Just this morning, as I threw yet another load into my washer ( I live alone, it ain’t much) I was thinking about this very thing. I don’t do windows. I will not clean floors. I hate to dust. But there is something very wonderful about ironing, which I have always loved for the clean warm smell and the snappy odor of starch, the way things look when I’ve done it well, the feeling of taking care of business. I feel the same way about laundry.

Having written this, I realized that inside the house, I prefer working with already clean stuff. I am not necessarily averse to cleaning per se; it’s the rituals I like, the repetitive motions. It’s much the same way I love to lift weights, after 45 years at the gym (I was there at six am today) the soothing motion and feeling of lifting real iron has an excellent meditational effect. And, it makes me strong enough so that at 65, last year I moved a very very heavy sleep couch from my living room to the garage, by myself. Screwed my linoleum, but that’s repairable.

Perhaps what interests me about this- being a farm girl by birth and training- is that I love chores. Some are onerous but necessary. Others provide remarkable soothing properties. I am not Susie Homemaker. But the rare moments where I do get to do some ironing, and since I live in Lycra and adventure gear they are indeed rare, those moments anchor me in the process both of self care and caring for my home.

My mother was forever in love with the smell of bleach, which she related to her mother and home. Cleaning is caring for, whether it’s our selves, our duds or our homes. The act of caring is just that; respecting ourselves, our bodies our environments. It is a meditation on life in some very wonderful ways.

But windows….I hire someone else. :-)