I am not a messy, really not. I could have become one I suppose as you get influenced by your surroundings. Mum was not a messy, she just never cleaned anything. To her dust bunnies under the bed belonged to daily life. I grew up with them. They did not really bother me too much, I just learned to ignore them. I did not grow up in luxury and a daily clean up of the home did not seem to be necessasry according to the mum philosophy, it only gets dirty gain.
I do not think mum ever possessed a duster and I remember our first vacuum cleaner. It was a special cheap offer. A salesman came past, there was a short demonstration and we had a vacuum cleaner. Of course it was cheap, everything we had was cheap and quality did not exist. When did mum use this new toy? Not very often I am sure. Mum’s cleaning day, the real spring cleaning, was on good Friday once a year. For some strange reason this was the day when floors were scrubbed. It was the day when dad had to take me for a walk to get out of the way. I think it was his escape route, as mum began the cleaning session with noise and complaints and so we disappeared. It was also the day when it was a real public religious holiday and everything was closed: even the museums and dad and I loved to visit the museums. And so we disapeared until we judge it safe enough to return home after she had finished her cleaning session.
I remember that mum cleaned windows regularly, although she seldom washed the curtains, but we always had clean windows. We had to have a window cleaner for the outside windows, it was the custom in the East End of London. He would appear once a week with his ladder and when he left we had clean windows.
Today I hate mess and do my best to avoid it, but there are circumstances where it happens. I have my little routines of cleaning which are really no big deal. Mum would let it pile up until Good Friday, I have my once a week routine and so everything stays organised.
I have now realised that if your daily routine changes due to an accident, for example, then mess can happen. The physical disability does not help. Of course we do our best, but there are some things that just have to be left on one side. It is then you realise that life is more than just being tidy, life is when you feel comfortable. My bedside table is now an arrangement of various ointments, with a walking stick wedged in between and a box of tissues. Who cares? It will soon be Easter and perhaps I feel like a cleaning session on Good Friday.