Housekeeping

May 9, 2023

I am regularly surprised at the different styles of housekeeping. When it smacks me how absolutely unlike my style someone else’s home is, I start wondering what are the underlying causes for such monumental differences?

I am very fortunate to be included in a wonderful and disparate group of mostly bionic ladies who gather each week to play cards. I might be the only one who still has all of her original parts. We seem to have a full collection of replacement knees, hips, shoulders, and boobs. One even had her replacement boobs recalled. Another simply keeps hers in a drawer so she can be any size she chooses for any given occasion.

We don’t play Bridge, Hearts, Poker, or Canasta; only the simplest form of cards, simpler even than Old Maids or Go Fish. We play Scat, and we play for money. Depending on how many show up, each of us is at risk of losing $3.00 to $5.00. The winner takes it all home.

The core group consists of eight ladies, but there are about four official substitutes and a loose collection of other friends who may or may not be included, at the hostess’s discretion. We take turns hosting and the number in attendance depends on the size of the hostess du jour’s table as well as who is available that week. A gathering of eight to twelve chirping and cackling women snugged around a dining room table can be ear-splitting for someone wearing a hearing aid. No one is really paying attention to the game. This is our not so serious mental health and social support group.

I am clearly on the bottom rung as hostesses go. Whenever my turn rolls around, I must decide if I will host at my home or around the large table in my Gallery. Either table is large enough for 12 well-showered people, and there is an adjacent kitchen in either case. The question is, which space will be the easiest to clean up and prepare?! Usually, it is the Gallery, as I MUST keep that presentable for customers, anyway. Also, there is better parking at the business than in my driveway at home.

The bathroom is another thing altogether. At my house there are three functional full baths, another that has been torn out for a complete remodel (for more than 3 years) and yet another that is half roughed in (for more than 3 years). Any of the finished bathrooms can be made presentable with not too much effort, although the upstairs two are accessible via a tall spiral staircase which no one wants to climb except for me. At work there is a single sub-par, non-ADA-compliant windowless room with a concrete floor, painted cinderblock walls, a toilet, sink, small bookcase, and a plug-in electric heater. It is at the far end of the 5,000 square foot antique mall. Maneuvering to it through the maze of displays with your legs crossed can be quite the challenge.

My housekeeping style is perfectly comfortable; for a hermit. The décor is primarily a combination of Mother’s Danish Modern furniture (from the late 1950s), paired with Cloyde’s 1920s and earlier dented, scratched, and cracked chunky oak tables and cabinets, and his mother’s untunable upright piano. Add to that his rusted oyster cans and old carved decoys, my exquisite Asian antiquities, well-worn oriental rugs, and diverse piles of laundry, books, papers, dog hair, feral dust-bunnies, and various non-decorative tools, knickknacks and doodads that can’t find a sequestered place to live. On any given day, you can play tic tac toe with your finger on any flat surface of furniture, and the spiderwebs between the glass and the window screens have become permanent fixtures.

My turn to host generates an adrenaline rush from my hair follicles right down to the nail beds of my toes.

Perhaps that is why I came home from yesterday’s gathering amazed and bewildered.

Now, there are a couple of other ladies in our group whose homes are eclectic and personalized for the owner’s comfort without consulting Better Homes and Gardens. And there are a few whose homes are always beautifully decorated, orderly, sparkling, and ready to receive guests without notice. But yesterday I was blown away by one of our semi-regular subs who had begged us to allow her to host.

OMG! Now, I have never seen a hair out of place, a wrinkle on face or clothing, or a snagged sweater on this lovely, lovely lady, and her home was the same, plus, plus, plus. Starting from the long and flawlessly paved driveway flanked by a beautifully manicured and landscaped yard, flowing perfection permeated throughout the home. From the spotless white carpets to the shimmering skylights and everything in-between, nothing was out of place. Each of the three fully decorated and lightly scented bathrooms included a bidet feature added to the commode. The immaculately displayed China matched the kitchenware, the wine rack was color-coded, every painting on the wall was perfectly grouped and hung with the precision of an unwavering electronic level. You would never ever guess that six meticulously groomed and beloved cats shared the house (within their own space) and three other ferals lived in their own heated and cooled indoor/outdoor designer building in the yard facing the waterfront. The table was beautifully spread with a variety of perfectly plated munchies, and a handmade gift adorned every placemat. With all this exacting perfection she still made us all feel perfectly at ease, as if whatever effort she had made was her absolute and genuine pleasure.

Where does someone like that even come from?

I can tell you, no matter how soon guests are coming to visit me, or how important they are, I can always find something, almost anything, more compelling to do than cleaning and maintaining my home to anything close to that level.

Is there something wrong with me?