cleanliness is next to...perfection

i love cleaning.

sometimes i think i missed my calling in life, and that i could make a fortune if i opened my own housekeeping business. when i clean, i clean. my parents joke that Vickie Clean™ is an ideal that no average human can attain. do you watch Friends? have you seen how maniacal monica is about cleanliness and order and organization...to the point where she’s fully embracing a touch of OCD?

yeah, that’s me.

my apartment is always tidy. not spotless – that only happens after a dedicated cleaning session – but certainly neat and orderly and clean. i am physically unable to leave dirty dishes in the sink, and i can’t truly enjoy a meal if i haven’t washed most (if not all) of the prepware and utensils before i sit down to eat. i’m not squicked out cleaning toilets or bathtubs, and i get a tiny thrill when i watch my vacuum cleaner suck up a crumb or a stray thread or a tiny piece of something hard that then whirls around, clinking, as it shoots into the bag. i try to sort incoming items as they come in – mail, groceries, whatever – rather than letting them pile up. when i was in Hell House, i had to be anal about any kind of garbage, lest random insects wander over from other units...and i’ve just kept that up. if it’s organic and possesses the ability to rot and smell, it’s immediately taken out to the dumpsters or bagged and put in the fridge until morning. all this to say, i like cleanliness.

yesterday, despite absolutely gorgeous weather, i decided to spend the day in my apartment, in my pyjamas, and give the entire place a spectacular 3+ hour master cleanse. and i was quite happy to be doing it. cleaning is a meditative activity for me. when i’m cleaning, i’m in the zone...the same zone that i’m in if i’m writing or drawing. everything was dusted, vacuumed, swept, mopped, wiped, washed or scrubbed. no cushion was left unturned. no piece of furniture was left unmoved. no dust bunny was left scrambling out of reach by the time i was finished.

and, when i was done, it was 600 square feet of heaven, as far as i’m concerned. is there anything as satisfying as reclining in pure, sparkling spotlessness after hours of cleaning? it’s that blissful exhaustion of a job well-done. at least that’s what it’s like for me. i realize this may be anomaly.

anyway, what does all this have to do with mother’s day, you ask? why is vickie blathering on about scouring pads and windex and picking lint off the bathmat? admittedly, i may be reaching a smidge in order to tie this entry in thematically, but i think – in fact, i’m almost certain – that i inherited this trait from my maternal grandmother. (happy mother’s day! there. :-))

my “oma” (the german word for grandmother) lived with us my whole life, and she was a fastidious cleaner. she would get up before 6am to clean before any of us had stumbled out of bed. stuff that didn’t even need cleaning was cleaned. floors were washed regularly, laundry done several times a week, dishes were dried and put away every night without fail. for many years, she also worked as a cleaning lady for ballerina veronica tennant, among others. (i only found this out as an adult. i suspect the information would have meant little to me as a child, anyway.) and, though it certainly wasn’t a lucrative career, she worked hard at it...both professionally and personally. she was a cleaning machine. and i think watching her while i was growing up implanted that same fastidiousness in me. when i’m visiting my parents and get into the cleaning zone, my mother will frequently remark, “you must have got that from oma!”

as a kid, i never really understood how or why my grandmother devoted so much time and energy into keeping the house clean, but i do now. somewhere in the recesses of my brain, that coding stuck and kicked into high gear once i had a place of my own. there is a huge amount of personal satisfaction in cleanliness...especially when a place is Vickie Clean™.

or Oma Clean™.