But I am not a patch on my new cleaning lady. Since retiring, I have made efforts to do my own house cleaning -- albeit haphazardly. Shoving the vacuum around the other day, I decided that was it, but where to find a good cleaner? Over the years I have had this-one-or-that, all with dismal results. Was that because they were native-born Canadians of the lazy me-generation? Probably. OK, yes.
In Calgary, the dust is relentless and I have long since given up trying to keep on top of it. This town is officially one level up from a "desert" climate classification, so it's dry. Don't get me wrong, I love the dry heat we enjoy here and miss the wretched and murderous humidity of the Ottawa Valley not a whit. But constantly seeing a thin film of grotesque dead skin cells in the form of dust blanketing everything, along with errant bunnies blooming in every corner, chronically pisses me off.
But my wish was granted when I ran into a young Filipino woman loading up her car with vacuums and mops outside my neighbour's. "Hi there, did you just clean TJ's house?" I asked. "Yes, he's a regular client of mine." Now, if she had been a Caucasian Canadian, I would not have bothered because I would have known what the results would have been. But because of her culture, I knew she would be an excellent cleaner. It's not racism, by the way, it's cultural.
She showed up yesterday with an assistant and my house now literally sparkles and glows. I had cleaned it (or so I thought) only a week earlier, but after the two of them scrubbed and polished and washed and shone it for five hours -- that's actually 10 hours of cleaning -- my humble abode is now bursting with pride. And she tackled stuff I never look at, let alone clean. They moved furniture, got into nooks and crannies, removed hard water stains and even polished the toaster!
Did I worry about theft? Absolutely not. She will now be coming every two weeks and my and I house will be thankful.
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