In most of the English-speaking world the big clean happens in spring. In Japan it happens at the end of December, and it has a name: osoji, the big cleaning.
It is not really about hygiene. The house is cleaned so that the new year can come into a clean place. Offices do it, schools do it, and most households still do some version of it in the last weeks of the year.
Where it comes from
The older name is susuharai, the sweeping away of soot. In houses heated by open hearths, a year of soot gathered in the rafters, and it was swept out once, at the end of the year. The thirteenth of December was the traditional day to begin the New Year preparations, and the soot-sweeping came first. Temples still hold public susuharai in December, with long bamboo brooms.
The reason given was a guest. Toshigami, the god of the New Year, was believed to visit each house in early January, and the house was cleaned so the god could come in. Whatever one makes of the guest, the idea holds up: the year is closed by making the house ready for the next one.
The four rules
Top to bottom. Dust falls. Ceilings and light fittings first, floors last, in every room.
Dry before wet. Dust and sweep before anything is wiped or washed, or the dust turns to mud.
Back of the house to the door. Start in the rooms furthest from the entrance and work toward it. The genkan, the entrance, is always last, because it is where the house is entered and where the new year arrives.
Release before you clean. Anything that is leaving the house should leave before it is cleaned around. Cleaning behind something you are about to throw away is the most common waste of an afternoon in December.
Sixteen days, one area a day
The usual mistake is to do it all on the thirtieth. It takes the whole day, the worst jobs are rushed, and nobody enjoys the last evening of the year. Spread from the thirteenth to the twenty-eighth, it is about an hour a day.
December 13: paper and a plan. Walk every room once, decide who does what, buy supplies once, and take one bag of things to release.
December 14 to 18: closets and storage, the wardrobe, the bedroom, the desk and the year’s paper, and the digital clutter nobody can see.
December 19 to 23: the living room, then the high places across the whole house, then windows and curtains on a dry day, then the bathroom and the toilet.
December 24 to 26: the kitchen, over three days. The fridge and pantry first, so the old food leaves before the New Year food arrives. Then the stove and extractor, the greasiest job, with warm water. Then counters, sink and floor.
December 27: outside. The balcony, the doorstep, the letterbox, the car.
December 28: the genkan, last. Shoes, coats, the door itself, the step. And the New Year decoration goes up.
The days after
New Year decorations are traditionally put up by the twenty-eighth. Not on the twenty-ninth, because nine can be read as ku, suffering. Not on the thirty-first either: decorating on the last night is called ichiya-kazari, one-night decorating, and was thought too hasty to be sincere.
The thirtieth is for cooking, if anything is cooked. On the thirty-first, toshikoshi soba is eaten in the evening, long noodles for a long life, and at midnight the temple bells ring one hundred and eight times.
What it leaves behind
A clean house is the obvious result. The less obvious one is a list. If each day ends with one line on what left the house, the list on the twenty-eighth shows where the year’s clutter came from, and that is worth reading before January fills the cupboards again.
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This article is part of a series exploring Japanese philosophy and intentional living: