Earlier this week I plunged in and scrubbed my kitchen cabinets. It's been over four years we've lived in this house and in all previous houses we'd have moved out by now which means that the kitchen cabinets would have been scrubbed clean.
Not that they were filthy, but years of hands on them and grease flying in the kitchen makes them a little gross.
As I was cleaning I was remembering the job I had my first semester in college. I was the cleaning lady for the college president's wife. I remember how kind she was and how she clearly didn't feel comfortable not doing this job herself but since the college offered it, she took it. She was particular about the way the vacuum lines in the carpet looked in the formal living room. I had to make sure they all went the same way. I have never forgotten that, anytime I see lines in a carpet I'm vacuuming I think of her.
I also remember thinking of how much old people shed. Now remember, I was eighteen at the time and they were probably my age now. The bathroom floor would be covered in hair and as I remember this I also know that now we are those old people and I could, in reality, vacuum my bathroom every day as there is proof of our age all over the floor. Weird.
That is not the only proof of my age though. As uncomfortable as she felt while I was cleaning her house though she probably appreciated it because I know this task took a lot longer for me at my age now than it did a few houses ago when I was a decade or two younger.
In fact, when I did a Google Image search for scrubbing kitchen cabinets, this is the second picture in the results:
Probably because that is exactly what's needed after a woman my age scrubs the kitchen cabinets.
I've since decided, should I ever come into a large amount of money, I will have live-in help. That way I could cook and write and drink tea and think happy thoughts without the distraction of having to clean my house.