Loose Ends

I just finished scraping the wax off the porch table left from a candle that developed a hole in the side where the wax ran down the side like lava, and then I worked on getting the pet hair out of the bottom of the screen.

My other half and I have each made lists of things to do before all those people come to the house to say goodbye to our daughter who is moving out of the country.

Our lists only meet at 'cleaning the house' which took seven lines on my list and one on his.

To me, cleaning the house means vacuuming, dusting, cleaning bathrooms, windows, sinks, walls and woodwork, and mopping floors. It also includes getting the spiders I meet face to face when I get down on my hands and knees.

My other half doesn't do bathrooms, thinks he can clean three windows with the same paper towel and doesn't see the marks on the walls. Sinks are fine as long as they drain, and he can vacuum and dust everything in about three hours.

I gathered my tools, paint brush, tooth brush, bamboo skewers, sponges and rags, and set out for the next job. My other half sighed and said something about leaving it to me to turn cleaning into art. I ignored him and started in on the sliding door tracks. When I finished those I started on the outdoor window sills. My other half said he couldn't understand how I could clean the window sills and tolerate dirty windows.

Next I attacked the black spots on the deck where last year's pots had been sitting. "You are scrubbing the deck with a toothbrush?" he said incredulously.

"Only in the grooves here-I'm not doing the whole deck," I explained, just a little defensively.

My other half pointed out that while he is crossing things off his list at a rate of three or four a day, I haven't done one thing that was actually on my list.

He also mentioned that our guests are unlikely to be examining the baseboards in our closet but might notice that they can write their names in the dust on the front hall table.

He reminded me about the stack of papers on the floor beside my desk and the fact that my desk is buried under a mountain of papers.

That is on my list, but my other half and I have different definitions of the word list. He puts things on it he wants to get done so he can do them and cross them off the list. Imagine!

I make lists so I can feel organized. It satisfies a need I have to feel on top of things. Once I know what needs to be done, then I can go off and do what I want.

At the last minute I rush around, do the minimum and cross everything off the list. And - a bonus - the sliding door tracks are clean.