My Day with Jo.

I remember when I was younger and my parents used to have someone come to the house once a week to clean. The night before (or morning of), my mother would always frantically start cleaning the house in preparation for the cleaning person to come. I always found this so amusing—and confused when my mother would ask me to pitch in—clean up for the cleaning person.

Today Jo. started working for us and now I finally understand more fully what the cleaning up for the cleaning person was all about. Since we just moved in on Friday and the second unit of our apartment still isn’t available for us to move into, the state of the apartment this morning was less than ideal for someone to come in and clean. Over the weekend, J and I cleaned the bathroom, the refrigerator, the windows, the windowsills, and picked all the dead bugs that got stuck in the drying paint off the walls. Still, Jo. came in this morning with her work cut out for her. I tried to pick up as much as possible, but to little effect.

I’m writing this entry sitting out on our deck in the shade (and feeling a little bit like a lazy asshole) as Joan works miracles inside. I just went in to check on her progress and told her the place looked great. She smiled and made a comment to the effect that the place was pretty disgusting. (Which made me feel more like a filthy, lazy asshole.) Apparently J and I did not make as much progress as we thought.

I have discovered that Jo. indeed speaks much better English than she let on at our first meeting. One thing we need to work on: she calls me “Madam H.” which makes me a little uncomfortable.