Listen! My lover!
Look! Here he comes,
leaping across the mountains,
bounding over the hills.
My lover is like a gazelle or young stag.
Look! There he stands behind our wall,
gazing through the windows,
peering through the lattice.
My lover spoke and said to me, “Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.”
– Song of Songs 2:8-13
On another note: Friends, please pray for my son who is in a position of having to fly to Shanghai this Monday, via California, over Japan. Thanks.
Did you read yesterday’s post? Did it make sense? Did it sound hopeful?
Today we will walk through a session of how I keep my house spring clean. Seeing an example will give a better idea of how this method will serve you as you clean your house within your schedule, so here goes!
Cleaning supplies
First, gather the supplies you will need. I like the double sided tote shown here because it can hold supplies and soapy water in one container. I’m not sure I’ll need all of this, but I don’t mind bringing it along. I don’t normally use rubber gloves for cleaning windows, but I know there will be need for them when I do the threshold. Not shown is a roll of paper towels.
My Front Door
This is the front door to my house. We know it is early spring because the tulips in the yellow pot have faded. We know there was a recent cold snap because the geranium is not in its plant stand. You see the trees across the street from us, reflected in the glass of the front storm door. What you do not see is how dirty the glass and the frame are. They really distract from the beauty outdoors with smears and dusty rain spatters. The first step is to spray the glass with window cleaner and wipe down with paper toweling. This huge expanse of glass is hard to make clean-looking, so I am not afraid to spray some cleaner and change paper towels often. I found that spraying the entire door-sized window and wiping quickly, from the bottom up, works best. Then I repeat. After that, open the door and do the inside the same way.
Since the storm door is aluminum with a baked-on paint-like finish, I spray the frame with glass cleaner, too, and wipe it down. I am always amazed at how dirty doors can be, by the handle or knob. I notice a couple screws missing, and list them for replacing, later.
Close-up of Carved Door
Next is a close-up of the intricacies of this door. It needs a new coat of paint as the dark green is too heat-trapping for this western exposure. We do not have the paint, yet, so I guess it will keep until the weather warms more. Therefore, I will clean the scrolling designs, which tend to fill with road dust. I use the window spray, again, because in these tight designs, rinsing off soap would be difficult. I use an old toothbrush to scrub gently on the knocker, without any cleaner.
Threshold
Before going indoors, I notice the threshold is rather dirty. Using warm, soapy water and a scrub brush, I work on the concrete surface and the metal parts. The rubber strip gets a careful wiping with a sponge. I wipe off as much as I can and make note of the tiny crack forming, so we can make repairs.
Inside of Door
Inside, the door is not so intricate, but is a flat white, needing washing often. I note the door has not been painted correctly, needing white on the edge, instead of the green. Then I begin at the bottom, using a spray, again.
By this time, a half-hour is nearly over, so it’s time to put things up. What? It doesn’t seem like much? You’re right, using this method makes Spring Cleaning not seem like much, at all.
Closet by the Front Door
I’ve been working hard all week and tomorrow is my usual day off, so on Monday, we’ll do this closet, by the front door.
Lots of places I read about spring cleaning. It can be a big guilt trip. Why?
Long ago, when women did spring cleaning, they had time. Today, women have been robbed of their time. The perceived need for each person on this earth to work for pay has led to no one doing the non-paying jobs like cleaning. Or if someone does clean, that someone is tired and only half cleans.
Long ago, when women did spring cleaning, they had help. No, I don’t mean slaves or servants. I mean neighbors. Today, women have been robbed of their neighbors. Oh, we have plenty of houses all around us, but during the day, they all are empty. The perceived need for each person on this earth to be somewhere else has led to no one being at home. Women used to help each other in a frank and nurturing way. Now women play cut-throat office politics.
Long ago, there was less stuff. If you only have one of each thing you need, it all gets easier. But we’ve been robbed of our contentment. The perceived need for each person on this earth to have more money has led to everyone spending more. Gotta buy something, right? So we load up on quasi-Mediterranean, do-nothing props from Mercenary-Mart to fill our ranch-style mantels to overflowing.
Long ago, houses were smaller. Actually, the smaller house is enjoying a revival, right now, but that will only drive the prices up. How sad that many of the Palladian palaces are sitting empty. That’s one way to keep the dust levels down, but the truth is: we’ve been robbed of any kind of moderation or restraint. Vacuuming literally, for miles, can discourage.
