Following the death of Nita, my first wife, I was a bachelor for two years. It was interesting how quickly I went from domesticated to caveman which is the default state of men. (If you are a neatnik you may want to skip this blog.) Previously neatness reigned in our household due to Nita's efforts and weekly visits by Charlotte our cleaning lady. "Cleaning lady" doesn't do her justice. She was part angel; part Mrs. Fix-it; part of our family and an absolute cleaning, washing, dusting and ironing whiz. She was energy and enthusiasm personified.
Fortunately, she stayed on as I entered bachelorhood otherwise my bed would never again have been made up; (What's the point? I'd just mess it up again,) and dust would have turned all the furniture grey. Vacuuming? Windows? All Charlotte's territory where I didn't tread.
As for cooking, I was on my own. By the way, my hearty blessings on the inventors of the microwave and the dishwasher. Meals generally were based on convenience rather than any thought to nutritional concerns. If it was frozen, packaged, canned or pre-cooked it had priority on the menu. Hot dogs, cold cuts, tv dinners, cereal, soup and chocolate were the main food groups no matter what the government pyramid says. If Martha Stewart wanted to come to my house in person to cook and set the table, fine. Otherwise I was not even remotely interested in her ideas of gracious living. In fact, I didn't really need a table for dining. Meals were consumed while I stood at the sink. That way, dirty utensils were very close to the dishwasher. Soup was eaten directly from the pot it was heated in; why mess up a bowl? To cool the soup I blew on it loudly and slurped with gusto and to my heart's content, habits that were later quickly corrected by LaNell, my present wonderful wife. (I've been blessed beyond measure to have had two beautiful, loving wives. Far more than I deserve. People who know me heartily agree.))
My painting gear spilled over from my studio to the living room and to the kitchen table. Brushes, paints etc. stayed where I left them at the end of the day. Very convenient.
Each time I gave Charlotte a raise she resisted and I insisted. It was the same with her Christmas bonus. She accepted it and invariably would buy me (and Nita and later LaNell) ) a present that amounted to more than her bonus. This remarkable lady had her own style of dress and it was--um--unique. It fit her outgoing personality perfectly as did her glowing red hair. Always upbeat, smiling and laughing Charlotte blew into our home and hearts each Wednesday morning for 19 years like a refreshing breeze. In addition to her housecleaning five days a week she also drove a school bus and there was usually a story or two about the school kids or the cranky bus that broke down far from mechanics at the bus barn. But there was never any gossip about her other house cleaning clients.
One day she called and said she had a doctor's appointment and would be late the next Wednesday. When she arrived I could see she in her expression she had received bad news. Pancreatic cancer. Very low survival rate. Would I pray for her? Of course. I laid hands on her and asked God for his healing power to be in her. In the ensuing weeks she continued her cleaning until it was physically impossible for her to move a vacuum cleaner. Staying active as long as possible was what she wanted to do.
The final time we saw Charlotte alive was at a small gathering of friends, she requested, in her home with her husband.
Thin and quiet but her spirit strong as ever, she sat with obvious effort as we recalled the good times. Then she said she was tired and needed rest. It seemed strange to hear this red-haired, former dynamo admit she was tired.
Charlotte loved Jesus and she saw him just before she died.
"Well done good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things. I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord." Matt. 25:21