Still A Dreamer

Is there something terribly odd about my feeling really happy when my kitchen floor is just washed and sparkling clean? That my stovetop doesn’t have a smudge on it? I have to admit, in a way, it seems pretty odd to me.
As a professional woman in one career or another all my life, you’d think this would be the get-it-out-of-the-way kind of chore I’d do so I could get on with the ‘real’ stuff in my life.
But I was raised in the 50’s – when we had stay-at-home moms who cooked 3 meals a day, and whose homes were always immaculately clean. They were the moms who raised us and taught us how to clean, cook, bake and de-frost the fridge. Old habits die hard. I have not one moment’s regret that I know how to make a mean pie-crust, sew any garment of clothing from a pattern, and even iron properly (according to Mom). And not that I actually do the latter – if it has to be ironed, chances are I’m not buying it.
But that clean floor – mind you, not washed nearly as often as my own mom would have done – still brings it’s own little joy. When making a living takes priority, dirty floors and dusty surfaces can be our accusers – telling us we have somehow failed because we can’t do it all. And indeed, many women I know who work for a living and were raised in the 50’s feel exactly the same way – bring home the bacon and have that 50’s squeaky-clean home as well. Oh – and squeaky-clean kids, too.
But when I do get to cleaning it – and it smells fresh, shines bright – just like a TV commercial – I love it. I may be in the 21st Century, but I guess I’m always gonna be a bit of a 50’s throwback, taking some small comfort in there being millions of you out there, just like me.

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