When I was a teenager, I would come to help her clean before big events such as Christmas or family reunions. She always kept her house immaculate, and to be honest I always felt like I was cleaning already pristine things. One of my jobs was polishing the furniture. She'd give me a can of furniture polish and a blue rag, and I sprayed and wiped every surface of every piece of wood in her house.
Her rocking chair sat in the main living area of the house--the room with the couches, the long dining table, and the side table with newspapers and the radio. That thing was polished within an inch of its life. It has polish build-up that goes back decades. You can tell how old it is because of the wrinkles on its arms. Seriously, furniture polish build-up wrinkles.
That build-up is why I chose that rocking chair to become my own when she passed away. I think of her and those cleaning days every time I see it.
She might be irritated to know that today I wiped it down with a damp cloth. Well, I don't even own furniture polish, and I don't keep my house immaculate, so maybe she'd just be happy I removed that ancient layer of dust.
Here's a picture with the chair in the background.
|I love these boys.|