The Cleaning Lady

The woman who lives in the apartment across from mine is a trip.

She cleans. All the time.

Each day, it seems, I see her sweeping her balcony, as well as what could be called the common era outside her apartment's entry.

Each night, I see her vacuuming the carpet inside. Some nights, I also can see her ironing clothes, by the light of her tiny laundry room.

This week she, like me, appeared to be away for a few days. The poinsettias on her porch had fallen over, and the usual perk of her spotless abode was missing.

Yesterday, she returned, and the sweeping began again anew.

Today, she swept even more.

As I lazily ate cold pizza and watched my Sunday morning shows, the cleaning lady swept the common area and her balcony. Again. Today, however, those concrete slabs received an extra special treatment: wet sweeping.

The Cleaning Lady removed her balcony furniture -- chairs, table and poinsettia -- and scooped water out of a bucket by hand, splashing it onto the surface before brushing it with the broom.

Sweeping complete, the furniture returned. But the Cleaning Lady didn't stop there: She next Windexed the patio doors, furniture handles and table.

You'd think all this cleaning would inspire me. After all, there's nothing like keeping up with the Joneses, right?

As I look around my cluttered apartment, however, with patio doors covered in water spots, newspapers in stacks and empty soda cans abounding, I most often think, with apathy, that the Cleaning Lady is simply doing enough for both of us.

She is doing way more than is needed. We live in a complex where trash bags in the common areas aren't an unusual site, where bits of garbage -- used paper towels, empty beer cans, etc. -- float out of the bin enclosures during heavy rains.

Today, though -- with the sun shining down, after a day of storms and rain -- and in honor of the New Year, maybe I'll go at it, too.

It couldn't hurt, I guess, to look at the world through clean windows.