a clean refrigerator

At first, it is one spill that needs wiping up.  The coffee, from several weeks ago.  That accomplished, wouldn't it be nice to clean the whole refrigerator shelf? So I remove the cream cheese and tofu, bagels and flaxseed, dig out from under the kitchen sink the dried-up scrubbing sponge and mostly-full tin of Bon-Ami, and start to clean.

Ah, much better.

But then -- look at those crispers!  Filled with wilting turnip greens, just waiting to be compost...hmmm, how old is that beet...there's the oregano!  And there's the humidity control -- where did that come from?  

By this time, there's no turning back.  The top shelf must be cleaned too, and the sides, and when the food is returned it is now like with like -- soymilk on one side, milk and kefir on the other -- and then I notice the kitchen tiles near the fridge are covered with remnants of old food and must be swept, and I circle wider and wider along the floor until every stray morsel of cat food is removed.

Perhaps I have found my religion.  

Last week, a wise teacher appeared, a dancer/yogi coming in the guise of "housecleaner."

Cleaning, she says, is her spiritual practice.  And she is right.  A clean toilet and shower -- and refrigerator -- can repair the soul.

This morning, I knock over the soymilk.  Ohshit.  

But by now I'm a pro.  Quickly, the sponge and paper towels soak up and wipe down the excess, the milk is pushed aside (scowling, I imagine, at this faux milk crawling its way) and calmly begin my breakfast -- until Hospice calls and the mowers arrive and Rich awakes, fuzzy and wobbly.

Ah, well.  Souls break.  Milk spills.  Cleaning happens.

Candace