How do you wear your genes?

Browsing through a local book store the other day I came across a travel mug that was made just for my Mom. And for me. And for my brother. And for my sisters. In other words for all of us with the same genes. The mug read ‘obsessive compulsive … in a nice way’. And I can bet my last penny that the mug would have been my thirteen year old son’s first choice for a Mother’s Day gift – that is if he decided to buy one.

In my growing up years I remember my mother dusting furniture with great care everyday, wiping her kitchen counters dry and clean everytime they were used, and putting away scattered and strewn stuff across the house back to where they belonged. She is the Queen of clean and in her kingdom everything has a place, cushions on couches are arranged in a particular order not to be disturbed without permission or reason, no speck of dirt gone astray can find solace in her home, all muck and mess and muddle is relentlessly destroyed in her turf.

My mother’s obsession for cleanliness and orderliness has been passed on to all her children in good measure. So much so that on days that I do not wield broom and mop I feel utterly incomplete. To me the hum of the vacuum cleaner is one of the sweetest sounds, the feathery touch of a furniture duster one of the softest, and the sight of kitchen towels one that evokes positive thoughts. To me a sink full of dishes is the main cause of insomnia, a stained stove top is reason for restlessness, and a basket of unfolded laundry a source of agitation. While most women hover around jewelry counters at stores you can be sure that I am scrutinizing the cleaning supplies aisle. One of my most prized possessions came in a compact package containing four different cleaning cloths – one for glass, one for wood, one for kitchen counters and one for the floor – all at an inviting price of $3.99.

When my brother comes to visit, (after the exchange of customary greetings) he surveys the house for any objects or items that seem out of place. Once he is done with this ritual I wait for what to me is the most valuable part -- his nod of approval, his stamp of acceptance, his gesture that tells me that we share a special bond.

When my sister chops onions she ensures that each slice is the exact same size and shape as the other. Like everybody else in the family she is distressed when she does not find something in what she believes is its ‘right’ place. Her theory is that not only does everything have a place; everything has a ‘right’ place. A scientist by profession, she analyzes this behavior as being similar to Leonard’s (from the movie Memento) who relies on a ‘system’ rather than memory.

But let me not be misunderstood. So far I have only talked about ‘obsessive compulsive’’ now let me tell you about ‘in a nice way’, My mother’s home is a haven for family and friends – sunny, warm and bright, with a whiff of flavorful meals dished out from her kitchen, love and laughter flowing in abundance, unbearably loud chatter of grandchildren, constant ringing of the doorbell and the phone…

If at sixty I can be as energetic, as inspiring, as fun-loving, and as popular as my mom is I would consider myself genetically blessed. Those genes I would wear everyday.