A Tough Act to Follow

I have a friend who says that I grew up in a fairy tale. And she’s right. Well, if not a fairy tale, at least a 50’s television program. We had loving parents. We walked back and forth to school each day (and, seriously, we could, and did come home for lunch). We went to church each Sunday. We had birthday parties in our backyard. And, really, I’m a little surprised when I find out that not all families were as happy as ours, and that some families had difficulties and that their pleasant faces hid troubles.

Not us. We were good students. We had good friends. Our parents paid for our college educations. They were wonderful grandparents. It couldn’t have been better for us.

I understand now that I never appreciated what a hardworking housekeeper Mother was. I cooked and cleaned and ran my homes for my family, but not until we moved into my childhood home did I understand how hard Mother must have worked at it. I’m constantly startled at how dirt accumulates around here. The corners in my bathroom are always dingy. Always. The day after I go after them with a cleaner-moistened cotton swab, they’re dirty again. How did she do it?

My sister, one time when her family was visiting, said, somewhat apologetically, that she hoped I didn’t mind if she had gotten a rag and cleaned the baseboards in the other bathroom, the one her family was using.

Of course not. Were they really dirty?

Oh, yes, she said, and we both agreed that I don’t see as well as I used to. But the reality is that I’ve never been the sort of housekeeper that Mother was. She must have done nothing but clean all day. And I know that’s not true, because she sewed most of our clothing when we were growing  up. And she cooked a hot meal every evening for our family dinner. And she had coffee every morning with the neighbor ladies, and I know she read and did some yard work, and she took a little nap every afternoon, but really, she just must have cleaned almost all the time. Really.

As my parents got older, Mother cooked less. They went out to eat more often, and did more microwaving. After Mother had been gone for a few months, Daddy fell and broke his hip. When he came home from rehab, I came and stayed with him for another month. When I arrived, the oven was absolutely spotless. He hadn’t used it, recently, at all. I think it had hardly been used in months, or even years, as Mother’s health failed. It was clean and shiny the day I moved in to help Daddy. I cooked regularly those next days and weeks, and David came over every evening for dinner with us. By time I was ready to move back to our house, the oven was messy with baked-on drips and spatters. And I knew it was all my dirt. Mother had kept it spotless, always, but I never had really noticed.

After Daddy moved to a retirement residence and we began planning to move in, I knew I needed to replace the oven and the stove top, as they were both original to the house, which had been built in 1959. I picked out new ones at Home Depot and ordered them. Then I had to call the plumber to come and unhook the gas lines from the old ones. He also helped me move them both out, to make room for the new appliances to be installed. When he lifted up the stove top, he stared. I stared. Here’s a guy who’s seen all sort of things in people’s homes.

“Your mother must have been…” he said.

“Yes, I said, “She was an amazing housekeeper.” Under the rim of the stove top, which at my house was sort of, rather, clean about once a year, here at my mother’s, was absolutely as clean as it had been on May 30, 1959, when we moved in. AMAZING!

Right this very minute, the bottom of the oven is pretty clean. I’m trying to keep up with it. As for under the edge of the stove top, I have no idea what it looks like. I’m not going to look, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you about it.

A capable wife who can find?
    She is far more precious than jewels.
She seeks wool and flax,
    and works with willing hands.
She is not afraid for her household when it snows,
    for all her household are clothed in crimson.
She looks well to the ways of her household,
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Proverbs 31:10, 13, 21, 27, 30

I can’t show you pictures of how clean this house used to always be (I forgot to take a photo when the plumber and I lifted up the stove top), so I’ll show you some photos of how she sewed for us.

Oh, yes. It’s been a while since there’s been a dust cloth or feather duster anywhere near here.

It always seems to me that I’m keeping up with the basic cleaning. This afternoon, I was changing the AC filter, and as I was climbing down the stepladder, I noticed the top of the whatnot shelf in the hallway. Hmmm. I ran my finger across it and left an obvious clean streak across it.

Seriously!! Didn’t I just dust that thing, well, before Easter when Kevin and April came? Maybe. Maybe not. Well, given the evidence before me, obviously not.

I’m hopeful that my own children will have wonderful things to say about me, later, after I’m gone. But I’m confident that it won’t be how sparkling clean the place was.