This is likely to be a long reminiscence, so I will try to keep it under control. It started this morning when I woke to the certain knowledge that my grandmother is nudging me to clean. Typically I can roll over and ignore that, but it is August. When I was a kid, (back in the days before kids were the center of the universe) I would go, in August, from Seattle to Grand Junction, Colorado to stay a week or so with Grandma (and to connect with my Colorado homesteader roots.) She was the head of housekeeping for the hospital there – I remember her taking me to work when I was small…she bought me a St. Christopher’s medal at the gift shop. In the evenings, my Grandpa would play the accordion and we would bake cherry pies and dance the schottische in the kitchen – I loved her.
But to the point. She was a hard working woman who was a little short on entertainment for curious little girls. So when she would go to work in the morning, she would leave me with my Grandpa and a stack or ironing, or cherries and grapes to pick, or a box of baking soda to sprinkle on the carpets and vacuum. She was very big on doing the same inspection of the house that she gave the hospital rooms, and as a result, I learned to clean. I did not learn to love it, but I learned how to do it. This early training stands me in good stead when I actually have to DO it, but it has also given me an endless source of small rebellion as I avoid things that my grandmother would have sought out in inspection. But there are days when she is just inside my head and I have to clean something properly – however small.
So this morning, in honor of my Grandma gone to glory, baking soda….