Spring cleaning
Saturday dawns with blustery winds and a cool disposition. It is inside-weather and the four walls of my home is a sanctuary.
It is my time and I'm in the mood to clean out cobwebs & cupboards, to tackle the old & the new.
Spring cleaning is therapeutic; it provides physical exercise and mental stimulation. It is so much more than brooms and mops; irons and washers; creases and dust.
My mother's hand grips the iron tightly, pushing down hard, veins thick and ridged and deep blue, fighting stubborn creases like I'm going to get paid.
"Bony," my dad used to call her, lovingly; bursting into song: "I've got a girl named Bony Maronie, she's as thin as a stick of macaroni..." Unlike my mom, I'm thick and curvy. However, I do have her hands and feet, fingers and toes long and slim, refusing to allow fat to deposit there, sending it all to the bum and thighs.
A burst of steam whooshes out, hitting me in the face like a facial.
A slow smile wrinkles the corners of tired eyes as I iron out creases from tiny white hankies which have seen better days.
I rush to the kitchen to stack the dishwasher, saying hello to Simba and Mikey, my early morning companions in the quiet house. They purr softly, pleased to see me.
I am not a cat person, no stroking or cuddles from me, but they respect this somehow knowing that they are welcome in my space, but respecting my boundaries. Funny how cats can be more intuitive than people sometimes.
I use my voice to show them affection, using tones & words, I am good with words, not so good at being handsy and affectionate. I remember my dad with his bushy beard and his soft eyes and how he could hug the hurt out of you, and how seldom I let him. I wish he was here now to to smooth the edges away.
I start packing the dishwasher too, throw colours into the washing machine, and press start, banging on buttons and doors to drown out the silence. I like the drone of the two machines working together like an orchestra. It is music to my ears. I've silenced my playlist; music can reveal so much, and today is not the day for confronting unresolved emotions.
I am tackling my To-Do list on auto-pilot.
Mikey never meows, but now he chokes out an encouraging sound. He somehow picks up on my mood and knows that silence doesn't have a place when someone is unsettled.
"Good boy!" He looks at me with wise eyes, but with a face that cannot muster emotions.
He is teaching me that it is okay to have all the feelings, even when someone else is not.
I return to ironing, checking the cupboards and the fridge on my way back making a mental note of its contents. Meal possibilities flash through my mind. I'm not in the mood to hit the shops on a Saturday in SA; the stores will be crowded, and I'm doing dirty this weekend, no grooming/only pj's! I decide on leftovers for Saturday dinner and Butter Beans curry with fragrant basmati rice for Sunday Lunch (served with mango atchar and a green chilli sambal).
It is my time and I'm in the mood to clean out cobwebs & cupboards, to tackle the old & the new.
Spring cleaning is therapeutic; it provides physical exercise and mental stimulation. It is so much more than brooms and mops; irons and washers; creases and dust.
My mother's hand grips the iron tightly, pushing down hard, veins thick and ridged and deep blue, fighting stubborn creases like I'm going to get paid.
"Bony," my dad used to call her, lovingly; bursting into song: "I've got a girl named Bony Maronie, she's as thin as a stick of macaroni..." Unlike my mom, I'm thick and curvy. However, I do have her hands and feet, fingers and toes long and slim, refusing to allow fat to deposit there, sending it all to the bum and thighs.
A burst of steam whooshes out, hitting me in the face like a facial.
A slow smile wrinkles the corners of tired eyes as I iron out creases from tiny white hankies which have seen better days.
I rush to the kitchen to stack the dishwasher, saying hello to Simba and Mikey, my early morning companions in the quiet house. They purr softly, pleased to see me.
I am not a cat person, no stroking or cuddles from me, but they respect this somehow knowing that they are welcome in my space, but respecting my boundaries. Funny how cats can be more intuitive than people sometimes.
I use my voice to show them affection, using tones & words, I am good with words, not so good at being handsy and affectionate. I remember my dad with his bushy beard and his soft eyes and how he could hug the hurt out of you, and how seldom I let him. I wish he was here now to to smooth the edges away.
"Who's a good boy?" I coo gently at the ginger one, he and I have made a pact and we're both keeping up our end of the deal. Good boys know what you need! So he brushes gently against my leg before returning to his favourite spot in the sun next to the couch.
I start packing the dishwasher too, throw colours into the washing machine, and press start, banging on buttons and doors to drown out the silence. I like the drone of the two machines working together like an orchestra. It is music to my ears. I've silenced my playlist; music can reveal so much, and today is not the day for confronting unresolved emotions.
Its a day for cleaning out old stains and removing crumbs dished out by careless hands...
