CHIAVARI, ITALY – I have
new neighbors in the apartment above me. I don't know them, but I know they like to haul their rugs out on their terrace and beat them
with a paddle. While this loosens the dust in the rugs, it also creates a dust
cloud that, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction and at the right
speed, then floats down and finds its way into my apartment.
Which bring me to today’s
post. I wrote it a few years ago when I lived in Saronno, a suburb of Milan. It’s
about dust but mostly it's about how neighbors can become part of your life even if you don’t
know them.
SARONNO, Italy - There’s
something going on over at the Cleans. Something odd. It’s almost 8 AM and Mr.
Clean has not come out on his balcony to start sweeping and cleaning. And he
didn’t pull his blankets and pillows off his bed and carefully arrange them on
the freshly cleaned balcony railing to air either. He didn’t even sweep the
floor in his bedroom or make coffee.
Now l wouldn’t want you to
think I’m some kind of stalker, spying on my neighbors, so let me explain: my
morning routine usually starts with a cup of coffee out on my balcony. As I sit
enjoying the morning and planning my day from my 5th floor vantage point, I
can’t help but see the Clean’s apartment, which is on the first floor of the
apartment building across the street. It’s like a theater performance. First the
heavy taparelle that
cover the balcony door of Mr. Clean’s bedroom slowly wind upward,
like a stage curtain. Then Mr. Clean pops out and the cleaning starts. Except
for today.
The Cleans have a set routine. The tapparelle in Mrs. Clean’s bedroom go up just about the time Mr. Clean is back in the kitchen making coffee after having cleaned the balcony and setting his bedding out to air. The first thing on Mrs. Clean’s mind is to strip her bed and drape her bed linens out on the sill of her bedroom window, which she has already wiped down. However their morning cleaning routine doesn’t begin in earnest until the bed linens have had enough air and are brought back into the apartment and the beds are made.
As soon as that is done Mrs.
Clean shakes out the throw rugs and puts them out on the balcony to air, and
then she starts to clean the bathroom in earnest. She buffs and polishes everything,
including the bathroom window and the inside and outside of the aluminum window
frame as well. She’s very keen to keep things clean and shiny.
But today none of that
happened, and that’s what bothers me. Where is the steady buzz of the vacuum?
Normally I can see Mr. Clean, often still in his pajamas, diligently tracking
down and vacuuming up any and all bits of dust from every nook and cranny of
their living room that he may have missed on the first sweep through.
Mr. Clean is like a kamikaze
dust pilot. He spots his target, zooms in and poof, that dust ball is history.
No wonder all the dust comes over here to hide out in my place. And
usually, while Mr. Clean is attacking dust in the living room, Mrs. Clean is in
the kitchen scrubbing and polishing the counter top and sink. Then she cleans
the floor. Again.
Now my neighbor in the back,
Mrs. Mean, is another story. She used to be just as aggressive a cleaner as the
Cleans, but all that changed because of an incident that occurred when I first
moved into this building. She hasn’t spoken to me in years, and I doubt I will
ever be forgiven for my mistake.
What happened was I hadn’t
been in this apartment very long when one day I was in my office working on an
article, and out of the corner of my eye I spot an elderly woman on her hands
and knees keeling on the windowsill, outside of her bedroom window. My first
frightening thought was that she was going to jump. I stood up and went out on
my balcony to see if what I think I saw I really saw. I must have let out a
gasp because she looked up and saw me standing on my balcony with my hand over
my mouth and terror in my eyes.
You have to know that even
though I say I live on the fifth floor, it is really the sixth floor since what
we call the first floor in the USA is called the ground floor here, and they consider
the second floor the first floor. Anyway it is long way down.
Then I realized she was trying to clean the inside of the deep flower wells that run along the front of our windows and as she scrambled to get back inside her window, I went back inside my apartment too. I happened to mention the incident to one of her sons a few weeks later and he obviously said something to his mother. She never got out on the window sill again, at least as far as I know, and she hasn’t spoken to me since either. Apparently it’s my fault she’s a clean nut.
Then I realized she was trying to clean the inside of the deep flower wells that run along the front of our windows and as she scrambled to get back inside her window, I went back inside my apartment too. I happened to mention the incident to one of her sons a few weeks later and he obviously said something to his mother. She never got out on the window sill again, at least as far as I know, and she hasn’t spoken to me since either. Apparently it’s my fault she’s a clean nut.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all
for neat and clean, it’s just that my neighbors seem to take the concept to
whole ‘nuther level. Someone told me once that the Italian kitchen cabinet
manufacturers have to put dozens of extra coats of varnish on the cabinet doors
because the Italian women scrub the bejeebers out of them and have been known
to scrub the doors down to the bare wood.
I don’t
remember my neighbors in Genoa or Milan being quite so fanatical about
cleaning, but then again it may just have been that I was too involved in my
work to bother looking out the window. It's possible. But here in Saronno my
neighbor’s cleaning habits have become part of my routine too. So while I don’t
know what is going on over at the Cleans, I hope by tomorrow everything will be
back to normal and they will be out there sweeping and washing and dusting and
wiping and making everything right in their world - and mine too.
I hope you will let us know that the Cleans are okay. Maybe decided to take a day off?
ReplyDeleteThanks for your concern. As it turned out the Cleans were fine and were right back at it the next day. But I confess, I was kind of worried about them.
ReplyDeleteMy nonna was a nurse in the early part of the 20th century, so as you can imagine she had a fear and horror of "dirt" and germs which was passed down to my mother but thankfully to a much lesser degree to me. LOL! They also had a "name" for Italian people who were not as clean as they thought they should be. Oh my!
ReplyDelete