Our memories and our minds so often impact the way we do things. My daughters sometimes insist that I am a bit too fanatical about cleaning my home. They urge me to hire a housekeeper to come do the tasks that I faithfully complete each week. What they do not realize is the joy that I find in doing those things myself, not because I am obsessed with cleanliness, but because they remind me of my childhood and my mother. 

In her later years my mother let things go but when she was an energetic and vital woman she proudly kept her home in order. Since she went to work after my father died her routine changed dramatically. Instead of doing different tasks from Monday through Friday, Saturday mornings were the designated days for getting chores done and my brothers and I all played a part in the process. First, however, she slept in while we watched shows made for children early in the morning. We ate bowls of cereal while still in our pajamas until we heard our mother rising from her bed signalling that work time was about to begin. Once Mama arose from her slumbers she downed a cup of coffee and organized us for the jobs at hand.

My mother had a way of making the process of cleaning our home and yard a fun adventure. She carefully chose 45 rpm records from my father’s collection and mounted them on automatic play on the Victrola that had a prominent place in our living room. The music was always fast paced and stirring. Then she assigned the jobs with the promise that if we did good work we would receive a quarter to spend on our Saturday afternoon shopping excursion. 

We first tidied our bedrooms which meant putting everything in its place, changing the sheets, dusting and vacuuming the floor with the Kirby vacuum cleaner that our father had purchased for her before he died. Of course she inspected our efforts and gently showed us how to do a better job if we had neglected something. Then my brothers went outside to take care of the yard which meant mowing with a push mower in the spring and summer or raking up leaves in the fall. 

Meanwhile I had latrine duty and Mama was like a sergeant when it came to meeting her standards. She taught me early on how to reach under the toilet rim and lather every bit of porcelain surface with disinfecting cleaner. All the while the music continued to play in the background almost like my father’s voice telling me to be happy that my brothers and I had such a wonderful mom teaching us how to be responsible. 

I opened the bathroom window to let in the air and worked away on the sink and the bathtub and the tile. When the surfaces were gleaming and dry I’d set our fresh towels and marvel at my work. Mama would be making the kitchen as inviting as I had done in the bathroom. Then I would dust all of the furniture while she vacuumed the living and dining room. All the while the washing machine would be whirring away in the garage outside. 

I was never envious that my brothers got to work in the yard because their job was backbreaking and hot. Besides Mama and I would sing together and she would tell me stories of her childhood while we completed our tasks. Cleaning the house was like a therapy session for me. It was something that I was able to control and see instant results. It was like putting my life in good order each week. Besides spending that quarter after the chores were done was a highlight of the week.

My mother had a long term schedule of upkeep as well. Since she worked as a teacher she used the summer time for the real heavy duty cleaning. She and I would fill buckets with water and Pine Sol and then wash down all of the walls, baseboards and venetian blinds in the house. It took days to remove the all dust from the surfaces but the finished project was always so nice that it looked as though we had freshly painted the whole house. 

Mama also washed all the quilts that kept us warm in the winter when the sun was shining. I would help her hang then on the clothesline to dry. There was no need of extra products to make them smell fresh and new. The sun and the air did that job and I loved snuggling under them once they had been renewed. Their scent reminded me of my mother and the grandmother who had pieced them together with fabric from the bags of flower that she bought to make biscuits every morning. 

I suppose that it might sound strange to some that I associate so much joy with cleaning my home just as my mother taught me to do. I follow her instructions and routines to this very day. Somehow I am not yet ready to hand over that task to someone else. When I listen to music with my AirPods and put my house back in order on Saturday mornings I feel young and energetic again. I imagine my mother smiling at me and the two of us laughing as we work while my brothers are doing their parts outside. it is such a lovely feeling.