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Dust pan days

Jan Kopu0159iva on

Jokingly following in what may develop into a rant series, let’s take a lighthearted peek into those periods in life, when the all encompassing theme seems to be dust and dirt amidst total chaos.

Home improvements, rebuilds, new builds and renovations require workmen (also husband or wife and friends and relatives in specialized fields) to take over your space, time and life in order to get the job done.

Funnily enough transmogrification occurs. No longer moi during these tumultuous emotional times, I presto change-o into a glorified lackey.

Brooms are your best friends, I have learned. I now own an arsenal of these babies: an angled broom, push broom, straw broom, hard wire broom, soft bristled broom. Then, comes the stand up and smaller hand held regular size dust pan and mini broom followed by a variety of mops and squeegees and vacuums. Supported of course by a variety of cleaning products, rags, sponges, stain removers and the like.

All of them handy and hardworking inventions.

Presumably most parents will fondly remember (or are still in the throes of enjoying) their children’s or child’s imprints throughout the house as they explore and discover the world that surrounds them via scuffs, nicks, sticky gobs and the beloved hand marks on most surfaces.

Case in point, just as an avid spelunker searches for traces of earlier life forms in cave paintings or carvings, my quest is for signs of dust, debris and stains from modern times.

Just as intrepid as the aforementioned speleologist, I will fearlessly enter nooks and crannies, stretch into and under cabinetry and energetically and methodically cover every square centimeter of surface space on my quest to vanquish famigerated grime, smears and detritus from our lives.

I am positively thrilled when I locate a splash or gob of glue or grout, become overjoyed at discovering a bear sized paw print on a white surface, and get giddy when attacking a now encrusted splatter of unknown product covering the window panes.

Nothing makes me weak in the knees like when I hone in on footprints of semi wet paint leading down the garden steps to the terrace below.

At night, tired sweaty and grimy, post-shower and pre-deep sleep, I inhale deeply the lemony fresh scent of a clean scrubbed home. Feeling thoroughly satisfied with myself, I drift off thinking about sparkling disinfected surfaces, pristine floors, shiny metal…ZZZZZZZZZ


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