Femme de ménage

n. – cleaning lady or housekeeper…
…or in my case, life-saver and I don’t mean because she cleans like a maniac (see previous blog), but rather because she is like a giant ray of sun (despite her petite size) in these otherwise gray winter days of our first months here.

Because my husband was intent on renting a much larger apartment than we’re used to and one that can accommodate guests since we’re now living far from family and US friends, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the space. And as I wrote previously, the still unidentifiable odor from under the kitchen sink still perplexes me to a point of near obsession.

So he was kind enough to inquire through friends about a housekeeper, which I never had in New York, but have fond memories of when I lived in LA. During that time, it was Maria – someone above and beyond a housekeeper, but someone who came to the house I lived in with my parents and who became a member of our family.

Maria was with me as I grew into my own first few apartments – tiny and gentle as a lamb, but at the same time strong and proud as a lion. She was a constant in my life in LA and I looked forward to her visits, not so much for the fact that she would help me clean and do the laundry, but for the fact that I truly enjoyed her company.

I never had any luck in New York finding someone with the same characteristics and since the apartment was smaller than any I had in LA and now here, had no issue taking care of it myself. But here I have had the good fortune of meeting someone like Maria – someone I instantly connected with and someone I have grown to not only respect, but in fact be inspired by in only three visits so far.

I remember the first – it was an instant connection as I heard her voice over the intercom and then saw her standing in my doorway. Like Maria, she is petite and feminine, but at the same time, fierce and unafraid. She took the time to chat with me – time she insisted was not to be included in the time we paid her for and then set about attacking the apartment without fear or reservation.

She came equipped with her arsenal – clean rags, sponges, rubber gloves and an outfit to change into because she always arrives meticulously dressed. She helped me navigate the washer/dryer – and while you may laugh, trust me until you’ve used a French version of the 2 in 1, it’s not as easy as you may think! She has tried to defeat the odor under the sink – unafraid to check the pipes herself with even ungloved hands.

But what has impressed me beyond just watching someone fastidiously accomplish her job is her story and her strength. Arriving here over 15 years ago from South America via Spain to help her ailing sister who eventually succumbed to cancer, she found herself in need of work. Since her sister had been in the employ of the parents of our friend, she asked if she could stay on to replace her. I’m not sure at what point it was exactly, but by then she was already in love with a Frenchman.

This is someone who was a legal secretary in Spain, but who couldn’t find the same type of work here because she wasn’t fluent in French. It was the mother of our friend who not only hired her, but insisted that she learn the language and continued to tutor her and correct her with each visit to their home. Her story touched me because she tells it with pride, but not arrogance. While grateful and loyal to our friend’s mother, it was though her own perseverance that she conquered the language and built a life here.

While I feel like a wounded bird here right now, I can only imagine what she must have felt like when she first arrived. And while I feel miserable from time to time, it doesn’t hold a candle to someone who came to help a dying sister and then tried to find a place for herself in a land that doesn’t embrace foreigners easily and especially those who don’t speak the language.

I recognize the symbol she represents at this point in my life. Little by little, she has helped me dig out of the darkness by being the objective voice of reason – “Why are you holding on to this box, that can of paint?” and so on. And by doing that each week has cleared the apartment of stuff that doesn’t belong, making it feel more and more like home each time she leaves.

But the thing that has given me the greatest comfort after each time I see her is verifying that she has left behind her little cleaning outfit. This way, I know she’s coming back and above all else during the week, I look forward to her visits and with them, the giant ray of sun they bring.