Domestic day

I am not a ‘domestic goddess’ as Roseanne used to say in her stand up routines in the 1980s. I don’t like doing domestic chores. But I’m pretty fanatical about having a clean and orderly apartment. I hate to clean but I want it clean. I guess hope springs eternal, and I wake up every day thinking that a horde of cobbler’s elves have arrived and done the tasks overnight. It hasn’t happened yet.

So Saturdays are usually in one form or another a day when I clean up. The ladies around here are really cleaning kind of women. Their homes are always spotless. I mean even behind the toilet, the baseboards are clean. The back edge of the highest kitchen cupboard is clean. They clean. I don’t.

I vacuum, dust, do the laundry, clean the kitchen and put everything in order. Occasionally I wash the couch afghans and the throws, and once in a while I run a Lysol wipe over the windowsills and baseboards. I should take the curtains down and wash them, but though I think about it often, I don’t. On that score I have a reason: they are high and I have no ladder, not even a step ladder. Last time I put up curtains I stood on rickety chairs and wobbly hassocks, and that’s dangerous to do when you live alone.

Yesterday I went all out and did the above, except not the curtains. I did vacuum the ceiling fan. So here are a few photos of domestic Saturday.

Hang the towel outside on a nice day, maybe one of the last warm ones? Time will tell…

The cats take advantage of a clean couch and a clean throw. Thanks for messing it up right away, guys.

Awww, but they’re so cute! I forgive you.

I like the view outside. On my way to the garage where the washing machine is, there is the red birdhouse by the shed.

My laundry bag, atop the shelf waiting to be grabbed as I go out to get the clean clothes from the dryer in the garage.
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