Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, I had a clean house. Sparkling hardwood floors and carefully coordinated fabrics dominated the home front. My laundry was cleaned in a luxuriously appointed room with travertine floors and soapstone counters topping the custom cabinetry. Even with a Golden Lab (big) Greater Swiss Mountain Dog (bigger) and a long-haired cat, everything in the house was hair free and clean. Shirley was my cleaning lady and my eyes mist whenever I think of her wrinkly face and hunched over body wiping those baseboards clean.
Not too long after Shirley’s stroke my favorite ex and I parted ways. In a way it was good she had the stroke when she did since it would’ve been tough to fight over who got her in the breakup. Now, my ex was an interesting fellow. Quite accomplished after a rough start in life and as an American, well, I just loved the under dog component to his life story. All good stories have endings, and mine occurred on a rainy Friday night when I was tossed out on my tookus. I didn’t have more than $3 in my pocket, the gas tank was just about empty and I didn’t have shoes. Stuck describes the situation fairly well. Most importantly, I didn’t really know where I was headed anyway. Sometimes we curse the emptiness – whether it be the gas tank, the bank account or something within us. An empty gas tank could’ve taken me far enough to get away, but what would I have done when I got there? Staying in a hotel for $3 wasn’t an option, so I got a little cozy in the car. It was so uncomfortable I couldn’t sleep. It made me think.
Once I sorted through a few things and got off a friend’s couch, I found another house. It wasn’t in the neighborhood I liked. It was kinda small and the window boxes across the front were screaming for pansies. But it wasn’t the car and I could sleep in a bed again. The fenced backyard was big enough for the dogs to play in. The flooring, like my refreshed attitude, was entirely new. My latest home was affordable, clean and only the mortgage company could kick me out. What more could a girl ask for?
I have vague recollections of my former life with the neatly placed flower arrangements and polished furniture. Right now I am sitting on a $10 couch I picked up when a neighbor moved. It is green and highly customized by Elmo, her cat, on the corners. Abu has kind of added to the original feel by scraping the fabric off all along the bottom, and Sand’s hair lends a fluffy white glow to the whole ensemble. The mocha colored curtains are a $6 yard sale splurge, and there is nothing about this room screaming “Better Homes and Gardens.” There are newspaper clippings, a baby bouncy seat, an exersaucer and all sorts of projects in varying stages of completion covering the floor. It helps to hide the dirt so I really don’t mind. I am happy to have this little place.
I was so busy sweeping my dirt under the carpet to keep the illusion of perfection. It felt good to have people over who complemented my impeccable home. But life was so messy it was tough to enjoy the overpriced Kirby in the closet. It couldn’t clean up everything that needed cleaning, starting with the years of crap piling up under the rug. The unpaid credit card bills, the $100,000 of financed cars, the flower pots custom made to fit on the stoop – none of it was necessary, but we sure looked good.
Ginger 2000 meet Ginger 2006. She weighs more. She has a kid. She has a dog and a cat and love handles to match the love for all she has gained since then. It is a good thing I am comfortable in my skin since there is a hell of a lot more of it these days. Even if it happens to be situated in the middle of a fur encrusted couch atop a dusty floor – I wouldn’t change a thing. Ginger 2000 certainly has cleaned up.
Comments