I love cleaning.

I was going to write about a window cleaner, because I love cleaning windows. But this is what it became instead.



She'd never intended to be a house cleaner. It's certainly not as though she had aspired to it as a child or anything. Nonetheless it had evolved through a series of small choices, as so many things in her life had. The beauty of it, she realized, was that she loved what she did. Loved it unquestioningly, ceaselessly, and simply. When she entered a client's house, she would sometimes shudder. Not from disgust, or from judgement. Never that. The shudder that would roll through her came from a place of sheer anticipation. She was about to transform a space, and, she imagined, to make people feel as wonderful as she always felt in the midst of cleanliness and order.

She worked while her clients were themselves out working. They toiled at jobs that afforded them great big homes and absolutely no time to tend to them. She never failed to give a holler on entering a home. She had once arrived an hour early for a job and inadvertently strode into the master bedroom while the home owners were in the midst of a weekly 'engagement' that had terrified her and embarrassed all three of them. She promptly left, returning at her appointed time and assuming she would be fired. But the following week, there was her usual check and a polite little note reminding her of her start time. It taught her to never arrive unexpectedly, and to always, always give a holler when you come through the door.

After she greeted the resident pet, rare as they are in these ornamental and silent homes, she headed straight for the kitchen. The heart of the home, she always maintained, and second dirtiest only to the bathrooms. She had an eye for details and took pride in cleaning light switches, silverware drawers, cupboard doors, underneath sinks, and garbage cans. Places most people didn't even notice getting dirty. But the ones who did notice were the people she chose to work for, and they were the reason she could afford to clean only four houses a week. They valued the results of her detail oriented labor, and paid her accordingly.

Surfaces were well dusted, with knickknacks removed and replaced to please her own eye. She knew this illustrated to her clients that she dusted thoroughly and didn't just wipe around things. She also felt that her own decorative aesthetic was universally pleasing. She had never had a complaint, which emboldened her to occasionally rearrange an entire room. She believed in more than just cleaning a space. She felt that one's surroundings contribute to either a sense of calm or of chaos. She took intense pleasure in entering a room that looked beautiful, and felt clean and uncluttered. Even if a client uncharacteristically requested something like 'please only dust in the living room' they still came home to find tidy piles, bookshelves rearranged alphabetically, pillows plumped, and drapes pulled back just enough to let the evening sun softly filter into the room.

Tending to the upstairs of each and every home she entered was her favorite part of the job, and she always saved it for last. This is where people are truly at home, she thought. This is where hair comes down, bras come off, and the deeply vulnerable acts of bathing and sleeping happened. Though she was detail oriented everywhere, she took extra care here. She took care of common areas first, such as landings and libraries and offices. Always the dirtiest rooms in any home, she took a singular pleasure in leaving the bathrooms sparkling. Bedrooms, always her favorite part of a house to tend, came last. Children's rooms made her feel nostalgic as she worked. She organized toys, paying close attention to which ones were left in unmade beds. When she remade those ordinary beds with one corner of the sheets and comforter turned down,  it suddenly became special. A waiting bed, a comforting, beckoning bed. The child's favored toy would be carefully tucked in under the fold with its head resting on the pillow. She remembered how hard it had been to learn multiplication tables and to navigate the changeable waters of friendship and the humiliation that came so easily in gym class. And how coming home to her own childhood room had felt. How her own favorite toy would be waiting to greet and comfort her.

Teenagers rooms were intimidating. She was shocked by the things she saw in most of them. And while she was still fastidious, she knew better than to rearrange anything. She did her job and left these rooms less chaotic and smelling much better than when she entered.

In master bedrooms she felt her kindness and her care meet most conscientiously. She moved about with the intent of creating a peaceful, lovely, and quiet space. Each surface was dusted, each item replaced with an eye to convenience and beauty. The bed was completely re made, the covers turned down and the pillows fluffed. She imagined the people who occupied these rooms stepping through the door and taking it all in. She hoped that in seeing all of the details she had minded, they would feel safe, relaxed, and cared for.

As she left whichever home she had just cleaned, she felt proud of the job she'd done, and confident that no fault could be found. She could lock the door behind her and be done with it. As she walked to her car, she felt so much better than she ever had leaving a courtroom. Even when she won. She had definitely taken a step up in the world.

a perfect moment at a time

I feel like writing simply because...today feels so joyful and ripe. Nik is recovered enough from her flu that she accompanied me on my dog walking walk today. It's hard to see her unwell. She's so active and has been entirely healthy for two years, and this flu has been a sad, sad flu. BUT...the up and about Nik'l I saw today has sparked my temporarily put-to-rest travel bug, and I am feeling all ants in the pants to go away again. We had been planning on seeing Gettysburg, and then camping in MD, a first for us both. New places to see and experience together! Let the planning commence!!
I also created something new today! It's a gift though, and as I've no idea if its recipient looks at this blog, I won't be posting any images of it. But...it felt really wonderful to make something where once there was just a box of matches. And to wrap it up and get it set to ship tomorrow! The giving of a gift is so joy making  in itself.
I'm feeling grateful, and today held many little treasures, so I'll end this entry with a small list of..

