What is it about spring that causes me to suddenly and obsessively clean my house? I don't claim to be a good housekeeper. I feel that "good" is a relative term. If you've spent much time in the 9th Ward in New Orleans (post-Katrina!), my house may look lovely in comparison. So when I speak of being a "good" housekeeper, I must refer back to the way I was raised. And let me tell you, I was raised better than this!!!
I started scrubbing the cabinet doors in the kitchen. The dirt had more dirt under it. Under that dirt was stains. Under the stains was more dirt. How did this happen to me? I remember my childhood. I don't remember our house ever being this filthy. Of course, my mother had far more sense than to ever purchase a house that had white cabinets, floors, appliances and trim. And she had more sense than to produce TWO male children. I should probably give my father some credit, too. After all, it was his "X" chromosome that made me who I am today. Anyway, I cleaned for two solid hours. The result is that I now realize I need to clean some more. In order to protect my few remaining brain cells, I had to open some windows. The fumes were starting to get to me. When the dirt started shrieking shrilly as I wiped it off, I knew I needed some fresh air. So I opened the windows, and now gale-force winds are blowing through my house. Outside, in my neighbor's yard, a squirrel is clinging for dear life to the branches of an oak tree, trying to avoid being blown to Kansas. I'm going to have to shut the windows. And quit cleaning the house before it I find anything I didn't want to know about!