There many ways I deal with stress. The chronic, day-in, day-out variety like the splendid and noble insanity that comes with working in a prosecutor’s office, usually calls for chocolate. On a regular basis. Cops and co-workers have even been warned on occasion to not approach unless they’re bringing some good chocolate to feed the beast.
Other spikes in adrenaline or responsibility have been dealt with by buying yet another pair of spike heels. Lime green with perforations, magenta suede with patent leather bows, leopard print brocade slingbacks, I can tell you a story behind nearly every pair of stilettos in my closet.
And yet another favorite release is to escape to the shoreline of my favorite state park on Lake Michigan with a soy mocha with whipped cream from Starbucks and bury my hands in soft white sand as seagulls and sandpipers look on, unmoved. That has been a luxury untouched for a long time. The annual state park pass on my dashboard is two years old.
But right now, neither chocolate nor shoes nor nature will do. I want a clean, functioning bathroom. My father is dying in a hospice and my youngest child is leaving for college in a week, and an imported chocolate bar with hazelnuts is just not going to cut it.
Reclaiming and repairing the bathroom is symbolic, there is no doubt. I’ve been juggling family emergencies from insane distances for months now, and in the past few weeks the carpets in the house have grown another layer of cat hair. The carpets are oatmeal. The cat is black with long hair that never stops shedding. My kitchen and dining room are awash in paperwork related to the complicated business of getting old and navigating medical issues and applying for public benefits, a fitting payback for a long life spent dutifully paying taxes.
And I don’t just want a routinely clean bathroom, I want it gleaming. And so the other day I brought the step-stool up from the basement, went to my maximum fear-of-heights two steps and unscrewed the four frosted glass shades and chandelier bulbs from the brass fixtures above the sink and washed them with soap and water for the first time since they were installed. I think that was about ten years ago. The dust around the edges has been bugging me for a long time. A feather duster only gets so much.