*waking up to Bijou's mewing 'now? nowww? nnowwwww?' and letting her in for a morning snuggle
*A perfectly toasted multi grain bagel, lots of butter
*Seeing Nik'l up and dressed and energetic
*being greeted by Ruth, my great dane friend
*laughing with my bff on the phone, and making happy time-together plans
*touching base with a friend who is far away, and feeling happier for it
*watermelon
*my brother butch and the beautiful cupboards he painted
*hearing bird song, feeling warm breezes, and watching the summer light change as evening sets in
*feeling utterly content in this moment

And realizing that in each moment of this day, even when I felt cranky, there was perfection....

the difference between making and creating

I wrote awhile back about the woman on etsy who began making my bridesmaid boxes. I struggled deeply with my belief that she was taking sales from me. I worked through my anger and fear by creating new designs, and improving my own items. Which felt good. I put all of my energy into this, trying to set myself apart from her and to compete with her for sales. For months, I've been doing this. But a few nights ago I had this thought..."When did I stop 'creating' and settle for 'making'?" I haven't created anything in ages. The thing that sets me apart from this woman is my creativity. The bridesmaid invitation boxes are lovely, and I value the connections I make through them, but anyone can make them. My collages, shadowboxes and cards, however, are entirely unique because they are expressions of me! I had lost sight of my joy and my values. Of creating things that I love. When I'm creating, I feel excited. I am full of energy and enthusiasm and ideas. For too long I have focused on making, and competing.
So in my heart, I let the bridesmaid boxes go. I still offer them, I still make them, and I still value the connections and wage I make with them. But my primary focus has shifted back into creating. The thrill that has come along with this internal shift has been amazing! I am full of ideas and a huge burst of energy. The irony is that the day after I let the bridesmaid boxes go, I sold 10 of them.:) Funny how releasing something works.
And so, I am learning how to make tiny books and will create wee small shadowboxes with their very own stories. And I will encapsulate unicorn energy and curiosity and wonder in containers of all shapes and sizes. I will dream and create and share. And I will not need to compete. Because I will simply Be, and no one else can touch that.

An ABC horror story

I had no idea that this is where this story would go. I thought it was going to be a fairy tale!

 Abilene knew to never enter the forest, regardless of the time of day or who she was with. Bernard, her older brothers best friend, had done it on a dare one day, and had been missing for nearly 9 years. Carefree as her childhood was, the shadow of danger hung over it like a veil. Danger, lurking in the tree line. Edging ever closer to her own back yard. Father told her stories from his own youth, and of the friend who, like Bernard, disappeared one day.
Gravel crunched under Abilene's tires as she rode her bike one hot, still summer day. Her hair clung to her neck and dust rose into the air to settle on her skin, making little muddy rivulets of sweat on her face. Ivy had begun to creep out of the forest to climb the jungle gym on the outskirts of town. Jump ropes and jacks lay forgotten, having been abandoned hastily when rumor spread that the forest had claimed a child who was only near and not in it. Kicking at rocks as she walked, head down, Abilene tried hard not to look into the shadows. Longing filled her, and she imagined herself bravely running straight into those forbidden woods. Maybe she would be the one to liberate all of those long lost children.  
Night fell softly in the fragrant way that hot summer nights fall. Overhead the street lights began to flicker, calling Abilene home to supper, and a bath and cool, clean sheets. Perched on a tree limb at the edge of the woods, a bird called out a haunting and lovely song. Queerly shaped and large, it sang again and though it sounded lovely Abilene felt the hair on her neck and arms rise in response. Retreating a few steps, she stared at the bird until her eyes ached and played tricks on her. She knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that this was the unknowable fear, the taker of children, the danger she had heard tell of her entire life. The bird dropped awkwardly from its perch, and began a lumbering shuffle toward her. Uttering a cry of revulsion, Abilene bent, feeling for rocks, unable to look away from the bird and its slow approach. Vulture body, hunched and huge, a scarred and ancient face, a ragged beak. Witches, Abilene knew, were kind and and gentle and lived close to nature; this was no witch. X's of puckered flesh covered its eyes, but Abilene could feel it seeing her. "You'll hear my name and lose your own" the bird sang to her, "lose your mind and never go home". "Zeeenabrahaaavvnaaaaa", the name came sweetly from its twisted beak and slid through the fragrant night air, and it was the last thing Abilene ever heard.