Long ago, women knew how to do spring cleaning. Today we are one generation removed from information about many how-to’s, but I think I can help.
Catch this blog tomorrow for a totally radical way to knock out the spring cleaning without actually doing spring cleaning. That’s right—you will love this plan for a totally clean house the easy way.
I just want to tell you about my grandmother, Laura, this time. I am a grandmother, and when I was little, I always wanted to be one. When I need inspiration, I remember my grandmother, Laura. Life is so different, now, though.
I know she was elderly because she had arthritic knuckles, gray hair, and a craggy voice. She wore a dress at all times, and she wore shoes with thick, high heels that tied on, sort of like men’s dress wingbacks, perforations and all. Do they even still sell those?
She sewed all her dresses. And sometimes, as a gift, she sewed my mother a dress, too. And she sewed the first dress I ever wore when I was very tiny. I know she made these dresses, because she made a quilt for each of her grandchildren. She did not go to a store for fabric for these quilts. No, she used fabric scraps from sewing dresses. When she made my quilt, she was careful to use many scraps from my mother’s and from my dresses.
I look at the quilt she made for me and I see the dress my mother wore to church in summer. I see a dress my grandmother wore. I see my very first, ever, dress I wore when I was tiny.
I don’t know how my grandmother found the time. She babysat three children, to make an income, because she was widowed when my mother was six. She used her entire, small backyard as a strawberry patch and put up all those berries or traded them for peaches and crabapples to put up. She made her own soap on the wood stove in the woodshed for all washing needs, for clothing, dishes, and bathing. She heated with wood or coal. She did laundry in the woodshed using a wringer washer and hanging it out in summer or in the woodshed in winter, when it froze.
And she prayed. I mean, she really took time out to pray. She would tell us not to bother her while she prayed, she would go to her room and shut the door, and she would pray.
When we visited her, we played with her one box of toys, leftovers from when our aunts and uncles were little. We loved these odd toys that didn’t do anything except prop up our playtime. She let us watch while she made us rolled-out sugar cookies in shapes like stars, hearts, and flowers. When we asked for colored sugar, she told us it tastes the same. We didn’t believe it.
One wonderful time, I got to sleep with her because I was the oldest and probably would not kick too much. I got to watch her unbraid and comb her hair, which was far beyond waist length. Seeing my grandmother in her gown in the moonlight by the window, combing amazingly long and wavy hair, made her seem to me like an angel. I was in awe.
Then she broke the spell by rebraiding her hair. She never used a rubber band, but simply pulled a strand of hair and wound the end of the braid like a fishing lure. I was filled with questions, then. Why do you braid your hair to sleep? How does it stay in place with no rubber band? I don’t remember her answers, but only my awe and her amusement.
She died about 48 years ago. I still miss her. I still want to be like her when I grow up.
My Grandmother's quilt
Here is the quilt she made for me. You can see light red and white tiny checked fabric on the bottom, just right of center. That was my baby dress. It had teensy rickrack on it.
Just right of that is a sort of black and pink tattersal with pink x’s. That was my mom’s summer Sunday dress for awhile. It had white lace at the neckline.
Parly out of view on the left is a white with black swirls. My grandmother wore that. There we all are, in one quilt.
I just finished reading a lengthy public apology written by a sweet, unassuming lady who has been attacked with nasty politics on the blogosphere. Her reply to the meanness around her was well-thought-out and gently, but firmly, put.
I wish I could have her popularity on the Internet, but not enough to attack her.
I wish I could have her calmness under fire.
She looks, in her lovely Madonna photo, to be many years my younger. She is incredibly beautiful, like Mona Lisa. Her baby could have been painted by Raphael. Everything about her blog is all sweetness and light, happiness and help. To me.
To others it has seemed to be some sort of Internet poison, or something. The vitriol aimed back at her was dammed up by the asininity of failed Internet connections. Once the log jam broke up, I’m sure it nearly swept her away. Now, no matter what she does, it seems no one is satisfied.
My heart is broken for her.
And I am afraid.
