“Speed cleaning” is life-changing.

Back in the day, spring cleaning was an annual ritual: curtains laundered, rugs beaten, windows washed, cabinets emptied and wiped, floors scrubbed. Rather than trying to make up for six months’ worth of neglect through one long, physically grueling attack on your home, I’m going to suggest something different: speed cleaning. It’s efficient, effective and, yes, life-changing.

  1. Pick one spot to focus on.
  2. Assemble supplies (which should be stored all together, in the same place) and put on some of your favorite music.
  3. Set the kitchen timer for 20 minutes.
  4. Clean like mad. Get spouses/roommates/partners/your kids in on the action, too. Even preschoolers can and should do chores like dusting, pairing socks and emptying small wastebaskets.
  5. Stop when the timer goes off. Or not: If you’re in the zone, just keep going.

Less than half an hour of churning and burning can make a huge difference in how you feel about where you live. Once the place is in shape, you can keep up it that way with a few short bursts of activity. This is much less onerous than thinking, “This weekend I have to clean the entire house.”

And yes, I know how busy you are. But as Thoreau asked, what are we busy about? 

 

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The Molly Pitcher workout.

thWhen I was in elementary school we heard the story of a brave Revolutionary War-era woman who carried water to the troops during the Battle of Monmouth. “Molly, Molly, bring us your pitcher,” the men would call on that hot July day. That’s how she became known as “Molly Pitcher,” we were told.

Mary Ludwig Hays McCauley did follow her husband, a barber who enlisted in the Revolutionary Army, and apparently helped him load cannons. But “Molly Pitcher” seems to have been just a generic nickname for women who carried water to the colonial troops.

The truth is so limiting. I like the legend better, especially after what happened to me yesterday.

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How often do you wash your jeans?

If you take Real Simple’s “When-to-wash-it handbook” as gospel, then I’m a total pig. Apparently I should wash my jeans after four to five wearings, launder my PJs every three or four days, and spend $10 on four ounces of a special swimsuit shampoo.

I don’t do any of those things. Oink, I guess.

Good thing I don’t wear silk PJs – Real Simple says they’re supposed to be washed daily.

In fact, I don’t wear a nightgown at all except in the winter. Sorry if that’s TMI for you. But I have an even dirtier image to share: Sometimes I wear a shirt twice before washing it.

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In praise of the rag bag.

It takes me forever to use up a roll of paper towels. I wish I’d written the date inside the cardboard tube of the roll currently in my kitchen. It’s been there at least a couple of years. Even though I’ve been traveling a lot, that’s still a long time for one roll to have been operating – and to be only about 50% reduced.

It’s not that I’m particularly neat. It’s that I see no reason to use paper towels when I have plenty of rags.

Sure, paper towels are convenient. But they’re expensive, too. Why use and toss wads of paper when I can use a piece of cloth, launder it and use it again? And if you’re just draining salad greens or wiping up spilled water, you don’t even need to wash the cloth – just hang it up to dry.

Call that eco-friendly if you like. I prefer to think of it as common sense.

 

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Hey, you, take off those shoes!

Wish I had a piece of the hosiery industry in Anchorage, where you remove your footwear after you enter someone’s house. Knowing you’ll be unshod regularly means making sure your feet are decently covered.

Once when I was an Anchorage Daily News reporter I took off my shoes at an interviewee’s home and discovered a rent in one sock. It’s hard to look professional when your big toe has its eye to the peephole.

Obviously Alaska is not the only place where indoor shoe-wearing is frowned upon. People in other cultures live this way too – and so, increasingly, do U.S. residents, as a quick Internet search indicates. Sometimes it’s because they want the carpet to last longer. Sometimes it’s because they don’t want spike-heel scratches on the hardwood.

And sometimes it’s to keep you from tracking in poisons.

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Turf wars.

Here’s the only thing I learned this week that’s worth remembering: If the sun is out, mow the damn lawn. I was so embroiled in deadline that I somehow felt I couldn’t take 45 minutes off to cut the grass at my house-sitting job.

“Later,” I kept saying, until “later” turned into “tomorrow.” Except that it rained that day.

And just about every other day, until the house was the only one on the block with a prairie view. At which point it rained again.

 

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