I am tackling my To-Do list on auto-pilot.
Mikey never meows, but now he chokes out an encouraging sound. He somehow picks up on my mood and knows that silence doesn't have a place when someone is unsettled.
"Good boy!" He looks at me with wise eyes, but with a face that cannot muster emotions.
He is teaching me that it is okay to have all the feelings, even when someone else is not.
I return to ironing, checking the cupboards and the fridge on my way back making a mental note of its contents. Meal possibilities flash through my mind. I'm not in the mood to hit the shops on a Saturday in SA; the stores will be crowded, and I'm doing dirty this weekend, no grooming/only pj's! I decide on leftovers for Saturday dinner and Butter Beans curry with fragrant basmati rice for Sunday Lunch (served with mango atchar and a green chilli sambal).
Mealtimes:Check!
"Why do we have so many white T's?"
I make a mental note to ask my boys when they surface out of dark bedrooms.
I run my hands lovingly over the warm white T-shirt, smoothing it out over the tick that tells me to "Just do it!"
Prompted by an icon, I switch off the iron, leave everything as is, and head to the bedroom stripping off dirty pj's.
The warmth of sleep on a hard body...there is no other feeling like that in the world. I nuzzle closer to him stealing warmth, leaning in with a whisper, my breath hitting his face like steam from a hot iron.
"Morning, baby..."
He comes awake.
"Wanna have some fun?" I say it like I don't already know the answer. He responds quickly knowing this is gonna be quick as I'm on auto-pilot.
He somehow understands this quirk, and I am grateful.
"Down, baby!"
He looks at me with lazy eyes. I throw my head back and wait for take-off.
Heading back to the kitchen, I check on the dishes and the laundry and pour a glass of orange juice for him as a treat.
"For you," I say handing him the tall glass before returning to where the T's are still waiting to be ironed.
I power through my list, energized.
Iron whites: Check!
Tumble dry colours: Check!
My tummy grumbles and a craving for grilled cheese hits me.
"How does grilled cheese sandwiches sound!" I yell out to the house, already grabbing cheeses and bread.
He comes up from behind me, locks his arms around me, and says: "Sounds yummy, let me."
I turn to him, spy my son in the doorway rubbing eyes: "Ew, get a room you two!"
He switches on the kettle: "Tea?"
He already knows the answer and hurriedly grabs cups and plates and sets the table in 60 seconds. Speedy like his mom.
"You boys have fun," I say, "I'm hitting the shower."
They both nod.
I turn back to say something about white T's but the sight of them takes my breath away.
I scrap my old list and start a new one:
Happy family: Check!
Me-time: Check!
Restlessness: Unchecked...
"Why do we have so many white T's?"
I make a mental note to ask my boys when they surface out of dark bedrooms.
I run my hands lovingly over the warm white T-shirt, smoothing it out over the tick that tells me to "Just do it!"
Prompted by an icon, I switch off the iron, leave everything as is, and head to the bedroom stripping off dirty pj's.
The warmth of sleep on a hard body...there is no other feeling like that in the world. I nuzzle closer to him stealing warmth, leaning in with a whisper, my breath hitting his face like steam from a hot iron.
"Morning, baby..."
He comes awake.
"Wanna have some fun?" I say it like I don't already know the answer. He responds quickly knowing this is gonna be quick as I'm on auto-pilot.
He somehow understands this quirk, and I am grateful.
"Down, baby!"
He looks at me with lazy eyes. I throw my head back and wait for take-off.
Heading back to the kitchen, I check on the dishes and the laundry and pour a glass of orange juice for him as a treat.
"For you," I say handing him the tall glass before returning to where the T's are still waiting to be ironed.
I power through my list, energized.
Iron whites: Check!
Tumble dry colours: Check!
My tummy grumbles and a craving for grilled cheese hits me.
"How does grilled cheese sandwiches sound!" I yell out to the house, already grabbing cheeses and bread.
He comes up from behind me, locks his arms around me, and says: "Sounds yummy, let me."
I turn to him, spy my son in the doorway rubbing eyes: "Ew, get a room you two!"
He switches on the kettle: "Tea?"
He already knows the answer and hurriedly grabs cups and plates and sets the table in 60 seconds. Speedy like his mom.
"You boys have fun," I say, "I'm hitting the shower."
They both nod.
I turn back to say something about white T's but the sight of them takes my breath away.
I scrap my old list and start a new one:
Happy family: Check!
Me-time: Check!
Restlessness: Unchecked...
An old story, revisited.
This piece of work is a figment of my imagination.
I do however, have 2 cats and an iron. And I have, on occasion, been known to clean house:)