I like to clean my house. Not a simple clean, like deep clean, on your hands scrubbing the floor. It’s weird I know, but I do. I can get into a real zen place with it and I feel more connected to my environment afterwards and my mind (and house) feel less cluttered afterwards. I learned to clean from a lady named Liz when I was 17 until about 21. Liz, and her husband named Eld, would pay me to clean their house, and do chores around their property in exchange for herb.
Back in the day it was kind of hell to do it, but they had the really good herb. Liz would always sit nearby telling me exactly what to do, how to do it better, and yell at me when I was doing something wrong. They were crazy hippie people so they they had crystals and all kind o knick knacks on the window sills, which had to be removed, cleaned, and then put back on a fully scrubbed window and window sill. Liz was crazy. Literally. But she was also really sweet and funny.
I cleaned their house usually every couple of weeks from top to bottom, every single detail exactly in the same order. Every year they would have me organize their garage and barn. In the spring and summer I would weed their garden and flowerbed, and the mulch it all to put it away for the winter. I even delivered their baby goats and milked the goats on a regular basis when Eld wasn’t doing it. It was simple work, and they were task masters, but the weed was A+.
Liz comes to mind every single time I get down on my hands and knees and wash the floor of my house with a hand towel. I will never use a mop, and will always see the value in doing it myself because of LIz. I associated a cleaned house with a sane mind because of Liz. I am thankful for these moments from my past that have stuck with me, and have to take a moment to celebrate people who took the time to school me along the way—thanks LIz and Eld.
