Spring Again...

Another way I knew when spring had arrived is that Mama would say, “Well, it’s time for our spring cleaning.” That term has not been used in our home since I was a boy living on Pipkin Street in Beaumont. I am certain that folks still do spring cleanings but they just don’t talk about them.

Usually this cleaning time meant that we were going to “sun” the mattresses and our pillows. I used to wonder why we sunned our bedding because Mama always told me to stay out of the sun during the hot part of the day. “You don’t want to catch polio,” she warned.

Also as part of the cleaning we had to move our furniture away from the walls and do some serious dusting of the baseboards. This was a good time to pick up any misplaced toys and perhaps remove any left over dead roaches.

During my formative years, this spring cleaning ritual meant that I had to clean up my room. My parents always were telling me to clean up my room but this spring cleaning time carried with it some special assignments. Mama would say, “Take everything out of your closet so we can put it all back.” This used to confuse me. Why take it all out just to put it back.

Then Mama would take down all of the living room curtains. I never knew why. Later she would put them back up. I guess it made her feel better knowing that the curtains had participated in our spring cleaning.

Another question I had back then was why we didn’t have fall cleanings, winter cleanings or summer cleanings. I never asked my parents about this because I did not want to give them any ideas. Cleaning up my room once per year was about all one boy could take.

There were occasions when the drudgery of spring cleaning became so hard that I would ease outside, climb the tallow tree by our bathroom window and get onto the roof of our house. I could stay on the roof for up to two hours and no one would know my where-a-bouts. Or so I thought. A few years later, Mama told me she knew I was on the roof because she could hear me walking around. She figured that if I stayed on the roof then I would stay out of her way while she was cleaning. So she never bothered telling me to get down. Not a bad trade out, I suppose.

Sometimes, if the sun was too hot for me to get onto the roof, I would go into our attic. Dad had torn the top out of our hall closet and made a steep staircase. It was pretty neat climbing those stairs. Almost like climbing a stepladder. But generally I couldn’t stay in the attic for very long because it was just too hot up there. We had an attic fan that pulled in air through our screen windows and blew it out through the roof vents. But I was afraid of the fan. Those blades looked like they could really chop up a boy so I stayed out of that breeze while in the attic.

One good lesson I learned from those experiences was I decided that it was simpler just to stay downstairs and get with the program. Cleaning up my room and dusting furniture were much easier than climbing up onto the roof in the hot sun or hiding out in a hot attic.

And even today, at age 73, I know that the most efficient way to get a task done is just go ahead and do it.

Although my wife would give anything if I would clean up my office.

Winston Hamby
WinHamby@comcast.net