The Academy Awards of Cleaning

“And the Oscar goes to (your name here) for the cleanest house in the world.”

You’ll never hear those words in your life, so for God’s sake, put down the Swiffer and go have some fun while there’s still some summer left. Or better yet, write that book/screenplay/blog post, take that class, dance in the kitchen, or climb a mountain because no one is ever going to say, “Wow didn’t we have fun at (your name here)’s house last summer. It was so clean – I could have admired her floors all day long!”

I’m really writing this to myself.  I make mental notes of things that are dirty as I walk past, then they weigh on me until I take care of them.  What kind of crap is that? Who is responsible for this ridiculous behavior?

Apparently it’s hereditary because my father’s grandmother, Carolina was over the top about a clean house. It’s somewhat comforting to know heredity’s to blame although you couldn’t tell by my kids rooms.

In my observations,  Italian women come in two types, Clean and surgically clean.  The surgically clean ones cover every conceivable surface in plastic. It was a nightmare in the 60’s. Your skin peeled  off on the plastic, if you dared sit on the living room couch of a surgically clean woman

The bottom line is, I won’t make more money if I’m clean.  I won’t have more friends, neither my kids nor my dog will love me more, and statues won’t be erected memorializing my amazing cleaning arm — dust cloth in hand — raised to get that last cobweb. I will have wasted precious time that I could have spent doing more important things than cleaning.

I’ve never dumped a true friend over cleanliness, and I have to believe people don’t care about mine either.  So I’m trying to stop worrying about it. It doesn’t matter. I have yet to see a talk show host ask to interview someone because she or he has great cleaning habits. And I’ve never seen a tombstone that said, “Here lies Sponge Girl, she won the Academy Award for the cleanest house in the universe.”

As my mom once said, “Da hell witta da houza work.  Wenna you’re dead, da houze willa still be dirty.” And she was so right. Enjoy your summer, there’s only one month left!

 

 

Women Always Find the Good in Each Other — Garlic helps

Theresa is the first wife of my ex-husband.

Theresa and Fran.JPG

Fran and Theresa the only two members of a very exclusive club.

She rocks.

But for years I didn’t realize that because I was married to my then husband, and his characterizations may not have been completely accurate because pesky emotion was involved.

I should have known better because the son she and my ex had together is absolutely wonderful. You don’t turn out that great if there isn’t someone molding you, and the master molder was Theresa. We only got Brandon a few weekends a month, so we were assistant molders. And I have to say, that my ex was a good dad to Brandon. He loved him completely, Brandon knew it, and that makes a big difference.

But now that my ex is my ex, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Theresa much better. It all started around the time I was getting divorced. I had the massive realization that there were going to be stories out there about me that might be one-sided, colored by emotion and, therefore possibly, not completely true.

I realized then, that for decades, I’d only been getting half the story about her and their relationship.  Much of it was factual, but much was colored by emotion, and we all know emotion is a lousy gauge for accuracy. Continue reading

Big Ambitions…Painful Reality

My plan for this week was to write two fantastic blog posts to make up for the one I missed last week.   (I spent last weekend with my family, drinking too much wine and celebrating my brother Bob’s birthday instead of diligently writing.)  Thank you Patty (Bob’s wife) for planning the whole thing and getting me back there.

But nature said, “Nah, we want to throw you a curveball, how about a nice, painful toothache instead?” So, I’ve been sitting around whimpering like a puppy and taking far too many Advil for my own good for the past three days.  I’m embarrassed to say, I actually cried on my emergency phone message to my dentist.(This from a woman who got through childbirth twice without a peep.) My voice got all squeaky and I could barely get out my phone number it hurt so bad.   The only perk is the Tylenol with Codeine – it knocks me right out.

Today, I go to the Endodontist again, where I will be slowly tortured. They’ll place freezing cold sticks against my teeth to figure out exactly which tooth is bothering me.(Teeth are sneaky, they send the pain in a different direction, just to mess with you.) How will the Dr. know?  I will leap out of my chair and scream when the ice stick he’s holding touches the right tooth.   Continue reading

Who Knew Over Easy Eggs Could Force Me To Mature?

Last week, when I was visiting family in Pennsylvania,  I ate out more times in two days than I did from the time I was 0 to 13. This behavior would have shocked my frugal parents back in the ’50s and ’60s.

From the time I was born until I was thirteen I think I dined out twice. (I did tour the McDonalds in Beaver Falls with the Girl Scouts once, and got a free hamburger, so I guess that counts. OK, three times.) I have a vague recollection of eating French fries at a Woolworths with my Mom once, but that could have just been a dream.

My father didn’t believe in eating out. He’d smoothly drive past whatever restaurant or ice cream stand we were begging to go to, and say, “What restaurant? Oh, did you want to stop? Well too late now. We have better stuff than that at home.” This always left me wondering if he was cheap or we were poorer than I realized. Continue reading

Shopping for Caskets

My long time friend Carolyn’s father passed away a few weeks ago and while I was telling him my final, tearful goodbye, I couldn’t help but notice what a nice casket he was in. Continue reading

Six Simple Words That Can End Your Life

Last weekend I made sauce for the first time in months. It even had the power to draw my daughter downstairs before 11 a.m. Still in her pajamas, sleepy-eyed, she said, “I love waking up to the smell of spaghetti sauce.”

The smell is heavenly. The garlic and olive oil mingle with the sausage, tomatoes and herbs, filling your kitchen with tomatoey love. You should start cooking it or make friends with Italians, so you can experience the magic. Continue reading

Wedding Advice You Won’t Get In “Brides”

My friend Jane, a fellow voice actress, invited me over for dinner tonight. Jane is the friend I wrote about in a prior post, who’s getting married in July. The one who attracts men willy nilly, while I’m still working up the nerve to maybe consider online dating.

I predict Jane’s marriage will be OK because tonight she’s cooking something her fiance can’t stand to smell. She’s doing it this weekend because he’s not home. This shows impressive empathy and kindness on her part; a lovely little bonus in marriage. He’s a lucky guy.

Since Jane’s got me thinking about marriage, and spring is the time of year when many young couples pledge their troth, I thought this would be a good time to offer the single, finest piece of marriage advice my mom ever gave me. Continue reading