Spo-reflections on a dusty room.

Yesterday Sunday I woke determined scour the world of grime and filth – or at least the part of the world that is my house. I’ve been sleeping badly lately, partially due to nasal congestion preventing me from breathing. If you are like me, being able to breathe is a vital element for a good night’s rest. So, I took a deep breath, channeled the ghost of Agatha Morley, and got to work. 

It is both horrifying and amazing how much dust accumulates around here. The worst places were the ones I would not expect to find dust. The ceiling fan may look lovely from below but on top of the blades were dastardly layers of filth. How can this be when the fan whirl about so?  Another culprit was the lampshades, which had to be taken out of doors for a good shake. The oddest spot was the walls. One has to admire dust its cheek to accumulate on the walls. 

“What’s the big rush all of sudden?” said Someone, (or words like this). I told him; I’d been talking to him along be before he arrived in the room to investigate what was all the racket (I dust noisily). We were going to clean up today – at least the bedroom and bathroom. I shepherded him all day as a dog drives sheep. Between us we did countless loads of laundry including quilts and armchair covers (filthy!). I got up on ladders to attend to the tops of the bathroom lights and the frames of pictures (dens of dusty inequities all of them). Working from top to bottom, I then shook out the rugs in the spirit of generations of women (and menfolk too) who took up arms against the loungers and loafers and lead-butts who are all too willing to accept filth as OK. It was tough work but then it was done. “Come into the bedroom,” I told Someone, “and look and smell the clean.”  I slept well that night, knowing things were good and dust-free.