mass. then, had been living as a single for a while and was coming to realize two things: (1) somewhere along the line I'd developed a distinct preference for a clean living space, and (2) I was real damn tired of doing all the cleaning myself. Something about my mother's turn toward greater chaos in her living space clarified things for me, and that in combo with cleaning fatigue got me considering paying someone to come in every couple of weeks and whip the place into shape.
There are folks for whom that decision might center on money issues. Turned out to be more about identity for me. Both sides of the family had come from humble keltic roots. Not wealthy, with more likelihood that they might work cleaning for someone than hire someone to clean for them. Before considering this simple step, I'd had no idea that I'd absorbed so much of that family self-image, had no idea it would be an area so powerful, so seriously in need of untangling. Working my way through it brought fresh air to parts of my inner workings in desperate need of clearing out.
Blah blah blah. When I finally pulled the trigger and hired someone to come clean, I discovered I liked it. In a major way. And became serious about living in a neat place. Shoes got taken off on entering the flat (mine and everyone else's). I grew increasingly aware of how I liked things to be, began noticing me working to find a balance between maintaining a comfy tidiness and allowing visiting friends to carry on as they wanted, short of smearing food on the walls.
[Two day pause as life takes over.]
Er, oops.
It's not that I'm trying to avoid finishing this -- life, at times, overrides my good intentions. In this case, it means mowing big expanses of fast-growing lawn (between showers) until the mower breaks down, pulling the bugger apart, finding replacement parts, putting it back together, all the time trying to keep the rest of life afloat. One of these days a great woman will take up residence in my existence and I'll have someone to share some of the daily running around and energy expenditures with. (And won't that fun for her!)
So. What's gotten me thinking about lessons learned from parents, etc.? Answer: the experience of returning from overseas after months away. It's happened twice during recent months, first in February (a bizarre experience, that return, given the person who had been here taking care of the place), then about two and a half weeks back. An entirely different experience in many ways, the second arrival, the person taking care of the place being far more capable and aware. Even so, it had its surprises. He hadn't been around much during the two weeks before I got back, in some ways it was apparent. (There is nothing like getting home after nearly 20 or so ours of traveling, walking into the kitchen and finding the floor so dirty that your socks stick to it, finding sunflower seeds and popcorn all over the place.) Nothing major, though, nothing worth detailing. The most interesting part was watching my reactions to it all, reflecting on what they mean about me, about which ones I feel fine about and which I might want to consider adjusting.
[this entry in progress]
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Cellphone talker, overheard in Montpelier:
"Janie told me she stopped takin' her meds 'cause they were makin' her crazy."
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Northern Vermont, hazy and warm:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 6:12 PM [+]
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