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  • Would a normal human being not sing something when faced with the numbingly boring task of scrubbing the porch?
    I don't know. All I know is that when I was coaxed outside with the sweeper by my Nene (Granny) and the rhythm of each sweep filled the silent air, accompanied by the chorus of cicadas, my mouth moved.

    For a kid that likes sleeping on leaves and wrestling with feral dogs, I would not usually sing about this. Mother's obsession with the cleanness of things never reached me. Just as dirtiness sets her blood boiling, the complaints and orders that come strange to my ears make my blood boil;Don't go near that cat. You don't know where it's beenThis is infuriating.How did that leaf get in here? Go get the vacuum cleaner.Just plain annoying. But, I guess that's Turk style. Eyes like a hawk for any speck of dirt that sneaks into the house. Any fallen gerbil bedding I try to hide, or kitty litter, is found in but a minute and not tolerated one bit. You get the point.

    She often talks about how a clean house makes a clean soul. I couldn't bathe in these words, because I didn't believe in them. To a young mind, I was living just fine in this environment she called to small and too dirty.

    But now, in the stuffy hot air of a Turkish summer, I was sweeping the porch clean. And I was feeling it. It might seem like a small thing, but the song that came out of my mouth that just seem to come at it's own accord was triggered by my soul; which was being cleaned as I mopped the tiles. Every ant, every dirty bit of crap something or someone had left there being caught up in the flow of cleanness and thrown over the edge and into the dirt where they belonged.

    The song I sang to myself held the pureness of a baby's soul, undirtied by time and experience. I remember saying something about cleaning every little piece of dirt there ever was on that porch; Sharing my mothers ambition to show anyone who stepped foot on that porch what kind of people we were. Clean people. Responsible people. It was the front of our home, for god's sake. Our home reflects who we are. I understood that.

    Perhaps it was part of growing up.
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