Favourite Books

  • The Green Mile
  • Animal Farm
  • Lord of the Flies
  • Lord of the Rings
  • To Kill a Mockingbird

Sunday, 14 April 2013

Farmer, Plumber, Carpenter or Housekeeper?

So, I expect you may have guessed, I have been having far more time than usual, to ponder. Work is very slow (spring break-up) and I have been home earlier than normal. Guess you are just going to have to bear with the ranting, since I have done my dishes already, and have this quality time left.
  Today, I got to thinking (yes, again)! I wonder if my parents wanted me to go into farming? Why would I wonder that? Well, my Mother was constantly asking me if I was born in a Barn. Strange, if anyone would know where I was born, I would think my Mom did, perhaps I really was adopted??Then they would go on about how I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn (again, farming?). As to the carpentry side of things, apparently I was built like a brick shithouse (o.K. maybe that's more into the plumbing side of things) I had legs like stove pipes (chimney sweep?) and I couldn't throw a pisspot out of an upstairs window. Humm...now that I put this down, it must have been plumbing.
  How did I end up in housekeeping? Cripes, I was  a piglet! My Mom would hold off, until she ran out of bowls and plates, and silverwear, and then head up to my room, muck it out, and we would start back at square one. I think she thought I was upset when she did this, Hah! I would say I was sorry, and she would tell me the next time, everything would go right into the garbage, and we would settle until the spoons ran out. I came out of all this, smelling like Pinesol. I had a nice clean room, all organized, and a neatly made bed, life was wonderful!
  Now I will tell you a story, that may explain how I became so messed in the head. Oh, it has to do with my messy habits, and all of us will shake our heads, as to how I ended up in the job I have, today.
   I think I was around 18 or so, and got myself a boyfriend. He was a nice guy, and I actually,sort of keep tabs to ensure he is still kicking to this day. Don't go getting all prissy, my honey knows all about him, and they have actually met and chatted. Anyhow, the big moment came, I was going to bring him home to meet my parents, and my younger brother. I didn't do this often, and I doubt girls today, do it anymore often than I did. It was never a good thing. I think it was the day before he was to come by, my Mom got on me about my pigsty again. I let it slide, although I could tell she was really ticked. My Dad threatened to take a picture of my room, and post it in the hotel lobby (where I worked), if I didn't get my ass in gear.
  Lalalala..hey, been threatened before, nothing ever happened. Well, this time, it was different! Brought the boyfriend home, introductions all around, and then....my Dad pulls out a Polaroid picture. It's my room, in all it's disgusting glory. He hands it to the guy, who of course did the polite thing and laughed, and went along with my Dad's glee.
  You know, by that time, my parents had bought me 2 sets of luggage. I do think they were desperate for me to go off into the big world (I was slow to clue in). After the guy left, I had a chat with my parents. I remember telling them they would never, ever get rid of me, if they kept showing guys what a slob I was! If they wanted me to ever get a man to take me off their hands, they should keep this information secret!Poor Aardvark,(his nickname) he had no clue what to do, and in truth, he never once brought that damn picture up, again. Like I say, nice guy!!
  I expect things started to change a little when I joined the military. This was perhaps the one and only time my Father was actually proud of me. My parents traveled all the way from northern B.C. to Cornwallis NS to watch me graduate from Basic Training. Oh, I was thrilled to show them my uniform, and for them to watch me out on the drill square, marching about in perfect cadence with all the others. But, the one thing I was desperate to show them, was my room. There was no silverware under the bed, no dust bunnies hopping about, everything sparkled, neat as a pin. Even my springs in the bed had been cleaned and polished. The rules did not allow parents in the barracks, but, my NCO gave me permission to show off my cleanliness, One more picture taken, and this one, they were allowed to show to everyone they knew!
   I could tell you when I got out of the military, I became a clean freak, but that would be a lie I fell back into my mess pretty quickly. Add a husband, and a child, and everything was the same, except, I no longer put dishes under the bed, just laundry. The only difference, was, I had that faint memory of everything tidy, and the pride to open the door and let the world see how clean I could be.
   Now I want that back. Now I understand why my Mother would go on a binge and muck my space out. Life is much more simple when things are clean and in their place. When I told you I was a minimalist, there is a reason for that. The less things that need a place, the easier it is to clean.
  My job allows me to get the satisfaction of making a place neat as a pin, something farming,or plumbing would not give me. Funny, it's been a very long time since that Polaroid was taken, but..... I almost forgot, talking to me was like talking to the wall (carpentry?). Maybe what my Mom tried to get through my thick skull, past the wall has finally reached my ears?