Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I dirted today.
Other people call it dusting, but "dusting" implies there's a light coat of feather-like debris involved.
Shortly, after waking today, I said, "It's been a while since I've dusted" and thought the task sounded novel as I pictured myself light-heartedly making things look shiny and new with the swipe of a magic wand. I grabbed two rags, moistened one, and headed for my bedroom windows.
I should have grabbed a chisel, a dustpan, and a priest. I found on my sills the ruins of ancient colonies, abandoned adobe homes, and the powdered remains of what were probably once pottery made by teeny tiny hands. My wet rag was, in one swipe, coated with mud. I grimaced and rinsed the cloth out in my bathroom sink.
As I returned to the window, I attributed the quarter-inch build-up to the neighboring construction work, but immediately after that thought, my mind flashed to the last time I remembered dusting, which was when I was still pregnant with my now-10-month-old daughter. So, really, I have no one to blame but my... ... husband.
I continued working on the window sill and found gaps where caulk was missing. Apparently, what had kept us from freezing to death this past winter was a compact bed of dirt. Huh- that explains those "mysterious" night allergies.
In the living room, I lightly shooed an upside-down fly off a sill with the dry rag and then shoved off its curled-up eight-legged companion. Neither of them stood a chance in the arid desert that is my windowsill. They were probably once friends, but as they crossed Little Sahara, they began to hunger and thirst and the spider apologized for having to go the way of his ancestors and eat his BFF for survival. My negligence in up-keeping my home triggered the break-down of The Fly-Spider Peace Treaty of 2007. (I cry for you, Fly and Spider.) I'd have to vacuum those suckers up off the carpet later. Eventually.
Finally, I ended up in the dining area where I came across a sacred insect burial ground. Insects of different races were piled up on top of each other, reminding us that we all return to dust (ahem) and need to put our differences aside. I swiped around them lest I stir up some ancient curse and rinsed my rags one last time before tossing them with the laundry. I'd have to get the vacuum attachment hose and "relocate" the bug remains. When I vacuum. Later. You know, when my daughter starts preschool.