Tonight I sit in a pristine environment. The floor actually shines. Every corner of this one-bedroom cottage has been vacuumed, sucked dry of any remains or residue of vermin. Every surface has been thoroughly wiped. The window screens were earlier taken off, hosed down, dried, while their respective glass panes were cleaned and polished.
My home feels like a five-star hotel after four hours of deep clean. I have the entire weekend to enjoy it.
I first entertained the idea of a deep clean when I met a professional cleaner over a year ago. The place I had chosen in Kahului was deceptively “okay” upon inspection but tediously dirty after I moved in. No matter how much I scrubbed, fine black sand would find its way into the ground floor two-bedroom house I called my “annexe.” The cleaner from Kihei came for a visit and determined that it needed a “deep clean.”
After several attempts and misses, I gave up trying to arrange an appointment. It was not meant to be. I lived in what I called the “Calcutta of Maui.” I could not change the neighborhood of caged pit bulls, stray cats who fought at night, or the black dust sand that entered under the doors. On a typical hot sunny day, the smell of previous evening’s cat fight would permeate through the open windows and coat itself like slick oil on the oddly shaped interior. The only saving grace was that I could move after the six month lease.
Out of the gutter, I moved uphill to a location with a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. My new place in Wailuku had been regularly cleaned by the previous tenant and the green lawn mowed by her boyfriend. All windows and screens were freshly cleaned for my arrival.
Although it’s much easier to maintain than my previous home, I still had to spend an entire morning on such chores. Every week I would sweep the floors. Every other week I would sweep, mop, and wipe. But I never touched the windows or the corners.
One year and 3 months later, I got my “deep clean” fix. Referred by a colleague, a slender young woman showed up at my gate with a bucket of cleaning liquids and tools and her vacuum cleaner. She was leaving her job, her relationship, her home, and looking for her next step. Cleaning brought immediate cash income. It was a temporary gig until she “found” herself.
Through short conversations here and there, I started thinking about the transient nature of people who come to Maui. Many, no doubt, had come to stay. But the paradoxes of paradise soon revealed themselves. Work is hard to find for those with a bachelor’s degree, and even scarcer for those with more advanced degrees.
The young woman could build up her cleaning gigs until she achieves a reliable income to afford time for her art. And then she could hire someone else to do the actual work so she could spend time on her art and managing her cleaning business. Eventually she could sell her business but keep her clients for her art work. After all, on Maui, business is done with people you know.