642 things to write about...#1

Annie woke gently, and stretched in the pre dawn light. Birds were just beginning to serenade the morning outside her window. Carefully, she lifted the edge of the curtain and peered out. Daylight's slow approach turned the sky into a seamless piece of ombre silk. Everything was still, and her world, in that moment, felt like the pause between breathes, poised, silent. Faraway, she could hear the crowing of a single rooster, boisterous and joyful. Gershwin appeared at the end of Annie's bed in that silent way that cats suddenly appear. He mewed and mrowed and butted his head against her chin, purring his good morning to her.
In the kitchen, they moved about their routines with purpose. Jumping to the top of the refrigerator, Gershwin oversaw Annie's breakfast preparations from the corner of his eye as he went about his morning grooming. Knife in hand, she sliced her bagel as she spoke softly to Gershwin. "Life is full of so much possibility", she explained to him, "and not a thing to be napped through". Maybe, thought Gershwin, maybe not. Not that he was opposed to being awake, mind you. Often he was up for hours on end playing and patrolling the house. People simply lacked the ability to relish a good cat nap, he figured. Quiet and stillness seemed unattainable to them, except at night which as any cat knew was the very best time to stalk shadows. Reaching a paw out to pat Annie's hair as she walked by, Gershwin felt sorry for his person. She was such a slave to her humanity.Today he would bird watch,and he would sleep in beams of sunlight between eating and playing and sleeping some more. Underneath the porch, he knew, was a family of mice whom he would kill come evening. Virtually every moment of his day held purpose. "We need groceries, and I need to go to the dry cleaners" Annie prattled on. X-ray vision couldn't show Gershwin a clearer picture of her inner workings. Yawning extravagantly, he turned his back on her and thought " and I have at least 4 naps to fit in before lunch". Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

This was FUN! The assignment was to tell a story in which each sentence begins with a letter of the alphabet, moving sequentially..A,B,C, etc.

Shampoo Free...Still!

It's been nearly a year since I decided to go Shampoo Free. Here's a bit of background as to how I came to it.
A few years ago I began struggling with dandruff for the first time ever. I started using a dandruff shampoo, and thus began my weekly cycle...Wash hair, which then gets fluffy and frizzy, scalp feels itchy. Two days or so later, oily hair, itchy scalp. Wash. Itch. Repeat. I got pretty fed up, and at about the same time, my love read about sodium laurel sulphate, which is in most soaps and shampoos...and engine de-greasers, floor cleaners, and car wash soaps. Scary, toxic stuff.
This new knowledge Thoroughly freaked me out. I eat organic, yet I was bathing in toxins? No thank you. So I started to look into alternatives. I searched the internet, hoping to find some organic shampoo, but what I found instead was the 'No 'poo movement'. And I was thrilled. The theory was simple. Our bodies regulate themselves just fine. This includes our scalps ability to produce enough oil to maintain it's own health. When we shampoo with a chemical like SLS it strips our scalp Entirely of oil, which then causes our scalp to over produce in order to compensate. Going shampoo free allows our scalp to regulate itself, and the results are beautiful.
Here is my original blog entry from that time..
http://inthefloment.blogspot.com/2012/06/shampoo-and-soap-free.html

It's been almost an entire year! I've learned a lot by reading about others experiences, but mainly through trial and error.
Here's where I am today...I began to boil my water after realizing that it's 'hard water' and may have been the original cause of my dandruff(!). I add baking soda while the water is still hot but no longer boiling. There's a fun volcanic reaction, after which I have a silky, slippery feeling water/baking powder solution. I put the mixture into a reusable water bottle with a pop top. I just shake it up to wash my hair. I rinse with faucet water, but I always re rinse with a boiled water (cooled down of course!!) and lemon mixture. I massage that into my scalp, let it sit a few minutes and then give it one more rinse with boiled and cooled water. I tried using apple cider vinegar as a conditioning rinse for awhile. People swear by it but I couldn't stand the smell. It pretty much disappears after your hair dries, but if I went go to yoga, and my head got hot or started to sweat, I emanated salad scents. Not so appealing.
Here is my hair now...

Obviously, I've also spent the year letting it grow! I am itch and dandruff free. I've also managed to switch to soap, deodorant, makeup, and toothpaste which are all SLS, paraben, and phthlates FREE.

I highly encourage you to make the leap! The first few weeks was a rough transition, but beyond that it's been amazing. Read a lot, try things, ask questions, and be willing to be greasy for awhile!

Lost, spring, yoga, and randomness.

I'm officially addicted...to Lost. I never watched it when it originally aired, but thanks to that Enabler, Netflix, I am on 5 episodes a day. At least. And facing a 10 day cold turkey withdrawal. It's wrong...just...wrong.

Also, spring is HERE! It is beautiful, and there are big fat buds on the trees and the daffodils are up and in bloom. We walked and walked today. It was perfect, and there was sun on our skin and I broke a sweat. Brilliant.

I've been taking yoga classes with my bf. For the first time since the infamous Japanese Turnip Back Injury at the farm, I feel well. I feel well, and strong, and my back feels so good. It hurts after class, being all tender and stretched in many directions. But by the next day it just feels like all of the other muscles in my body. A bit tore up, but mending into something stronger. I love it so so much. And am crazy grateful.

It's been too long since I've written anything fiction-y. And I'm feeling the urge. Soon. Sunday, I think. I'll take time, clear my head, and let someone's story flow out of me.

Random blog entry. Random. But it feels good to put it out there into the blogosphere. And in keeping with randomness, the potential makings of a potential ring box...