This evening the Voice from the Kitchen yodelled a command for me to wash the dishes. So, of course I obeyed.
As I was doing the chore, I wondered what I was going to do to save the water that I soiled as I made the dinnerware clean. It then came to me; a good way to do that would be to wash the non-carpeted floor areas of the house. What the heck, it had been at least a year since the last time that I had done that particular piece of housework.
After the dishes, I scooped the left-over water into a small bucket and found the floor mop. That in itself was quite a feat. I am not too familiar with the storage space that is dedicated to housecleaning implements. Somehow, my inner intuitive GSP led me directly to where the mop was standing in a dark corner of the house. It was in the bathroom off the master bedroom. The floor there is tile, so I decided to mop it after the kitchen floor.
Now, I have to tell you that housecleaning is not a very intellectually challenging operation. So, my mind was whirring away at other things when, of a sudden, a picture of my mother popped into my head. She was mopping the kitchen floor as I arrived from washing the kitchen floors of the old ladies who used to hire me for such a task. I had a "route" of six Saturday morning customers. I would use a bucket of hot water, "Octagon" brown soap, a hand brush, a rinsing cloth and, yes, a drying cloth.
Anyway, on that day long time ago, I "caught" Mom mopping the floor and so I asked, "Why aren't you kneeling down to wash the floor like you should?"
"I don't have to kneel down to wash the floor," says she.
"Sister says that the floor can only get clean if you kneel down and brush it with Octagon Soap."
"Does sister kneel down to wash the floor?"
"I don't know, I was never in her house."
"For now, you obey sister. I am older than sister so I have learned how to clean a floor with a mop as well as you can by kneeling down. I know because your grandmother taught me how to do it. When you grow a little older, I'll teach you how to use a mop. For now, keep doing what you are doing."
The only thing strange about the response was that my mother seemed to know sister's age. Did sisters have age? I didn't think so, but for some strange reason I let it slide. Many, many years later I married one. Now I know, sisters do not have age.
This evening I carried that true conversation around in my head for a long time. On top of that I kept asking myself why I had not had the presence of mind to challenge the sense of the answer.
I'll tell you, it sure ain't easy being a 12 year old child.
It also ain't easy being 12 + 65 child either!
