The Cleaning Lady

After Perfect Patty was deported, after Pandemica ended, The Tornadoes came into our lives.  Two women with all their equipment arrive just after 9 am.  There is no down time, except for a quick lunch standing at the kitchen island.  I've demanded that they use the table; they laugh at me and go back to their conversation.  

When the leave, we are afraid to disturb the CLEAN.  It is aggressively sparkly.  There is nary an errant long white hair to be found.  My cooktop looks like it was just delivered from the warehouse.  My main windows are washed, inside and out and my kitchen cabinet faces shimmer from their monthly wipe down.

And they are pleasantly unobtrusive, self-sufficient, feeling no need to share their personal lives with me, although they are delighted to hear me describe the new framed photographs as they are being dusted.  Everybody loves grandkids, after all.  

So today, when Gentle Ben called and asked if he was correct in remembering that I had a housekeeper who was looking for extra work.  Well, that was Perfect Patty and her help is now south of the border.  The Tornadoes have a long waiting list, but I'll ask.  And Amster is coming over with dinner tonight and she has help, too.

Gentle Ben fears an argument from his spouse, but he's tired of watching her wear herself out doing tasks that could be outsourced.  He, himself, is fully convinced that he is too old to do what he is doing around the house.  He'd rather they spend that energy on things that bring them joy.

I was reminded of my Grandmother venting in Yiddish and when I asked what was up she turned and said, with her customary scowl but her eyes dancing with love, the maid is the cheapest thing in the house.

Please, put her objectification of another human being aside.  She regarded everyone who was not immediate family as The Other; this was not a specifically directed slight. 

Focus, instead, on the layers behind it.  The maid was not an extravagance, she was as necessary as the iron and the kettle.  With two of them doing the work, everything got done and dinner was on the table and  - this is where the pedal hits the metal - there is one less thing to argue about.

If the girl (okay, that one is offensive and I knew it then and I asked how someone older than my teacher could be a girl..... and I don't remember the answer.....) was available to use the carpet sweeper after dinner, then Grandpa could wipe crumbs on the floor to his heart's delight.

There was no need for an argument.

The benefits reaped far outweighed the dollars spent.  

Plus, my grandparents helped their girls open bank accounts and establish references and find better jobs in The City when it was time for them to move on  One of my favorite memories is of Daddooo taking me to visit Althea at the Chock Full O' Nuts in Manhattan.  She knew exactly what I wanted, and served it with a flourish.  I was so impressed by her real world job, and with my father's pride in what his parents had helped come to pass.

So, I told Gentle Ben that he was helping the local economy and that perhaps his extended family could gift it to them for birthdays and anniversaries and other gift exchanging occasions.  And then I went back to admiring my startling clean home.  The ladies were here on Sunday, and I've still not done more than make oatmeal in the kitchen.  It's just too pretty.