Cleaning

I believe my mother spent her entire life incognito. I am convinced that in reality she was Mrs. Clean. Her home was spotless. No dust bunny had the courage to enter my mother's house, much less take up residence under a bed. Those beds were made every morning, with military precision, almost before the sleepy occupant vacated. Her hardwood floors shined with paste wax, hand applied and hand buffed. The second greatest day of my life was the day she bought a power buffer. The greatest was the day she could finally afford carpet for the entire house. Yes, boys and girls, there was a time when hardwood floors cost less than wall-to-wall carpet. My father was definitely not Mr. Clean. He was an accumulater. A complete set of law books--he worked for the electric company. A drawer of pencil stubs--he always wrote with a hard lead pencil, the shorter the better. Dad wore a hat every day and I believe he kept every one he ever owned. He kept all his important doucuments using the file-by-pile system. I am a genetic blend. I am definely not Mrs. Clean (dust bunnies are my pet of choice) but I do need a neat house. Unfortunately, I inherited the accumulater gene from Dad. Since visible clutter messes with my mind, in busy times I tend to stuff things into closets and drawers. This preserves my sanity during the school year when reading, research and exams consume all available time. This is a workable system for six or seven months but before the spring semester ends, the closets reach critical mass. Today we have reached the point of no return; it is time to re-organize the closets, bookcases, desks, etc. So unless something really profound strikes me, the next few days will be postless as I tackle the dark and dangerous caverns of my home.