|photo by Susan Gaissert|
There is no Swiffer Wet-Jet here. When it's time to wash the floor, I get down on my knees. From that perspective, I can see the crumbs under the table and the juice-drop stains in front of the fridge. Holding a piece of an old towel soaked in vinegar and water solution, I move my hand across the vinyl that looks like wood, and I pass over spots I remember: the gouge from when we had to move the oven, the dent from when I dropped a large can of tomatoes that just missed landing on my foot. These marks never go away. I simply clean over them.
I like knowing all the marks on my floor. I like getting down on my knees, to make it clear that I don't feel superior. The floor and I both live here. The vinegar smells like the night before Easter when we color eggs. The vinyl is hard against my knees, and it is a relief to stand up when I'm done. Call it cleaning as prayer. Bless this floor that I walk on. Amen.