Dear Reader,
This afternoon has been a That Thrifting Show afternoon. I started off with a poem about the weather. Original, I know. But it took a turn, as they always do, so that’s something. I won’t say what turn because I’m still going WTH??
I followed through with my plan to clean the porch windows, at least the inside ones. I got sidetracked, and not in a fun way. Part of getting to them was moving things, and in the process I moved a sculpture/figure my mother bought me for my birthday a few years ago, one she had my youngest sister pick out with her. As I moved it, I remembered my mom saying she had Cherokee help her find something that said “Paris,” since I had recently been for the first time.
It was overcast and chilly, and I had re-read my “Grieving Does Nothing for the Dead” last night, so it was fresh on my mind. I distinctly remember writing that poem huddled by a heater on the porch, telling myself that I had to get it together, that Cherokee would not want me to keep grieving so deeply, because it wouldn’t bring her or Mom back.
After finishing the windows, I sobbed as I moved the sculpture back into place. And sobbed.
I felt like I was right back in October.
Today the “storm” lasted only a few hours, and I haven’t had one in a long time now. Grief is a journey, and I know that.
I made myself eat a salad, unload the dishwasher and fold some laundry while watching that show which is pretty fun, if you like thrifting, and I do. Makes me wish I had a huge storage building and could totally change my household aesthetic a few times a year. Some of the painting techniques they showed were fire!
What I had planned to do before all that was to tell a story about me and window washing, but this post seems heavy now; can this post be saved?
Maybe.
Also, I’m thinking maybe I could get out the step ladder and clean at least a few of the outsides of the windows. That would be a few that wouldn’t need cleaning later. How hard could it be?
Word Raccoon says she does not approve of more housework, and that I ought to actually put the laundry away if I’m going to do anything else. But Word Raccoon, imagine how much better things will look when we clean the outside of the windows!
“I’ve had about enough of you today,” she says. “Just tell the story.”
Fine. When I was in college in the 90’s, I worked at our community pool as part of a youth program during the summer, doing whatever they needed besides life guarding. I am not that strong a swimmer!
My assignment one morning was to dust, sweep, and clean the windows in a little building just beside the pool, one they typically used for meetings and such. My supervisor unlocked the door and asked if I wanted the radio on. Of course I did.
He left me to it and I bopped as I sprayed the windows and squeegeed them. Then “Twist and Shout” came on, The Beatles’ version. I found myself on top of a table dancing to it. I don’t know why except I was 19 and that’s what I wanted to do in that moment.
Suddenly the door opened and my supervisor came in and asked if I was finished with the windows. As I climbed down off the table, I told him I was.
To his credit, he didn’t say anything to me about it, and no one else on the team mentioned it, so I imagine he didn’t say anything to them, either, which was a relief.
I didn’t get disciplined for it, although a few days later I was asked to weed around the pool’s sign, and it turns out there was poison ivy at its base and none of us recognized it. My fingers were a mess for a couple of weeks, but I didn’t complain much, not even when I had to go to the doctor’s and get a shot.
I won’t say I deserved poison ivy, because I was in agony, but I think I would’ve been more upset if the other youths had teased me about my cleaning pastime than having poison ivy.
And ever since that job, I’ve kinda liked washing windows. WR says I can do them all by myself then, if I choose to finish up.
Maybe I just will, WR. I could use some clearer sight right now.
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