Dan invited a colleague to join us for lunch on the roof. We had a marvelous time: swapped tennis stories (her visit to the US Open that week, my winning exploits on the field of battle just this morning), talked about recent and upcoming summer vacations, and professional presence, and sat back to soak up some late summer sunshine on top of the world.
Finally we wished her adieu- sent her back into the field with promises of tennis dates on our lips. And Dan headed off to his desk pretty soon after, with plans for us to meet at 5pm for an early dinner at Jeremy's .
I had a whole afternoon to myself, but wasn't thrilled with my plans- odds and ends, and more mundane than exhilarating at that: I needed to clean the apartment for our weekend tenants, pick up a few things at the seaport (flip-flops, anyone?), and do some reading- in no particular order.
I did my errands first. The seaport was crowded with ambling tourists and lazy locals playing hooky- more than a few offices had swarms of employees lolligagging out front, smoking cigarettes and chatting leisurely. No one seemed in any great hurry to do anything- and I found myself lingering in the Body Shop longer than I ever thought possible, reading labels, questioning the employees and finally leaving only after allowing myself to be sold $75 worth of merchandise I didn't really need.
But I wasn't irritated by this. I was pleased- I felt pampered- I felt powerful. My shopper's high carried me all the way to Battery Park, on a search for t-shirts in the touristy areas along the wharves where you board the ferries to Ellis Island. The kiosks there housed one portrait painter after another, as well as cookie-cutter chotchkes that some wholesaler distributes to these poor immigrant sellers to pawn off on unsuspecting, and nondiscriminating NYC visitors. I got sidetracked (happily) perusing the Susan Watts photography exhibit, Milestones to Recovery, further into the park. Watched kids playing in a fountain, and noticed some overheated "Statues of Liberty" resting, rather than hustling, at midday. A lazy day for everyone, it seemed.
Only the downtown buildings seemed unfazed by the season, stretching proudly to the sky, full of vigor and energy. In their shadows I hugged the riverfront, passing the Governor's Island Ferry terminal and the downtown heliport, on my way back toward the Seaport.
I really needed to get home. Had to get that cleaning done!
There is something about cleaning that is satisfying, once you get into it. Dan does a wonderful job of touching up the fixtures for us after the tenant leaves on Monday morning. And I stay on top of the kitchen, for the most part.
But certain tasks fall to the wayside on a weekly basis- they wait for a break in my schedule, when I can dedicate an hour or so to Deep Cleaning. Dusting falls into this category, as does scrubbing the shower tiles and de-soap-scumming the glass shower doors. Mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors too- first with soapy water, then a clean water rinse. Dustmopping the Pergo floors, even under the furniture. You get the idea.
I go mentally to a creative place when I clean. Which is why in truth I don't mind it all that much, except when it takes the place of fun things. I let my mind wander, peruse the last weeks' events- a parade of thoughts that I sort through and categorize- flights of fantasy I indulge in and plans I make- mirroring the physical motions of household cleaning.
Satisfied with my efforts, I put my mop away and changed my clothes, and headed out to Front Street, to meet Dan for Jeremy's famous fish and chips......and beer.
Having successfully accomplished all my tasks today, I was left with one burning question: who on earth ever thought to put WHITE tile on a bathroom floor?
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