During the course of an Author Talk on my latest book, I mentioned the pleasure I derive from performing menial and mundane tasks....simply for the sake of going through the motions. Expecting that comment to be met with confusion-or outright rebellion-amongst this crowd of well-heeled New Yorkers, or with looks that conveyed an "I only do meaningful work and never perform mundane tasks myself," it instead was met with silent nods of approval. Nods that suggested that everyone knew what I was talking about. And that a small pang of "Oh yes! I remember doing mundane chores as a kid" swept through our collective consciousnesses.
I was actually referring to the pleasure I derive from my Saturday morning ritual of oiling my soapstone counters in our newly renovated kitchen. It is a ritual that only I do; my husband prefers the equally mundane task of polishing the copper pots or wiping out the oven.
But I actually enjoy the act of rubbing mineral oil into the soapstone. The process of getting there is a bit more tedious: it requires removal of all the various accoutrements that I can't seem to live without, on the long expanse of countertops flanking the generously-sized soapstone farmhouse-style sink underneath the newly-installed oversized window. Lifting a dozen heavy glass canisters onto the adjacent island, and the coffee maker, espresso machine and large toaster oven too, are the least fun parts of the routine.
But ahhh! Once aside, the 30 inch deep green soapstone seems to lie in wait of the glorious oiling job it knows is coming. As if the accoutrement removal is the "big sign of what lies ahead," my mind and arms prepare for the mindless caress of getting that soapstone to its glistening perfection.
Once completely devoid of clutter, the countertop cleaning process begins. With a bottle of stone cleaner in hand, I lightly spray the counters, letting the cleaner settle in for just a minute, and then I wipe them clean, being careful to get rid of any spots or stains, crumbs or scratches.
Only then does the bottle of mineral oil come out from beneath the cabinet. I squirt a few drops onto a clean, soft white cloth and wipe it into the stone, in soft strokes, up and down, around and around, making patterns in the stone and delaying the process itself, as if the designs I add will one day be reflected in the nourished souls of all who eat in this room.
I rub and I rub. Always gently. But finding myself absorbed in the process. A mundane and ridiculously menial process. Something my kids could do. Or my housekeeper too. If only I'd sacrificially allow them the pleasure that I so selfishly take on my own.
And then, shoulders aching slightly, I take another rag, and wipe off all of the excess that I had lovingly applied just a few minutes before. Around and around I go. Swirling circles of effort. Mindlessly releasing all of the thoughts of my day job. And clients. And kids' activities and grocery shopping lists. Of paying the bills or sorting the mail.
I wipe down my counters. And the world seems right again.
I derive this same sense of completion when I sweep my floors. Repetitively back and forth. Up and down. Getting the crumbs and dust bunnies out of the corners and emptying them into the wastebasket. So emotionally satisfying.
Sometimes we need to develop a broom-sweeping consciousness because we live in a Dust Buster world. We need to free out minds of the noise of phone-mail and beeping emails. Of iPods and Blackberrys. We need to get silent. Sweep our floors.
Or iron our pillowcases. Oil our countertops.
The dizzying distractions and busyness of life have clogged up our minds such that we no longer enjoy the simple pleasures of mundaneness. We yearn instead to "dust bust." To take one quick swipe with a loud electrically-charged mini-vacuum cleaner and get it done shazam-style. With one quick swoop. When what our mind really needed for an honest settling down was a few good minutes with an old-fashioned broom.
I don't know about you, but I have felt particularly distracted lately. Distracted by poor economic news, the housing crisis, sex scandals among our prominent politicians and the campaigns of our presidential hopefuls. I yearn-more than ever-to take time out from the chaotic busyness of life and sweep. Or iron. Or oil my countertops.
Seems silly, I know. But my hunch is, you may have an uneasy yearning for the same thing too. And just been unable to put your finger on it. A yearning to do something so completely mindless that you could do it with your eyes closed. Try getting out that broom. And let me know if it has the same impact on you.
