Cleaning Up, Living Life

OMG! Clean this. Mop that. Scrub it. Tidy over here. Dust over there. Do this! Do that! Wash the dog. Sweep the back yard. 

("I did not say..." He is reading over my shoulder, as I type, denying some of my claims. "Oh, maybe I did say that," he changes his mind)

It is Sunday.

Sam says we have to clean every week, scheduled, you know. It is something that has to be done routinely, or the world will cease to function as we know it. We will lose our home, jobs, and, no doubt, we will end up on the street. (I can only assume)

Really? All of that to be done on a Sunday morning. I took another spoonful of my Crunchy Nuts and returned my gaze to The Age (Australian newspaper) online.

Then he started singing that song, "The boy does nothing"... with very, very gay hand gestures. 

I objected and pointed at my laptop and I heard, "Does he clean up, no he never cleans up."

I tried to discuss this cleaning nonsense with him, and I heard, "Does he wash up, never wash up." Waggling his finger at me.

"Oh come on," I protested.

"He does nothing, the boy does nothing."

I'm more in the Quentin Crisp school of house keeping. You know, the dust doesn't get any thicker after 7 years. Well, I'm not quite as laid back about the cleaning as that, admittedly. If it looks dirty, give it a clean, that is my philosophy. I am definitely not in the school of everything must be cleaned every week to keep everything clean and tidy. No, I am not. And I can tell you, my Sunday morning will never be given over to house work... willingly.

But, Sam just started cleaning around me, giving me orders as he did so. Cleaning up around me. So, beaten down, guilted into it, I did clean the kitchen, washed up the saucepans, etc. Sam cooks and I clean, which has its downside, Sam is never backwards in using more dishes. I mopped the floors, put on some washing, cleaned up the dog shit in the back yard and hung out the clean clothes. 

And quite frankly, that was enough. Grrr!

But quietly, behind my hand, while Sam is looking the other way, the house is quite nice when it is clean, I have to admit. Oh fuck, it is such a drain to have to get up and do it, but it is nice when it is done. No, really. The problem is that as soon as we'd finished, we cooked rice and heated up the red curry left over from last night and the sink was covered in dirty dishes, yet again.

The cycle starts all over, and I never really know if having a spotless house is really worth it. Maybe, putting all that effort into finding the cure for cancer would be more worth while.

Then we took Buddy, and ourselves, for a walk in the Fitzroy Gardens. It was a fragile sunny day, where the sun shone crisply down, but with very little heat in it. Everybody wore jackets and scarves. The colours of the day sparkled.

The Fitzroy Gardens are beautiful in Autumn, I think it is my very favourite time for them. So majestic, so gorgeous, with a delicate multi-coloured carpet covering the rich green grass. Every tree seems to have its own rug below it. Every sharp edge is softened with a small patch of loveliness, with many, many "squares" of colour, like a magical quilt.