Picasso, Webs, The Big Bang and Creationist Theories of Housekeeping
Three Housekeeping Theories
Whenever domestic chores seem too oppressing, I try to remember that there is something cosmic, mystical and meaningful about housekeeping.
Cleaning the house must be done from time to time, so it helps to imagine that it is important by approaching the tasks with some sort of profound realization.
1. Bringing order out of domestic chaos is a kind of creationism.
Separating lights from darkness... (which needs to be done before starting the laundry), separating water from dry land when washing the kitchen floor without dampening carpets of adjacent rooms, and making green things grow (watering houseplants) are all reminiscent of larger acts of Creation.
2. I also use the "Big Bang Theory" of cleaning.
Now and then I use a more kinetic procedure. Everything starts with a chaotic explosion of energy to get everything into motion (vacuum cleaner, dishwasher, laundry appliances, etc.) before each universe (room) coalesces into a macrocosm of relativity and synchronicity which may eventually be suitable for habitation by intelligent life forms.
3. Then there's the evolutionary approach to housekeeping
This technique may work, but I can't get used to the idea of starting with primordial slime. My house may be untidy, but I challenge anyone to find actual slime.
Houskeeping vaccuumming frenzy.
Dust to Dust
You CAN find dust in my house.
However, if we are created from dust, what is the problem? Dust could be a potential family member. There could be a new friend forming under the refrigerator. Dust bunnies under the bed might be evolving into other life forms.
Also, I have heard that Pablo Picasso did not allow anyone to dust in his studio. He strongly believed that "dust protects things". I'll bet his housekeeper was thrilled.
This philosophy of "protective dust" is worth adopting, even if it comes from an artist who had trouble putting people's eyeballs and noses in the right place. In fact, the eyeball thing can be overlooked once you realize he had such obvious wisdom about dusting.
The Webs of Life
Spider webs are another matter. I do often wonder how elaborate swags of cobwebs remain invisible until first-time visitors ring the doorbell.
Do sound waves of unfamiliar voices make them magically unfurl from each unreachable corner of every room?
Does the head house spider shout a "ready, set, weave" command to her eight-legged underlings as she senses unfamiliar footfalls?
I think one of these things must be true because I mostly only notice webs when company is in the house. I try to do distracting things like tap- dancing or moving small pieces of furniture around on the floor to keep guests from looking upward. This doesn't always work, plus it is exhausting.
When attention is drawn to these arachnid gossamer draperies, I hope guests realize that I'm getting a head start on my Halloween decorating, which usually begins in July.
Can you believe that some businesses actually decorate for Halloween with "artificial cobwebs"?
If they planned ahead, as I do, they could avoid this extra work and expense. I say our civilization has over-evolved when people can actually buy and sell artificial cobwebs as holiday decorations.
Washing windows should be done occasionally, except that the cute little finger and nose prints on my windows are reminders that grandchildren have visited, and are also a record of their growth from one visit to another. How can I wipe those out?
Women's magazines regularly run features about household work saving tips. We've "come a long way, baby" they say, but you never see these articles in men's magazines, do you?
Women's magazines have articles on laundry : "Nudism Cuts Down on Laundry." Tips on dish washing: "Use Paper Plates" Tips on fireplace cleaning: "Don't Use the Fireplace" and tips on bed making: " Don't Sleep in Your Bed".
I once had a neighbor whose kitchen was always spotless. As many times as I visited, there was never a speck of grease on her stove or a blob of peanut butter on her refrigerator door.
My envious curiosity finally got the best of me and I asked her how she kept it so neat. "Easy," she said, "I don't cook." I should have guessed.
She must have read the magazines.