THE KITCHEN FLOOR

Our kitchen floor at the 2-story house on Wayne Avenue was a shining reflection of cleanliness.  My mother held cleanliness next to godliness in her list of values.  When she visited us in later years she would voluntarily started cleaning out the refrigerator.  She would bring a green specimen of something growing on the back of a shelf and say, “Are you saving this?”

The look on my wife’s face was a mixture of resentment and appreciation, resenting the implication and grateful someone else was cleaning it up.  When Mother left, the refrigerator and the kitchen would pass inspection from the strictest health authorities.

Around age 7, I was instructed how to first sweep, then mop and finally wax and polish our kitchen floor.  I looked at that floor so often, that the design, akin to something by Piet Mondrian, was imprinted on my brain. I would see it at night in my mind before going to sleep.  It was a light, cream-colored linoleum, with those scattered lines and right-angle shapes.  The 1940’s were known for modern design on many fronts, post WWII a time of robust economic growth.

The long-handled, straw broom, kept in a corner closet, and a shiny metal dustpan were the tools for the first step in the process following the “time to do the kitchen floor” announcement.  Every square inch needed to be swept clean of any dust or debris that may have collected there in the past 24 hours, because the floor was swept every evening whether or not there was anything in sight.  It had to be free of anything loose before the wet mop was applied.  The chrome-legged, kitchen table, had a grooved, chrome band with rounded corners and a white, formica top. It had to be moved to one side, and then back again to do the other side.   The four, red, vinyl-covered, matching chairs were moved with the table, and then all five pieces moved back again to the original site.  The entire kitchen measured about 10’ x 12’ with a counter, containing a sink, running length wise under the one window. The gas stove was on one end, refrigerator on the other.   Doors to the living room, the formal dining room and the back porch/ laundry room were on three of the four sides of the kitchen.

The mopping stage required a bucket, soap and water and then two applications of the rag mop, one for washing, one for rinsing.  The back and forth strokes of the mop had to be short and even, not long and swishing which would have been my preference. An inspection followed to be sure there was no sign of any remaining spots of dirt.

After a short drying period, the third and final stage, perhaps the hardest of all, commenced.  It could only be done on hands and knees and this had two parts as well.  First I applied the Johnson Paste Wax out of a metal can on small areas that I could reach and then with another dry rag, buffed that wax until the floor was as shiny as the vinyl on the table top.  It was a lot of hand rubbing for best results.  I tried doing it in my shoes with a rag underneath but Mother said, “No, that’s not as good.”  I tried numerous short cuts for what I thought were more efficient methods for this job, even suggesting we get an applicator and buffer but was turned down every time.

This job of mine had to be done either sometime on Friday or early Saturday, the end of one week and preparation for another.  My mother was a premium housekeeper, not only in the kitchen but in every other room in the house including bathrooms, bedrooms, living room, dining room and both porches.  My Dad kept his office super organized so her keeping it clean was a matter of a weekly routine.  The kitchen was my mother’s domain and she was without a doubt the Queen of Cleanliness.  I was the kitchen floor slave for two years before I retired to a different occupation.