My maternal grandfather was an immigrant, and that side of the family is thoroughly German. After cooking bacon, my grandmother would pour the grease into a coffee can, saving it for, well, I don't know what. But she was saving it. My grandfather kept every rubber band, bank statement, scrap of twine. "You never know when you might need it," he'd say. Living through both World Wars — the first as a child, the next as a young man — created a lifelong habit of frugality.
I know it's not right to generalize, but it is rare to see a messy German. My mom's side of the family, and the vast majority of their countrymen, have a uniquely Teutonic dedication to order and cleanliness. My grandmother's home was always sparkling; I remember her hands glowing pink from cleaning with diluted bleach. (It is a wonder that my mother ever developed proper immunity, because the home held so few germs for her body to fight.) Before we left his house after a visit, my grandfather would rush out to clean our car windows even if he had taken it through a car wash that day. Everything in my grandparents' home was tidy, there was never any dust or disorder, and god forbid you leave a dirty dish in the sink for a moment or two.
Betty is her parents' daughter. I'll clean my apartment before she visits, but while I'm in the shower or running to the store for a minute, she'll make it shine. I ask her not to do this, because it makes me feel like a filthy sow who is being silently judged. (Also, she should just rest and stop working so much.) My take on tidiness is a blend of my father's controlled-chaos clutter and my mother's fastidious and spotless organization.
Yesterday's cold, rainy afternoon made me happy because it meant I could clean the apartment. This probably doesn't sound like fun, but it is so satisfying to zone out with an old toothbrush and dirty tiles. There's a kind of zen-lite focus that develops when all there is to do is disinfect and organize. I like to clean because doing so leads to tangible, visible results. So before an unusually social evening began, while the sky whipped rain against the windows, I was rearranging the contents of my dresser drawers. This probably sounds like the most tedious chore, but like they say, if it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone, go ahead and do it. Especially if your socks wind up arranged by color in the process.
I know it's not right to generalize, but it is rare to see a messy German. My mom's side of the family, and the vast majority of their countrymen, have a uniquely Teutonic dedication to order and cleanliness. My grandmother's home was always sparkling; I remember her hands glowing pink from cleaning with diluted bleach. (It is a wonder that my mother ever developed proper immunity, because the home held so few germs for her body to fight.) Before we left his house after a visit, my grandfather would rush out to clean our car windows even if he had taken it through a car wash that day. Everything in my grandparents' home was tidy, there was never any dust or disorder, and god forbid you leave a dirty dish in the sink for a moment or two.
Betty is her parents' daughter. I'll clean my apartment before she visits, but while I'm in the shower or running to the store for a minute, she'll make it shine. I ask her not to do this, because it makes me feel like a filthy sow who is being silently judged. (Also, she should just rest and stop working so much.) My take on tidiness is a blend of my father's controlled-chaos clutter and my mother's fastidious and spotless organization.
Yesterday's cold, rainy afternoon made me happy because it meant I could clean the apartment. This probably doesn't sound like fun, but it is so satisfying to zone out with an old toothbrush and dirty tiles. There's a kind of zen-lite focus that develops when all there is to do is disinfect and organize. I like to clean because doing so leads to tangible, visible results. So before an unusually social evening began, while the sky whipped rain against the windows, I was rearranging the contents of my dresser drawers. This probably sounds like the most tedious chore, but like they say, if it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone, go ahead and do it. Especially if your socks wind up arranged by color in the process.
Labels: neuroses
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