Oh, the shame!

Nobody tell my mother... but I may hire someone to give my house a good cleaning.

If she finds out, she'll insist on doing it herself and then I'll have the added guilt of dragging my 69-year-old mother across town to scrub my floors and dust my shelves. The last time I complained to her that I was having a time management problem when it came to cleaning my house, she replied, "You spend too much time with your friends. Leave your friends alone for once and clean instead."

She has a point. But I think a cleaning lady may be a better idea.

It's not like I want to make a habit out of it. In fact, I would even be open to having someone come over and help me do a big clean. Frankly, the job is presently too big for the time I could allot to it and I need a little boost. The floors are still patterned with dried slush that fell from the movers' boots. Oh, just a little help...

But the guilt! I don't know if I can do it.

I have all the respect in the world for those who make their living cleaning other people's messes. When my mother came to this country in 1963, not able to understand a word in English or French, she began cleaning offices in Place Ville Marie. After she had my brother and I, she found occasional work cleaning private homes. I would sometimes go with her, quietly playing in the living room, while she went about the business of cleaning. One of her clients - Mrs. Bercovitch - was so fond of my mother and I, she remained a friend of our family until she died not long ago.

Cleaning houses put a roof over my head, food in my belly, and books in my hands. It's a respectable trade that gives honest employment to people who want to work. And yet I'm so ambivalent - it seems so unnecessary, so lazy of me.

Help!

While I have your attention, read this article on Slate.com about the carbon footprint of the Olympic flame.