Some call me a “domestic goddess”
I’ve Been a Maid for 90 Years. I’ve Broken Countless Ming Vases and Swept Them under the Rug.
And my own house? It’s a wreck. You know the old sayings, “The cobbler’s sons go barefoot.” “The mechanic’s girlfriend’s Subaru Ascent broke down. Again.”
There are so many distractions from cleaning house: the kids, the dogs, the neighbor’s cats, watching the falcons mate, the neighbor’s cats watching the falcons mate.
My mom stayed at home. She picked up a few jobs, helping neighbors around their homes. She cooked. She hated it. We had a lot of food from cans and instant potatoes from a box. I didn’t have fresh steamed asparagus until I was in my 30’s.
Mom cleaned. She rearranged the living room furniture at least once a month. She read “Reader’s Digest” and tabloids. She washed laundry and hung it out to dry. We lived in sunny San Diego, so using the “solar dryer” was a nice bit of a walk in the yard for her. One day, while I was at school, the metal part of a clothespin somehow snapped and got twisted around her finger. She had to go to the neighbor to pull it off for her.
She babysat a childhood friend of mine who one day left me tied to the clothesline pole when we were playing “Indians and Indians”.
