A Secret Mission

The rate in 1989 to clean my grandmother's bedroom was $20. The $2 a week I made from my parents, doing nightly dishes and cleaning my room, was peanuts in comparison. In 1989, $20 could buy me 80 $0.25 bags of Wise, ridged, sour cream and onion potato chips. 80 bags! We never had chips in the house, so I mainly spent my $2 a week on a few bags and a pack or two of Double Mint gum to wash away the scent from my mouth. I always wanted to buy Doritos and Cheetos, but those were too risky. They would leave my fingertips and fingernails stained with bright orange cheese powder evidence, and I’d need a lot more than Double Mint Gum to cover my naughty traces. Not to mention, the bathroom in Alan’s candy store didn’t always have soap. But boy, did I dream of buying 40 bags of Cheetos and 40 bags of Doritos with my chore money. I fantasized about licking my little fingertips into a pruny oblivion, with my tummy hanging out as I laid on my bed in an orange cheese induced coma. I would have laid in silence, in ecstasy, in the absence of “Tina, stop eating.” or “No, Tina, you shouldn’t eat that.”

Sure, grandma's bedroom dressers were covered in saint statues of all shapes and sizes, with glass bottles and other knick knacks strewn about the tops of the thick, oak furniture - all of which had to be moved and cleaned for the $20. I had to unplug and wipe down the giant Jesus head with the glow in the dark heart and get the dust bits out of his eyes, hand creases, fingernails and clothing. St. Anthony was an undertaking too. He was large, heavy, and his robe had many folds. I would cover a butter knife with a soft, damp cloth and run the knife up and down his body so not a trace of dust could be found when grandma checked. Qtips were used to clean the eyes of the statues, and I even removed 50 strands of rosary beads from her bedpost and wiped the head board clean too. It was tedious, but I also  knew that 4 hours of work meant I was making $5 an hour which was exactly what my mom made at the bakery and she had to be there at 6am to open. Grandma let me start after breakfast and cartoons on Saturday morning.

But more than my chubby chip fantasies and the fair wages, I loved dusting for her because after the work was done she’d make me lunch, sometimes we’d even make my Barbie dolls new clothes from her sewing scraps. It was our time together. Grandma was a talented seamstress and cook who gravely disliked house chores. And I understand why; she had other dreams. I loved the housework, too, because it was our secret. I’d clean while grandpa was at work and she would pay me from the small pile of cash she hid underneath her mattress. Her stash for goodies; or when she knew my mom needed a hand -  and for cleaning services rendered, of course. 

Together we would eat leftover lunch sandwiches of meatballs, eggplant, maybe some peppers or fried potatoes, and a thick slice of mozzarella. It depended on the week, but her leftover meals were her specialty. She’d heat everything in one  pan and craft pure magic. So much magic that I forgot about chips. So much magic that I didn’t overeat. It was just the two of us on our secret mission. A monthly union I still think of to this day.