If I wasn’t a mere 5 feet, 3 inches, I could stand in a crowd at a concert and never have anyone blocking my view. I could reach right up and grab that perfect apple out of a tree, without having to make do with the leftovers thrown to the ground by Mother Nature. And in the grocery store, I wouldn’t have to ask tall strangers to get me that last can of chick peas that is just out of my reach in the middle of the highest shelf.

If I were taller, I could also operate my home more efficiently by saving a few steps. For example, I wouldn’t have to go fetch my stool every time I needed the cheese platter — the one that only fits in the cabinet above the fridge. I wouldn’t have to get the step ladder out to change a light bulb. And I wouldn’t have to pretend I didn’t see the cobwebs that seem to grow overnight on the very top corners of my cathedral windows.

There’s no denying that cathedral windows are beautiful, especially when they look out on a lake view like mine. But with cathedral windows come tall ceilings, which also necessitate the need for a fan to circulate all the air that escapes up to the heavens. Which leads us back to those cobwebs. And dust on the fan blades and window sills and spider webs in those can’t reach corners.

The fan I inherited when I bought the house is a bit shabby looking — a yellowed white with a few knicks here and there. But I’m living with it because I’m afraid to hear my electrician tell me he doesn’t do cathedral ceilings (just like the furnace repair gal said she didn’t do roofs) because he just didn’t have a ladder tall enough and had never mastered scaffolding.

But the dust and the cobwebs?  Well, that’s something I just can’t live with.

So here’s my solution: For the cobwebs in the top windows, and the dust that inevitably builds up on the ledge up there, I use my trusty Swiffer and my kitchen stool. For the dusty fan blades, I use the step ladder and the Swiffer, being careful not to lean back too far in my zeal to clean the next blade that I fall off my perch and land on my glass coffee table (another dust catcher, but that’s another story). For the corners of the cathedral ceilings, where the cobwebs and spiders love to hang out, I attach a Swiffer dry cloth onto the end of my telescopic window-cleaning gizmo (the one I had used to sweep spider nests off the outside of the house every morning until I discovered Spider Man Mitch and his magic potion). It’s not as effective at getting right into the corners as the straight-edged toggling Swiffer head, but it’s the only thing that can reach that high. It gets the job done.

Got a house with cathedral windows? If you’re preparing it for sale and think you’re done cleaning, don’t forget to look up — way up! — to make sure there are no cobwebs or dust bunnies hanging around. You don’t want to give buyers a reason to say, “I bet those ledges up there are really hard to clean!”

That’s exactly what I thought when I toured my house before I bought it. But then I looked out to the lake and that gorgeous view. All thoughts of scaffolding vanished instantly. It’s hard to explain. But gazing out those soaring windows at that big blue sky, I felt 12 feet tall that day. And I knew, this house fit me perfectly.

It still does. Even if I’m really only 5 feet, 3 inches and have to carry a foot stool and step ladder around with me.

I love winter best when the sun is shining brightly, the snow glittering like diamonds as far as the eye can see. And with my lake view, that’s far.

And so I was in a sunny frame of mind this morning, taking in nature in all her winter glory.

The smile on my lips faded somewhat after I took a sip of coffee. I must have blinked too fast, for when my eyes refocused, they sought not the beautiful winter panorama that spread out before me. No. They zoomed in for a closer look at my dirty — very dirty! — window.

I blame my mother for this. She can’t stand a dirty window, always out there cleaning and shining until the glass disappears, leaving nothing but a picture-perfect scene to invite in for a nice cup of tea. It used to drive me crazy as a young teenager, when I spent every Saturday cleaning the house with my mother. Just when we finally sat down at the dining room table to enjoy a glass of something cold while sharing an appreciative glance around at our handiwork, my mother would swear, hop out of her chair and run out to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towel.

“What are you doing?” I’d ask, knowing only too well that she must have spotted a small speck of dust on the big picture window at the front of the house. “I can’t stand a dirty window,” she’d spit out, angry that rain or dust or both had the nerve to spot an otherwise shiny window. Deep down, I understood her. But how could I sit and enjoy a guilt-free break when my mother was furiously scrubbing a window when she should be the one resting?

Now that my mother lives in a highrise building, keeping those windows clean is a fine balancing act. Take the large living room window, for instance. To clean it, my mother must lean over the side of the balcony and stretch as far as her arms will go, which is exactly three storeys above an asphalt parking lot. Not for the faint of heart! My mother will go far for a clean window, however, and takes on the dangerous task of window-washing on a regular schedule when the weather is nice.

But winter? Well, that’s a different story. Instead of Windex, she uses car windshield washer fluid, the kind designed for good, ol’ Canadian winter temperatures, to clean the windows she can safely reach from the balcony without resorting to a tightrope dance. I am relieved to hear that nearing 80, even she will no longer take the chance of falling off the balcony by leaning over to clean the big living room window. Instead, she will close the blind for a few hours on those sunny days when the rays are directly opposite her window.

“Shine, gaw-damned you,” she spits as she snaps the blind closed, shutting out the sun before it illuminates those annoying specks of winter grime and throws them like taunts right into her face.

I could do the same at my house, but just can’t close the curtains and blinds knowing that if my elderly mother were visiting, she would be out cleaning my windows in no time. That’s because all but two of the windows on my ranch-style cottage are within easy reach.

There is no excuse for dirty windows here, except laziness, which can be reversed, and freezing temperatures, which can be overcome. On bright sunny days like today, I can muster the energy to overcome anything, even -8 temperatures.

In order to protect myself from needless frostbite, I usually wait until temperatures are just around the freezing mark before I fill a bucket with very hot water and head outside with a sponge mop.

Try it yourself. If it’s above freezing, you can wipe down a three-pane window with the hot water all at once, then use regular glass cleaner to complete the job pane-by-pane. If it’s below freezing, it’s best to sponge on the hot water one pane at a time, then quickly squirt on windshield washer fluid and polish it up before ice forms. Then move on to the next pane.

It’s easy. But don’t forget to wear gloves. It’s cold out there!

Is it worth it? You bet! Now you can enjoy the warmth of sun pouring in your clean, shiny windows without the need to curse. Unless, of course, the glass is so clean you forget there’s a sliding door and smack into it head-first on your way outside to scoop up a handful of those sparkling diamonds in the snow.