I work on a part-time basis. When I started back to work, I arranged it so that I would have one weekday off. Ever the planner, my idea was to use this day to clean, cook and organize. And when I say clean, I mean deep, cleaning-lady, wipe down the ceiling fan blades, scrub the kitchen tiles and disinfect everything clean. I even intended to dust.
That may seem like a regular job, not a deep-cleaning item. But as some of you may know, I treat dusting like other people treat dental care. I know it needs to be done, but I avoid it for as long as my health can stand it. When I finally, begrudgingly, take the plunge, I always pay the price for the long-term neglect. The cost is particularly high since I share my home with not just three other humans, with their sloughing skin and shedding heads, but also three good-sized dogs and two cats, who all seem to think I can use their fur to construct myself a nice coat and generously leave it everywhere. Everywhere.
The plan with weekly cleaning was that I would only have to do the down-and-dirty scrubbing and life-sucking dusting the first time. After that, it would simply be maintenance. It seemed like a good plan.
Except that eventually, I became resentful. Why was my day off relegated to toilet bowls and dead skin? No one else in my house spent their free time scrubbing kitchen floors and wondering how it was possible to get toothpaste on the shower curtain. How come I was the only one keeping the Department of Health at bay?
The new plan was that on our shared day off, we would all help clean the house. When I was young, my sisters and I weren’t allowed to go anywhere on the weekends until we cleaned our room and then one assigned common space. As the youngest, I often ended up disinfecting the bathtub while my sisters lightly dusted the knickknacks in the dining room — but I’m not bitter.
As a grown-up, I thought this seemed a good plan for my people, too. I’m not sure why I thought that. We are all out of the house on Saturday by 7:30 a.m. We continue to run until noon. Then we’re scrambling for lunch before a blood sugar crash turns a child into a rabid gremlin. Before I know it, it’s time to plan dinner. There’s a fine sheath of animal hair covering all the floor space, the front windows are spotted with dog slobber and my children have scattered like the wind, to the corners of the earth.
After a couple of weeks (OK, months) of this, I’d given up on my housemates and it became painfully apparent that no fairy was going to sneak into my house in the middle of the night to clean it. This, by the way, would be way more useful than the tooth fairy. Just saying.
So, this week, on my day off, I donned the purple gloves that cover my arms up to the elbows and dug into the filth that was my house. As I stood on a chair, scrubbing the bathroom ceiling that was covered in little black dots of mildew, even though we use the special paint that is supposed to repel the nasty stuff, I had to marvel at its persistence. Not only was the ceiling a speckled mess of lung irritants, but it seemed to have moved down onto the walls. Upon closer inspection, it turns out the dots on the wall were not mold, but instead, dead bugs.
I’m sorry, WTF? Why were bugs stuck to my wall? And I don’t mean, “Oh look, there seems to be a bug stuck to the wall.” I mean, “Holy mother of God! There are dozens of flattened insects on my freaking wall!!”
Was my house possessed by some dissatisfied exterminator who was now exacting his or her revenge on my powder room? Did suicidal gnats dive-bomb my walls, die and just … stick there? Was there some black-hole-like force that drew fruit flies to their untimely death, a siren song of insecticide? It was all very freaky. To be honest, I don’t really want to know why or how, or even if it’s going to happen again. I mostly just want to pretend it was mildew and move on.
After hours of wiping and scraping, I considered it mostly clean. When I brought the people back home after school, one of the dependents said, “Something seems different.” Really? Something? It smelled like an essential oil fairy had exploded in my house. There were no more animal hair tumbleweeds lazily blowing across the dining room. The bathroom sink was so clean, I could see my reflection. And there was “something” different?
I don’t know why I bother. I should just drink.
Since we’re hosting Thanksgiving this year, it wouldn’t be polite if I didn’t taste test the cocktails. I found this one on Saveur.com As a whiskey fan, I think this one is a winner. Happy Thanksgiving!
Whiskey Seduction
Ingredients
2 oz. rye whiskey
3⁄4 oz. red wine, such as pinot noir
1⁄2 oz. black currant liqueur
1⁄2 fresh lemon juice
Lemon peel for garnish
Instructions
In a cocktail shaker filled with ice, combine rye whiskey, wine, liqueur, and lemon juice. Shake well and strain into an ice-filled rocks glass. Squeeze the lemon peel lightly to release its oils and run around the rim of the glass before adding to the cocktail as a garnish.
What are you bringing to the holiday feast this year? I may just serve this. The kids are really old enough to fend for themselves.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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