The Cleaning Gene

During the summer of 1997, just after my dad died, I was living alone in Duluth and going to summer school. Matt and I were just dating then, but in a month's time we'd be engaged. One afternoon, I went out to my vehicle, which was a 1991 green Explorer that my mother had given me and it wouldn't start. I called the only people I knew in Duluth, my aunt and uncle, to ask them what they thought I should do. My uncle actually was very helpful. He said: You know, the last time your mom had that truck up here, I noticed that there was a lot of corrosion covering that battery, I'll come over and take a look at it, you might not need to buy a new one just yet.

He came over, Matt was there, too. He opened up the hood (which he had apparently done before out of his own interest, maybe) and saw that yes, there was corrosion everywhere and that it was probably the reason the truck wasn't starting. He had brought with him a collection of items just right for the job, an old toothbrush and something else, baking soda, maybe? After he went to work the battery shined right up again. While he was putting away his McGuyver kit, he opened up his hood to show Matt, "See how clean my battery is?"

So obviously my uncle has the clean gene. My other uncle (on my mother's side) has it, too. I think all the Schwanke chicks got it just as a given from being made to clean out chicken coops, shovel hay, and just basically having to endure their own father . . . every Schwanke chick but me, I guess. I don't have it. AT ALL.

I mean, I clean up messes constantly, and my kids' teeth, hair, and bathroom areas are all clean and healthy, and the kids have been made to clean up after dinner each night since each one was old enough to walk, but yes, sometimes things are untidy. And I don't really care and will not ever stress about it. This obviously clashes with other peoples' philosophies, namely my mother's, BUT. I think I must be getting a little better at cleanup/organization as the last time she came to visit, the only thing she found that needed immediate attention (besides the front step still in a rubble, obviously) was THE AIR CONDITIONER. The outer, exterior air conditioner, the central air that's outside the house. A few weeks ago, her friend had noticed a sort of sluggishness in her own central air, her service guy told her to go out and clean off the exterior vents, and apparently she noticed a big difference. Low and behold, our unit seemed to have a shit load of lint, cobwebs, and all kinds of other debris on all of its sides, so she suggested that I take her friend's advice. Why not? She was watching the kids, so I plugged in the vacuum and went to work. I don't know how long she watched me stooped over with my ass in the air, cleaning (probably super haphazardly and not at all the way she would have done it) before she couldn't stand it any longer, but not very, as I remember. Soon enough she was holding the vacuum, had the black moldings stripped off the sides, with a damp cloth besides.

Do I even have to explain how that fucker sparkled by the time she finished?

(LL gets medieval on the YORK down there; she's 64 and has a better body than me. Always has).