T A B L E++T A L K

Do you have time to housekeep? How do you juggle kids, work and cleaning the bathtub? Share your stories and advice in the Mothers area of Table Talk

R E C E N T L Y

Violence or entertainment?
By Dwight Garner
Media violence's vicious circle
(05/21/98)

Uxorious
By Kate Moses
Uxorious: Pondering the word and why it never comes up in conversation
(05/20/98)

M is for the many ways she lost it ...
The mother of all drama queens
(05/20/98)

Drowning in fairness
By Liz Gardner
Does holding back valid criticism create more confident children or praise junkies?
(05/19/98)

Where the gals are
By Laura Miller
From Ally McBeal to Bridget Jones: Neurotic pals for lonely gals
(05/18/98)

BROWSE THE MOTHERS WHO THINKARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

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BY LORI LEIBOVICH | One dirty dish languishing in Louise Rafkin's kitchen sink at the end of the day -- even one coffee-stained mug, or butter-crusted knife -- and the woman can't get to sleep. Every utensil must be filed away, every throw pillow placed just so. As a housecleaner, it is Rafkin's job to worry about other people's messes. She battles their grout, makes sure their tubs are pubic hair-free. But a single walk through Rafkin's own home and it is clear: She applies the same fastidious -- OK, compulsive -- principles to her own home.

In a word, it is spotless. But not in a sterile, don't-touch-anything sort of way. The paint looks fresh, the faint scent of lemon cleanser clings to the air. Everything in the homey Bay Area Victorian is shiny and polished and seems to have a place. This is a woman who, at the beginning of each therapy session, feels compelled to empty her therapist's wastebasket.

"I live for trash day, what can I tell you?" she sighs.

Rafkin is sitting at her kitchen table with a pile of postcards before her. On the front is a picture of Rafkin, donning sunglasses, broom in hand. The cards announce the publication of her fun new book, "Other People's Dirt: A Housecleaner's Curious Adventures." She is sending them to friends and family but also to many of her old clients, some of whom are portrayed -- not always generously -- in the pages of her book.

"Will they hate me?" she wonders. "I hope not. I mean, they knew I was a writer."

Rafkin dishes the dirt on rich clients and waxes philosophic about what it means to be intimate with the stuff -- material and bodily -- of strangers. Rafkin, 40, who spent seven years cleaning homes in New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Cape Cod, is also a gonzo journalist of sorts. She goes undercover as a corporate "Happy Maid," explores the seamy world of "exotic" housecleaners (women who "clean" in the nude), attends a support group for slobs called "Messies Anonymous" and trails a "decomp" specialist -- someone who scrapes up human remains from crime and suicide scenes.

"I found myself repulsed and then curious," Rafkin writes of her meeting with Kathy Jo, the crime-scene cleaner. "I wanted to know what body remains felt like on the backside of a sponge. Soft? Or hard like a cadaver?" (Answer: It depends on how long the body has been there, and which part of the body you're sponging up.)

Almost immediately after I enter her kitchen -- before she even offers me a cup of coffee -- Rafkin pulls me over to a drawer, jerks it open and says, "See? OK -- here it is." She's pointing to The Drawer. You know the one. The drawer in every kitchen where every orphaned utensil, every stray twistie tie, every random paper clip and every shriveled photo that used to be on the fridge are laid to rest. (My mother calls hers the "crazy" drawer.) Rafkin is showing me hers to prove that even she isn't above kitchen chaos. The contents of Rafkin's crazy drawer: candles, incense, swimming goggles and a harmonica, among other clutter. After the showing, Rafkin seems relieved, unburdened, as if she's gone to confession. Now, she says, the interview can begin.

N E X T+P A G E: They trust me because I'm white