That is why I thrust out boldly to make this assertion: No matter what, when good people try to do good, there will be others who love—yes, LOVE—to do evil in return. It has always been that way and always will. They will grumble and rumble and lash out with lightning bolts. They will feel threatened and judged. And they won’t know why, although they will think they do.
Only recently I attempted to reach out to someone who had posted a very sad and touching poem on a blog. All I said, since I was, after all, a stranger, was, “Someone cares.”
The poison I received in return, and that was published for all to see, right below my name on that site, was breathtaking. How anyone could contain that much pain is beyond me, but now I think it is a common occurrence. I am sure I got only the tip of the iceberg because that’s all anyone ever gets. At first I was numb, then saddened to think probably this person is beyond help. Very saddened. When I apologized and stated that I had not meant to offend, but only to comment on a poem that perhaps I had misunderstood, I received no reply.
Of course.
As, probably, will this sweet young mom.
But she has supporters. She has a wonderful family situation. Her fans absolutely love her. She will survive. But her totally wise decision, to withdraw from the melee, is a loss to the whole world.
I never was going to blog about blog. It reminds me of meditating on toenails. But this is really about something else, isn’t it?
And I wonder if the holders of the reins, up there, have any idea.
Boundaries are wonderful. Without them we could not have ponds. No ponds, no fish. Yes, we like boundaries. I think the fish do, too.
One boundary we think we don’t welcome is the womb. Wombs are wonderful. Without them we could not have babies. I think the babies like them, too.
But we ignore what we know is true and we violate that quiet, safe place for our growing babies, every day. Over 3000 times per day. It is impossible to violate our own bodies and our children’s lives the way we do, and still feel human.
Look at this:
In Pennsylvania, they’ve found a physician/abortionist who has made a profession and a large fortune from violating the boundaries of our wombs. How did he do it? By accepting payment in cash, not reporting his earnings, storing his money at home instead of in a bank, not disposing of bio-hazards, not sterilizing equipment, not providing gowns for patients, and barely paying staff.
Oh, and he sold drugs on the side. Cash, only, please.
More than half the people who went into his “clinic” died. You know, all the babies died, and several of the moms, too. It was just like the good ol’ days, minus the coat hanger. “Safe and rare”, my foot.
The only good thing about it, if it can be called good, is the wording the Philadelphia reporter, Stephanie Farr, used as she wrote her detailed report about Dr. Gosnell’s goings on:
“How many severed baby spines does it take to pay for a $984,000 shore house? How many severed infant feet is a boat worth?”
I am glad she said it that way. I don’t know how she had the nerve to write this truth in such big newspaper, nor how she got by with it, but there it was, on the Internet, for all to see. For all to think about. For all to try to grasp.
Not only does abortion mistreat women; it mistreats babies, violates wombs, ignores boundaries.
Boundaries occur everywhere and they are good. Think of a horse or a toddler without a fence. Think of a dog without rules. Think of your bank account without a PIN. We love these boundaries and use them to the fullest.
We agree with boundaries for others, but for some reason, we cannot reconcile ourselves with boundaries for self. Think of the red light runners. Think of all the overdrawn bank accounts. Think of overweight. We refuse to see the good in boundaries and quickly shrug them when they are imposed upon self.
People who ruin lives overeating, overspending, and running red lights probably would tell you the boundaries are good, but . . . deep down we hope some other rule cancels the ones we don’t like. A friend once actually told me eating cheese with apple pie will cancel the calories in the pie. Another friend told me she divorced her husband because, “divorce is too easy these days.” That’s a reason?
Actually, marriage used to be a boundary for most people. It kept the rightful spouses in and pretenders and diseases out, a good thing. These days, we’re so used to tossing boundaries for perceived convenience, we fall in and out of love, marriage, and all other “affairs” at the blink of an eye.
Do not get me wrong. I do not think every obese, broke, divorced person who accidentally wrecked while running a red light is bad.
I just think with so many, it may be a trend. Just look at all the boundaries and rules we ignore, and their resulting ruinous counterparts:
1. Marriage–divorce
2. Pregnancy–abortion
3. Motherhood–day care
4. Budgeting–bankruptcy
5. Contentment–stress
6. Cooking–eating out
7. Seatbelt and texting laws–funerals
This incomplete list shows how all-encompassing the problem is.
Let’s each work to shorten this list, to add a few more boundaries to our lives.
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