Robin Writes: Spring cleaning time
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By Robin Garrison Leach
It’s time for spring cleaning. I know this, because I see the neighbors out there, wiping windows, sweeping stoops, and just generally bustling about.
The first few days of continuous sunshine and temperatures above 50 trigger this innate urge to clean, and I am trying to get to work on my own winter hovel.
We’ve been holed up in this house for months, venturing out for supplies and rare glimpses of sunshine here and there. Most of the days since Thanksgiving have been spent within walls that have gotten closer and closer as we try to avoid crashing into each other on our way to the frig or bathroom or sofa.
I’ve avoided looking beyond eye level, because I know there are cobwebs in the corners of the rooms; they’re a combination of dust from the blowing heat registers and terse conversations we’ve hurled about all winter.
I’m convinced they hold the odors of stews we’ve eaten, hundreds of “what”s hurled back and forth, and millions of commercials from our on-all-winter TV.
I haven’t vacuumed in a while; boots are parked on the mat by the door and my winter-weary eyes think the floors look fine. But spring-cleaning time shows the truth.
Now, I am seeing sock-shaped outlines here and there, errant ornament hooks, and tiny flakes of dried mud. Shame on me for my lax housekeeping—it’s been difficult to expend effort during hibernation.
Lazily letting dishes pile up while we lolled in wintry stupor with crumb-stained shirts and yesterday’s pants has taken its toll on the kitchen sink. It’s not shiny chrome anymore. It’s gray with streaks of tired tan, like my hair where it meets my scalp.
The drapes that have framed my view of the cold, dull world outside seemed fine compared to the colorless world beyond, but now I see how limp and dingy they’ve become. The sheers behind them are gossamer ghosts of their former brightness.
And the glass behind those curtains? After holiday decorations, wintry splotches of wetness, and furtive faces pressed and peeping against it toward any interesting activity from neighbors, it bears the streaky scars of our imprisonment.
I could write “HELP ME” in the grime there, and it could be read by passersby.
I ache to open those windows and let in a clean breeze, but it’s still too soon. And I know it would only stir up the mess inside and make it harder to clean.
The light from lamps and overhead fixtures seem dully muted as I walk from room to room. We have been existing in sepia tones, like old, grainy photos from Grandma’s time. During the winter, it didn’t matter, but now I can see how much dust is clouding the light bulbs.
Now that spring is here, I want to see clearly again. Time to Swiffer those bulbs. Then the surfaces below them. Then the floor.
Books and magazines and TV Guides and pens and pencils and junk mail cover surfaces everywhere we’ve sat since last fall. They rotate occasionally but never disappear. The coupons I tore out and saved in November lay expired under the ones I added in March. It’s time to make a clean sweep.
Like shedding winter coats for springtime sweaters, the act of spring cleaning uncovers the home we used as a refuge all these months and brings it back to the lighter, brighter version of life we are soon going to enjoy.
And while I don’t love cleaning in any season, the idea of starting fresh is a contagious notion I feel tickling my scrubbing fingers. I hear the swirl of springtime wind and reach for the Windex.
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ν Robin is a freelance columnist who lives and writes in Quincy, Illinois. Contact her at [email protected].
