Connie the Gray

    This post is not about my hair which, under the dye, has gone from gray to white, this is about cleaning. When I think about how much housecleaning I used to do compared to now, it reminds me of the scene in Lord of the Rings where three of the good guys encounter Gandalf the wizard, whom they thought was dead. Apparently, even Gandalf thought he was dead because, when they call his name he says, "Gandalf? . . . Yes, that was what they used to call me . . . Gandalf the Gray." Admittedly, nobody ever used to call me Connie the Cleaner, but it would not have been too inaccurate. I still like things to be clean, I've just lost interest in being the one who makes them that way. Of course, the house does not get as dirty now as when we were full time parents, but I probably do less housecleaning in a month than I did on a typical Friday back then. 

     Today I noticed that my kitchen counters had reached the point where a wipe down with the dishcloth was not enough, so I decided to clean the kitchen. My new best buddy for cleaning is shaving cream. It works well, smells good, and makes me feel like I am finger painting instead of cleaning. While I was creaming the microwave, I discovered two things  I had long forgotten: 

                              1. The microwave has a back.

                              2. The back is not self cleaning.

Those are the type of details one forgets if one doesn't clean frequently. Not that I intend to change anything. My house is one of the many things I will leave behind when I go to my real home--heaven.  So, if the standards I once had for my home are now a distant memory from a cleaner, whiter existence,   

  -if the front of my fridge looks like I am preserving fingerprints for posterity

  -if no sane bird would mistake my front windows for open air

  -if my Norwex cleaning cloths die of neglect

  -if I am content to live with dust until that is what I become

feel free  to call me Connie the Gray. (As long as you're not referring to my hair!)