So this is how my time with Mr. Noble and Carthage ended- with a scrub brush in my hand! Today was the day that Mr. Noble moved out of his Kenosha apartment, and I came over to help with the cleaning- which for those of you who know me is a little like Brittany Spears leading a colloquium on nuclear physics. . . I did not feel like the best person for the job. I was , however, more than willing and even anxious to play some part in his last day in Kenosha. It actually began with me picking up lunch for us at the Soup Depot (what a shame I didn’t introduce him to this place before his last week here) – and then after that came a couple hours of fun cleaning the refrigerator, the stove, and the kitchen and bathroom floors. (Dr. Ripley and his son came to take care of the windows.) Unfortunately, Mr. Noble didn’t have as many cleaning supplies on hand as he thought he did, and some serious improvisation was necessary. (When I first got out the mop and pail, it looked like the only thing I had to mix with the water was Wesson Oil, which even I knew would have been rather counterproductive. But then I scared up some bathroom cleaner, and a few squirts of that created a few suds – better than nothing.) I’m actually proudest of the refrigerator, because I was actually thorough in a way that I have never been when cleaning anything before. (Just ask my wife.) But somehow this was a task to which I was inspired to give my very best effort. . . as though there could be no better demonstration of my love for and devotion to Mr. Noble than in how completely I could remove the stains from the interior of that refrigerator. And truth be told, the only thing in that refrigerator even remotely resembling a stain was a yellow spot underneath the produce drawer. . . and believe me, I attacked that stain as though I was eradicating bubonic plague.
By the time 3:30 rolled around, I needed to head for home in order to practice with a viola player for her upcoming graduate school recital. But fortunately, this didn’t need to be a heavy, fight-back-the-tears sort of farewell. Mr. Noble is back at Carthage during the last week in June for a choral directors conference ( as part of an illustrious faculty which also includes Dale Warland ) and I am going to be the rehearsal / workshop accompanist for most of that event. So Mr. Noble is going to have me to kick around one more time. After that it will be time to really say goodbye, and that’s when all the hankies in the world won’t be enough. But today I could walk away smiling – with a can of cleanser in one hand and a mop in the other – sad that the main story is over but grateful for the brief epilogue still to come, and grateful to have one more opportunity to say I love you- not in words, but with Lysol. I’m reminded of when I moved out of my horrendously messy bachelor apartment at the Shagbark Complex. It was the end of May 1991 and I moved out of my apartment and in with my dear friend Everetta McQuestion for those summer months before the wedding. My little studio apartment was packed to the gills, as though I were one of those eccentric women on the edge of town with mountains of newspapers in her living room and 45 cats living under one roof. Into that incredible mess came Jeri Smith, pretty much unannounced, with cleaning supplies in hand, ready to do battle. And eventually Kathy and Lynn Helmke were there as well. . . and for all of the moments in my life when I’ve received standing ovations or heartfelt letters of appreciation or whatever sort of gestures of appreciation and love, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more lavishly loved than when those three women walked into the middle of that mess. . . and did so cheerfully and (as far as I can tell) not on the heels of having just suffered a nervous breakdown. (For all I know, they probably suffered one afterwards.)
I had a couple of minutes before I left to glance through the memory book which Mr. Noble was given by the choir right after baccalaureate. It contains personal letters from just about every single member of the choir ( a handful of guys couldn’t quite get the job done) and it was really neat to see all the different ways in which various members of the choir tried to convey the depths of their admiration and affection for Mr. Noble. (I’m pleased that I suggested this as a gift from the choir to Mr. Noble; I know he will cherish this for the rest of his life and that it will a source of comfort and strength for him through whatever might be ahead.) I didn’t sit down and thoroughly read the letters- after all, they were addressed to Mr. Noble and not to me – but it was just fun to glance at them in order to get a sense of how the various students had responded to this request. Some were meticulously crafted formal letters while others were rather spontaneous, simple notes – and everything in between. It was great.
As I said before, I am very glad that today was not a day for big goodbyes, because I’m sure words would have failed me. Today I could best say “I love you” and “I’ll miss you” and “thank you for everything” with my scrub brush and cleanser. Thank goodness.
pictured: One spectacularly clean refrigerator- I even removed and washed the racks. (Never have I felt quite so Martha Stewart-ish before.)