Well, spring is here again, and in the old days, spring meant two purposes: plant garden and clean house. For more than 50 years, I cleaned houses for a living. I started in the 1940s. At times, it was hard, grueling work, but I was young, healthy and full of pep, and I managed to get the work accomplished. Nowadays, in my 88 years, it's about all I can do to put one foot before the other if I take a stroll.
One of the ladies I worked for was Jo Shively, who was employed by the Leesburg Bank. (Jo was a nice lady to deal with, who, in the first place, was so spanking clean that I felt guilty in taking money from her.) Jo, and her husband, Don, had a dog, a Boston terrier, they called, "Tugs." And while Don and Jo were at work, as I did my thing in cleaning, Tugs serenaded me. He would jump up on the piano bench, and while thumping the piano keys with his paws, he'd howl loud enough to put any prima donna of the Metropolitan Opera to shame. Before long, after I had had enough "grand opera" and my eardrums were about to burst, in a stern, loud voice, I shouted at Tugs, "Quiet! That's enough!" Then, he'd get that hurt look on his face, and go in a corner somewhere and sulk.
For 16 years, I cleaned for Ruthanne Oswalt, a schoolteacher who resided in Oswego. Ruthanne was a brilliant lady who excelled in music, and who serenaded me in a different manner. She was an accomplished organist, and, in summer, while I indulged in cleaning, Ruthanne played the organ from which lovely, melodious tunes emerged and floated out the open windows where the birds singing sweetly in the trees nearby, seemed to become so inspired from Ruthanne's gay, lilting melodies, that they would sing with all of the vigor and enthusiasm that their chirpy, song-filled throats could possibly muster.
Another of my employers was Emma Gilliam, wife of Robert Gilliam, owner of John Deere, and Laminated Rafters. The Gilliams owned a summer cottage near the Tippecanoe Country Club. During the summer, I went out there and cleaned. In one corner of Mrs. Gilliam's living room, stood a daybed, on which she napped in the afternoon. One day while cleaning the living room, I decided to move the daybed to clean under it. Well, when I moved the bed out, I was in for a horrific shock. There, on the floor, sat a tarantula the size of a silver dollar. That huge, monstrous spider appeared to me as though it was about ready to pounce, so, quickly, I swooped down over that spider with the end of the sweeper hose until the tarantula was sucked up into the sweeper bag. After my discovery of the evil, repulsive-looking tarantula reclining beneath her daybed, I doubted if Mrs. Gilliam would ever again feel completely safe or comfortable while sleeping on that day bed in the living room.
Yes, I have lots of nostalgic memories of my cleaning days in and around Leesburg, and during those times I cleaned, not once did any of my employers tell me that I did a bad job, which is a record that I shall always be proud of.
