Cleaning

There’s a big difference between cleaning an abode you own versus one you rent.

I was cranky and disgusted. A cockroach had leaped out of the tostada bag onto my lap. My bare lap. Then scurried onto the towel I was sitting on, a pretty blue one with fish. I did not want squashed cucaracha on my pretty towel so was flummoxed. After both of us leapt about, it disappeared under the settee.

I was not happy. I was the opposite of happy. I also lost my appetite for tostadas.

I hung the towel outside to sanitize in the sun, then carried the settee cushions — six feet long — outside too. Sprayed them with vinegar and let them dry on deck.

Back inside I scowled at the port side of the saloon. Effing bugs. Bane of Habibi. Yes, I know they are god’s creatures too, but I cannot help feeling revolted. Plus pissed that they casually make themselves at home. Free loaders!

Must clean. Retrieved the dish soap from under the galley sink, squirted some into a bowl and added water. Proceeded to wash everything: counters, stove, tea kettle, spice rack, utensil container, cupboard doors and drawers, hatches, fans, altar, saloon table, light fixtures, navigation nook, various crannies and handholds, floor. And I noticed something — my mood improved. I love my home! All of this is mine! Of course I want it sparkling! It is wonderful!

When I was a kid, we cleaned house every Saturday. All of us hated it. But afterward, we went to the beach. And when we came home, it was lovely. Just as Habibi is lovely now. Just for me. It makes a difference, owning versus renting. I get to decide whether to replace the shower, and what kind to buy. I’m no longer at the mercy of landlords for anything. Maybe I never was.

Hurricane Norma swept through the area last weekend, and came within one degree of latitude. This time I stayed on the boat, encouraged by the birds who stayed in the lagoon. Before Hurricane Dorian, years ago, all the wildlife disappeared. It was eerie. 

Norma’s wind was wicked, but the mooring lines held. I was ready to start the engine if the lines snapped, or another boat broke free. I was also ready to bail, both literally and figuratively. But we were fine. I even slept once in a while. And the rain swabbed the deck. 

It’s time to clean the hull again. Fish are mistaking it for a reef. But I’m ready with my scrapers, and I’ve hired help. Habibi likes it sparkling. And so do I.