Mopping

This is from an exercise on smell:
I smell lemon-scented cleaner, and I am mopping my floor, which may seem like an onerous task but I don't find it to be so. I have a string mop I keep out on the deck so that it doesn't get stinky. I turn on the hot water and pour in some cleanser. Then I soak the mop in it. Then I transfer the mop to the second sink and wring out the mop, so it's not overly wet and then I mop my white linoleum floor and the smell is clean and lemony and the spaghetti sauce stains and the splotches of mustard, the black and brown blobs of I don't know what fade and finally disappear. I am always alone when I mop, and perhaps that's another reason I enjoy it. When I am rinsing out the mop in the sink, I look out the window above the sink at our big greep tulip tree or the dogwood and the blackberry brambles and the woods. It is such a domestic moment for me. I guess I feel like the archetypal housewife--a woman with a kitchen floor to care for and a family who create a mess.