Entry tags:
Legends of a Domestic God
I bought a new broom today. And yes, that makes me pretty excited. I don't mind a cluttered house, but a dirty one drives me crazy. Clutter is stuff. Stuff can be stored, used, or gotten rid of. Dirt is just a pile of pathogens and material that's going to clog up my already crappy lungs. So, now that my energy is better, I'm trying to do more to keep this place clean. Cleaner. I'll settle for a stalemate!
Part of the problem is we live so close to the railroad. Every time Caltrain or a freight train rumbles past, it shakes a fine coating of dust down from God knows where. We've put Therapure air filters in both the living room and our bedroom, but they barely cut the shower of fine particles. I need to get more proactive about dusting.
So where does this desire to be a Domestic God come from? When I was a kid, I made $10 a week bt cleaning the living room, family room, and one of the bathrooms. money is a great motivator. Then I joined the Army and entered a world where "clean" is an impossible goal. At one point during Infantry OSUT (One Station Unit Training, meaning we kept the same Drill Sergeants all the way through training) my platoon was assigned to, along with cleaning our platoon bay, clean the company laundry room. Since I was the skinniest guy in the platoon, I was given a rag and a bottle of Brasso and assigned to slither under the giant wash sinks and polish the brass drain covers. Those things glowed when I was done with them.
That's what I learned in the service. Along with being a trained killer, able to dispatch the enemy with a variety of implements of destruction, I became a damn fine janitor, amateur tailor, and an expert in heat injuries and maladies of the foot. In short, an Infantryman.
But I've never been a neat freak. I don't go to pieces if there are a few dirty dishes in the sink or laundry piling up because it's raining and I don't want to walk to the laundry room. I'll get to the needed jobs eventually. I will admit that the clutter, which is a constant battle when the household contains two people with tendencies towards hoarding. But we've both made steps in reducing clutter in our lives. I give a lot of credit to reading "It's All Too Much: An Easy Plan for Living a Richer Life with Less Stuff " by Peter Walsh. Understanding the pathological thinking behind hoarding makes it easier to address those actions.
But still, stuff piles up and keeps me from cleaning. It's a constant war, especially in a very small apartment with almost no storage space. Our city-wide "throw everything away" week is coming in May, the week where our street looks like it was bombed, and hoards of scavengers pick over the literal piles of debris on every curb. We will be doing a cull of things no longer wanted or needed.
But back to my new broom! Last night we tested the lights on my Playa-bike. It had been standing in the kitchen (storing a bike outside on this street is just asking for it to vanish) accumulating stuff that was pushed up under and around the bike. After my ride, we folding the bike and found a better storage area for it. Then I took a good look at the kitchen. By Halford's shiny head, it was a disaster. I dove in. stacking things, breaking down cardboard for recycling, clearing out the area around our small kitchen island card so you can actually stand at it, and seeing how bad the floor looked.
Which when I couldn't find a broom. I know we had one. There's a broom in our little travel trailer, the Free Trailer Beowulf. but it's not great. I needed a new broom! The was a decree from the Domestic God! It must be mine! Filled with grim (or is that grime?) purpose, we sallied forth to smart and final, where, after a brief distraction to pick up metal measuring cups and spoons, I seized a mighty new broom! And it was on sale! A win for the Domestic God!
Now armed and girded for battle, I wielded my new broom without mercy. No corner spared. No speck of whatever that is, it might be an old bit of sausage off a pizza escaped me! The entire floor was swept clean in a stunning offensive action! Hey, I said I learned to be a janitor while serving as an infantryman. They rub off on each other.
Now I need to mop the kitchen. Where did I leave that mop . . .
Part of the problem is we live so close to the railroad. Every time Caltrain or a freight train rumbles past, it shakes a fine coating of dust down from God knows where. We've put Therapure air filters in both the living room and our bedroom, but they barely cut the shower of fine particles. I need to get more proactive about dusting.
So where does this desire to be a Domestic God come from? When I was a kid, I made $10 a week bt cleaning the living room, family room, and one of the bathrooms. money is a great motivator. Then I joined the Army and entered a world where "clean" is an impossible goal. At one point during Infantry OSUT (One Station Unit Training, meaning we kept the same Drill Sergeants all the way through training) my platoon was assigned to, along with cleaning our platoon bay, clean the company laundry room. Since I was the skinniest guy in the platoon, I was given a rag and a bottle of Brasso and assigned to slither under the giant wash sinks and polish the brass drain covers. Those things glowed when I was done with them.
That's what I learned in the service. Along with being a trained killer, able to dispatch the enemy with a variety of implements of destruction, I became a damn fine janitor, amateur tailor, and an expert in heat injuries and maladies of the foot. In short, an Infantryman.
But I've never been a neat freak. I don't go to pieces if there are a few dirty dishes in the sink or laundry piling up because it's raining and I don't want to walk to the laundry room. I'll get to the needed jobs eventually. I will admit that the clutter, which is a constant battle when the household contains two people with tendencies towards hoarding. But we've both made steps in reducing clutter in our lives. I give a lot of credit to reading "It's All Too Much: An Easy Plan for Living a Richer Life with Less Stuff " by Peter Walsh. Understanding the pathological thinking behind hoarding makes it easier to address those actions.
But still, stuff piles up and keeps me from cleaning. It's a constant war, especially in a very small apartment with almost no storage space. Our city-wide "throw everything away" week is coming in May, the week where our street looks like it was bombed, and hoards of scavengers pick over the literal piles of debris on every curb. We will be doing a cull of things no longer wanted or needed.
But back to my new broom! Last night we tested the lights on my Playa-bike. It had been standing in the kitchen (storing a bike outside on this street is just asking for it to vanish) accumulating stuff that was pushed up under and around the bike. After my ride, we folding the bike and found a better storage area for it. Then I took a good look at the kitchen. By Halford's shiny head, it was a disaster. I dove in. stacking things, breaking down cardboard for recycling, clearing out the area around our small kitchen island card so you can actually stand at it, and seeing how bad the floor looked.
Which when I couldn't find a broom. I know we had one. There's a broom in our little travel trailer, the Free Trailer Beowulf. but it's not great. I needed a new broom! The was a decree from the Domestic God! It must be mine! Filled with grim (or is that grime?) purpose, we sallied forth to smart and final, where, after a brief distraction to pick up metal measuring cups and spoons, I seized a mighty new broom! And it was on sale! A win for the Domestic God!
Now armed and girded for battle, I wielded my new broom without mercy. No corner spared. No speck of whatever that is, it might be an old bit of sausage off a pizza escaped me! The entire floor was swept clean in a stunning offensive action! Hey, I said I learned to be a janitor while serving as an infantryman. They rub off on each other.
Now I need to mop the kitchen. Where did I leave that mop . . .