It's coming up spring

          It’s coming up spring. If I close my eyes, I can remember my mom moving purposefully through the house with a bandana tied Aunt-Jemima-style over her hair. She carried a bucket of hot water and the broom with a towel over its bristles. She started with the ceiling and worked her way down, and by evening of the second day, the house gleamed with wax and polish and smelled wonderfully lemony. Though Mom didn't have a nice house or—I believe—grea...