Cleaning

Tonight I was mopping my kitchen floor, something I do about once every three months, and I got to thinking about how different my cleaning philosophy is compared to how I was raised. When I was growing up, one of my chores was to wash the kitchen floor, something that took at least an hour. My mother taught me that the proper way to wash a floor was on your hands and knees with a scrubbing brush. I even remember a time, before she worked outside the home and the kids were too young to help much with chores, when she used an index card system for tracking monthly, weekly, and annual chores. I recall that this reminded one to wash the windows and to apply lemon oil to the furniture.

I don't mean to imply that my mother is an obsessive cleaner. We were never chastised for making a mess (although we probably had to clean it up) and our house looked like everyone else's. But I'm quite aware of how cleaning standards change - on the 1940's radio programs I listen to, they are forever advertising waxes and polishes for floors, furniture, and cars. I think the combination of modern finishes and the lack of a full-time homemaker spelled the end of polishes.

Nowadays I never spend more than 90 minutes per week cleaning, if you don't include dishes or laundry. I attribute this to my patented three-part system: have no children, own as few belongings as possible, and lower your standards. No one ever spills juice on my floors, and I never have to pick up before vacuuming. That gives me an hour vacuum the whole house and clean two bathrooms, and then I do whatever else I notice. My house probably isn't perfect, but it's good enough and then I have lots of time for all the other fun things in life, like gardening and sitting by the firebowl with friends.

A new garden

At some point during my dismal spring I decided to put in a new garden. I've often considered planting a cottage garden, which is usually a big mass of colorful, overlapping flowering perennials. I have never done it because it takes years for such a garden to establish. But this year, I thought, if it takes two years to grow and then looks good during the third year when I move, at least I'll have enjoyed one year. And since my future plans are indeterminate, it's entirely possible that I'll be living in this house and enjoying the garden for years to come.

I engaged an advisory board, made up of three friend/relatives who care about gardening. And by "engaged", I mean that I pelted them with emails, drawings of the space, and links to plants. Here's what we've come up with so far.

In early March, when the garden was just a dream.

I spent two long weekends digging, with the help of my roommate.

My father, who always prefers to use machines, helped me rent a tiller to dig some more.

My mother spent an entire day considering exactly where the plants should go and labeling empty spaces with markers. I then purchased six carloads of mulch and compost, and shoveled for a long time. 

This is what it looks like right now! It's a big space, sparsely filled with 6" tall plants. But give it a lot of water and two years to grow, and I think it will be beautiful. I'll be sure to post updates throughout the summer.

Defense, and empowerment

In the wake of the #MeToo movement and learning about some of the experiences of friends and family, I decided to take a self-defense course. I did a bit of research and learned that martial arts wasn't what I wanted: many people said I'd need to take years of classes to get what I needed.

Instead, I found an empowerment self-defense class. For 10 weeks, I learned skills to limit or stop harassment, set boundaries, intervene with bystanders, AND physically defend myself. I could talk all day about what I now know- that when I know how to set boundaries with strangers, friends, or loved ones, I limit the opportunity they have to take advantage of me, whether that might result in emotional abuse, harassment, or sexual assault. I learned (a bit) about how gender based violence and racism interact. I also learned how to defend myself when attacked from front or behind, if my arms and legs are pinned, and or if someone is choking me. As an aside, it's a bit odd to let a stranger to choke each week.

I'm pretty proud of myself for doing it, because sometimes it was hard. At the end of the class, we all wrote down what idea we were breaking on a 3/4" board, and then broke it with our fists. So now I have proof that I'm better prepared.

Happiness

Once a month I attend a Vespers service at the Unitarian church downtown (which I describe as the "church without God" in halting Spanish, to the amusement of my Spanish tutor). Their vespers is a solid hour of repetitive singing and silence, in the Taize style.  This is one of my favorite parts of the month, and I've been going religiously (hah!) since I discovered it a few years ago.

Last night, I attended and while I was singing I realized I was happy. It felt good, and odd, and was something I haven't felt in a few months. I don't know if it was the passage of time, or my parents' recent visit, or the spring time, but probably it was all of it put together. I'm feeling better.