This steam cleaning Machine was a gift from my MIL a couple years ago. She had used it in her own home for several years and passed it on to me when she decided to upgrade, but it still worked perfectly fine. Or so I assumed, being that until today I had never turned it on.
There was a problem, however. I had no idea how to use the thing and didn't have a user's manual. When Mom gave it to me, I simply figured I'd call her and ask how to use it when I got around to it, and last night as I bent over the cleaner in my dim garage, I felt so sad that Mom isn't here to call anymore.
But I was increasingly determined to carry on her tradition of using this thing, so I Binged around until I found a manual I could download. Now I was in business! Terribly excited about the idea of steam cleaning my house--don't ask me why--I stayed up until 1 a.m. cleaning the machine and figuring out its mechanisms.
After church this morning, I ran to Target to get the proper cleaning solution and then began the exciting task of moving furniture and clutter off the floor. When I say moving, I don't mean putting away. I mean moving to higher surfaces. In piles. Many piles.
I'll spare you the blow-by-blow account of the next 10 hours. Yes, between vacuuming everything first and having two years of accumulated grime on the floors and upholstery, I worked for 10 hours. Did you ever see "Lady in the Water"? There's this guy who only exercises one arm, and I'm pretty sure that when I look in the mirror tomorrow my right arm will look something like this:
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| I'm just talking about the arm, not the beard or sideburns. |
During those 10 hours shoving the steam cleaner around the house by myself, I had lots of time to think, and the first things I thought about were memories of my MIL using the machine.
The earliest memory of The Thing I have is when Jay and I were moving out of our college apartment. In an effort to get our precious rental deposit back, we scoured that place up and down, and Mom brought over the steam cleaner. I remember she wore a loose white T-shirt, baggy denim shorts, and white tennis shoes. She wielded the cleaner masterfully, and when the management came to check us out, they asked in awe, "Did you repaint??" No, but we steam-cleaned the carpets. I logged that nugget away. Clean carpets = impressed management.
Another thing I remember is that whenever Mom was anticipating some event-or-other she was going to host, she'd remark with a little urgency, "I need to steam-clean the carpets." I loved how her light-beige carpets looked every time she steamed them!
When I cleaned the machine up last night before using it, something else reminded me of Mom. Dog hair. Don't take that the wrong way; I am referring to the fact that my MIL and FIL had an indoor dog, and Mom was always fighting a battle against dog hair, dog poo, and dog vomit. Eew. (All I saw evidence of on the machine last night was the hair, thank goodness.) She would get so frustrated at the dog, but she didn't spend much--if any--time complaining. She'd get out her steam cleaner, fill it with carpet solution, and clean up the mess. Again and again.
That's one thing I really like to remember about Mom: When there was a job to do, she knuckled down and did it, most likely with a smile.
I don't have any photographs of Mom using The Machine, but I took one of it today. The steam cleaner's in the foreground and my trusty vac (also a hand-me-down from my in-laws!) is in the background next to a pile of couch cushions about to be attacked.
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| I did the cushions outside while the rugs dried inside. |
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| The attacked cushions. Or are they mechanized toadstools? |
Although my arm is sore and my fingers are raw and every flat surface has piles, I feel very satisfied that I have sucessfully carried on the legacy of the steam cleaner. At least, I hope it's successful. Jay, if you read this before you get home tomorrow, please be sure that when you walk in the door you say, "Wow!! It looks amazing in here! Did you repaint?"
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