Scrubbing The Bedstead

27th October 2012 Saturday

Our old pine bedstead looks very grubby against the newly painted sea and sky walls of our bedroom. I start scrubbing it with lemon scented cream cleaner and a green scratchie. I hope I’ve done this before otherwise I’m removing 26 years worth of stuck on dirt. I keep remembering my father and the morning I spent with him years ago cleaning the coiled iron springs in the base of their bed. I was in awe of his patience and thoroughness. I was ready to give up within 5 minutes - so much dust, so hard to get at...

The sun filters in through the bamboo blinds, my back hurts, I abandon my scrubbing and curl up on the carpet in slatted sunlight and cry for my parents  - for the people they were and for the person I’m not - for feeling small and for wanting to give up - for wanting them to still be here - to tell me what to do...

Then I hear my mother’s voice saying, 

Oh jigger this....

and  I haul myself up and scour the top of my bedside cabinet imagining the cup of hot chocolate I’m going to reward myself with afterwards......because I think that’s what my father would do.