After the rain, spring cleaning

by DOROTHY WINSLOW WRIGHT
Sun Columnist
*Archived May 2006 article

With the sun warm on my back, there was something comforting about sloshing a worn soft towel in the water, then slathering the mix on the polluted plastic strips. The mold melted away. Charcoal colored water streamed from the chairs. I sloshed them over and under, enjoying my work until I realized there was no way I could possibly get rid of all that mold. It had crept into crevices. Crept into the places where strips interlaced. My joy turned to frustration.

My hands wrinkled, my sneakers squished, my jeans were sopped, and my back began to remind me that I was a grandmother, not a frisky young bride. Still, I had to finish. I turned the chairs upside down and poured the remaining liquid into the hollow framework, then hosed everything down with fresh running water. That done, I set the chairs in the sun and left them to dry.

Earlier, while working my sudsy cloth into the corners of the chairs, I remembered the fine-arts student I met while visiting Stanford University. As part of her doctoral program, this young woman was learning how to properly clean the bronze sculptures on the Stanford campus. When I was there, she was working on "The Gates of Hell," the showcase of the Rodin Sculpture Garden. This relief is an intricate piece with many curves and tiny spaces, which required working primarily with Q-tips. When I said something about its being tedious work, she quickly informed me that it was an honor to work on such a masterpiece. It was a privilege to care for such a magnificent piece of art - one, she reminded me, that it took Rodin twenty years to complete. Cleaning it was her joy, she said, and she loved it.

With this thought in mind, I went inside and brewed a fresh cup of coffee. When it was hot and steaming, I sat on the couch. While breathing in coffee scent, I glanced out the window and saw the spotless chairs glistening in the sun. I thought how beautiful even utilitarian furniture could be. Standing on the coral rock with bougainvillea flowering behind them, the newly formed scene resembled a perfectly executed watercolor painting. Art, I realized, weaves with our every-day world, if only we had the eyes to see it.

I looked around the living room, taking stock. The end table was cluttered with magazines, and what part of the mahogany table I could see beneath them was dull. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, and could easily be brought to life again with lemon oil and good old-fashioned elbow grease. It would take time, but a treatment or two would do it. I was beginning to feel empowered.

The rain and the mold were the triggers I needed to spur me into recognizing the value of spring cleaning. Perhaps this is what our parents and grandparents knew. It wasn't just the ritual of cleaning, it was reviving the beauty of what we already owned. Maybe that's what spring, with its message of rebirth, is all about. It is time to renew, refresh and rediscover the beauty that exists around us. Sweep away the dark, the dust, the mold, and let the sunlight in and enjoy our surroundings, appreciating every small detail as it comes to life again.