Most people don't know this, but you can rent carpet cleaning machines from hardware stores. Lowes. Home Depot. Some local places too. About forty bucks a day. Plus shampoo. Another twenty-five.

My dad taught me that.

He sold cleaning supplies for years. It was one of the practical things he passed on. His way of expressing love was through cleaning demos. He'd find the unsightly hard-baked stains while visiting your house and offer to clean them.

I don't talk to my dad anymore. I have no relationship with either of my parents. They are both alive, but dead to me. It's not reconciliable. He believes in things I can't stomach—perpetual wars, genocidal politicians, scorched Earth politics, and in things that cause irreparable damage in my life that he does not see. It's not my responsibility to change or fix anyone but myself.

But the other day, I rented a carpet cleaner all on my own for the first time.

My housemate moved out. She has a dog. A very sweet dog. But an anxious one. For the first six months, stress peeing and accidents. We cleaned as we went, but it's been a year. Carpets hold memory.

So I went to Lowes. I rented the machine. I bought the shampoo. I came home and spent 24 hours on my hands and knees, pushing a steaming machine across floors that haven't seen this much attention since before the storm.

The machine works by steaming water. It gets hot. The carpets get wet. You need good airflow to dry everything out, or you'll get mold.

It's the first week of April. We've already had 86-degree days. I thought I'd missed my window. If it gets too hot, the drying becomes miserable. The humidity sticks. The whole house turns into a swamp.

But this week, it's cool. A gift. A narrow window.

I jumped on it.

This is the third time I've done this. Once with my dad watching. Once where I showed two other people how. And now, alone.

I have bitterness toward my dad. I have grief. I have a lot of reasons to never think about him again.

But yesterday, I was grateful.

Grateful for the knowledge. For the forty-dollar rental. For the twenty-five dollar shampoo. For the cool weather that let me do what needed to be done.

The carpets are clean now. Not perfect. But clean.

You can't smell the dog anymore. You can't see the stains. The house feels different. Lighter.

I don't place much value on the things he has bought me over my life. You don't take money with you when you die. But the few knowledge based skillsets such as renting and using a carpet cleaner, I carry with me for the entirety of my life.

Practical knowledge doesn't ask you to forgive. It just works.

So here I am. Alone in a house with clean carpets. Grateful. Bitter. Both at once.

In the Jewish tradition, bitter is honored and divinely celebrated.

If you read this far, I am wanting to know if there is a practical skillset or something you learned from a parent, or parental figure, that you carry with you forever.

If you don't have that, just know you can rent a carpet cleaner for the day. It's cheaper than you think. Just get the shampoo, too.