Tuesday Tendrils

An old piece of my writing in a journal:

"My life is but one wild brief dance in the ballroom of time."

I was wondering a couple of days ago (not sadly) when was the last time someone called me "darling" and came to the conclusion it was when an aunt, who lived to a great age up to a few years ago, used it as we had tea in front of her fire and she gave me gentle words of wisdom always interspersed with the word "darling". I use it myself, of course, to family members, to cherished friends. It is an important assuring word and we need to use it more to those who are dear to us. " My dear" or"Dearie" doesn't quite cut it, or "honey and "love"for that matter, I find those words quite dismissive and meaningless.

I am not having a good day health-wise, seems to be some bodily reactions going on but nevertheless I persist as best I can and showered and washed my hair and moaned to myself. And then Joanna (my cleaning lady) arrived as I was cancelling my plans for the morning with friends.

And the loveliest thing. I was sitting in my office chair letting my hair dry. I have a lot of hair and it is now long (no hair cutting/styling money pit anymore) and she began to stroke it and run her fingers through it and hum a bit and said:

"You know the last time I did this was when my daughter was about 12 and she let me, and it is one of the most beautiful things to do, isn't it? Run your fingers through long hair, your hair is so beautiful."

She made my sad, sick and sorry day.

Rain

The rain comes down today. In spatters, in force, in sprinkles. It can't make up its mind. Many birds circle the lake in front of the building, riding on air currents, saving energy, waiting for the feeders who arrive daily. From all walks of life. To sit on the benches and throw grain and bread and nuts to their favourites. It must be hard to soar when wet, I think. And what do birds do on rainy days when people stay home with their food bags?

There's a chill in the air. That wintrish glaze on everything. Joanna, my cleaning person, is supposed to be here today. I got ready for her. I always have to do a clean up for my cleaners. Left to my own devices I can create a slum out of the tidiest rooms in about 10 minutes flat. Not a skill I am proud of. But I think (she's 80 after all) she must have forgotten. And that's fine with me. At least some cleaning was done. I was going to tell her help herself to my enormous yarn collection which I have to do something about. I am a compulsive collector: movies, books, yarn, silver napkin rings, et al. But between the jigs and the reels I've let everything loose into the universe. Well, almost everything.

Meanwhile I have another editing job in which is a thrill. And I accepted a position on a board which should be interesting.

And I have a talk to give tomorrow night which involves index cards I haven't prepared yet. I like to do them at the last minute so everything is fresh in my mind and I try not to um and ah and remember to breathe and to glance briefly at the cards to make sure I'm on message and sequential. Easier said than done.

Other than that I had a very interesting lunch yesterday with two friends I hadn't seen in a about a year or so as they still live out in the country, hanging in there for another few years - for they are a few years younger than I. At one of our favourite places, a true honest pub with pub grub, including all day breakfast with lashings of home made home fries. The conversation was interesting and satisfying as we hovered around all sorts of topics including this challenge of not being able to walk and chew gum anymore.

I'm still in sock mode. Knitting them that is. And I watched the entire Crown Series 3 in a two night binge. It's like Downton Abbey, lots of froth and frocks. And stellar performances.

And I'm not feeling as if I'm on death's door anymore. I really don't know what that was all about. But it was frightening.

Domestic Chaos

Given the absence of guests or cleaning woman, I can descend rapidly into my own kind of chaos. My housekeeping is reactive rather than proactive. For instance, I always figure a geographical cure will fix me for once and for all. Downsizing so extremely into a one-bedroom apartment as I have done would be a superb motivator, I thought. A brand new me, organized and ready for anything.

Well, no. In analyzing my behaviour I come to the conclusion that it is a case of not putting stuff back where it belongs when finished with it. I never seem to be "finished" with anything and am highly visual. I like to "see" items - my knitting, my wools, my books on the unread shelf, my clothes, my shoes, my food.

Now to the clothes. A purge is desperately needed. I made a "rule" for myself many years ago that if not worn in a year it gets donated. Also one item comes in and another gets donated. The latter formula has been neglected so my closet needs to be investigated thoroughly and dealt with. I have (unfortunately) a rather large bathroom and I use a clothes rack there to dry some of my more vulnerable items rather than throwing them in one of the communal dryers. I deal with those only when under threat of a visitor, it is far to easy to walk around them and think, oh yeah, well tonight. Tonight never comes. I have a toolkit in my hall that I can't seem to find a home for. Drives me a little batty as I step around it and shake my head. And unhung pictures are still an issue though shrinking a little in quantity.

I do keep the kitchen relatively tidy as it is small and awkwardly designed. For instance there is an enormous built in pantry which in concept you'd think would be just great for everything foody. But in practice it's another story entirely. Note the sets of shelves on the left (I brought these from the utility room in my house) as is was just a wide open space for what gawd knows. I have taken it apart several times and bought step-shelves to go on the right-side shelves but I've never seen such a poorly designed space. I may have to break down and get someone to install pull out wire drawers so it could hold everything in an organized but visual way. There is a serious lack of counter-space and only one sink. We take our double sinks for granted don't we? I did. So dirty dishes left lying around can impact the tiny space in the kitchen making of me an (almost) instant washer-upper.

Joanna, my cleaning woman, my saviour, was here yesterday and did the needful: dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping and counter-shines.

Into every life should fall a reassuring Joanna, garrulous but now under control somewhat, a woman who takes pride in bringing order to domestic upheaval.

The Beginning of a Marriage

I had quite a hunt for a cleaning lady. I've rarely been without one in all my adult life. I'd put a good cleaning lady before food and drink and gas in my car.

I never thought this one was going to fly. I'd interviewed a few who made enormous demands with regard to products, allergies, refusing to do stove or windows, etc. I should start at the beginning and tell you I am clueless about housekeeping and am delighted that I am now of the age where it's too late to learn. I've been fortunate in that I've had long term cleaners for the past 50 years who stick to me like glue and I to them. We develop a lovely understanding of each other. They appreciate my baffled limits and I accept their expertise unquestionably. We're all happy.

Then I heard of this lady who cleans for a gentleman in my building and charges a laughable fee. I interviewed her and she seemed amenable and didn't stagger off screaming into the sunset after seeing my place which I've kept hygienic but nowhere near a Betty Crocker level. She talked a lot. But passed the test of no demands on her simpleton employer.

Today she started and we had to sort out some stuff together. I figured I'd impress her by getting a steam moppy thingie for the floor that is plugged in. It took us a while but we figured it out together and dear goddess, she was delighted. As was I with the kitchen and bathroom floors, effortless mopping with steam with no nasty cleaning products.

The place is now spotless and she did windows and baseboards and stove, bless her.

She talks. A lot. But works hard in between.

And we bond over knitting.

She hugged me when she left and assured me that now she knows where everything is, she'll take good care of me and I'm never to worry about housework again.

I know.

I have horsehoes up my arse.