By the standards of our children’s generation, my house is pretty clean.  At least it’s pretty picked up, i.e., it looks clean.  Hector and John, our cleaning men since forever (around forty years) always provide incentive for me to “clean up for the cleaning men”.  Until I retired, it seemed perfect. 

But now that I am home more, I see bookshelves that haven’t been dusted, drawers and closets that could use a cleaning, basement tool shelves in disarray.  I haven’t done much about it, despite my good intentions. 

The one thing I do pay attention to is my refrigerator.  I regularly give it the “Tina test,” namely, would I be embarrassed to have my friend Tina, the paragon of perfect housekeeping, peek in?

When the answer is “yes”, I know what I have to do.