So why, I wonder - with all this "vision" - have I not seen the dirt and grim making itself comfy in my kitchen?
Yesterday morning I slipped on my cream silk writing pajamas. A new blank page awaited, I had just moisturized and my tea had only moments left to brew. Cat Stevens played softly in the background.
And then I stepped on something. Upon picking it up, I was fairly certain it had once been a bleu cheese crumble. I've been out of bleu cheese since New Year's.
As I studied it, resisting the urge to discover just how long the odor of bleu cheese lingers, my gaze fell upon my kitchen cabinet. When was the food fight?
I could feel panic rising from deep within my chest. My eyes darted this way and that. What was that sticky glob at the bottom of the refrigerator door? Was that a baker's dozen of dead gnats on my light fixture? Was my ceiling fan freakishly misshapen or was it only the measurable dust on the blades' edges that made it appear so?
Cat ceased to play. Instead I heard only the shrieking music played in horror movies just as the heroine opens the one door she should not. My mouth formed a voiceless scream.
Crumbs and Criminy. I had to clean.
I couldn't let Cat back. You can't clean to Cat Stevens. You need the Eurythmics.
Off came the cream silk writing pajamas. My tea grew cold. Out came my capri overalls and strong coffee. Promise you'll never drink tea while you clean! Trust me when I tell you it's just wrong.
I don't really mind cleaning once I get started and, of course, all feels marvelously right with the world once you've finished. I should try to keep up with it all better than I have been.
If only the occasional sweeping glance worked even a little magic!
BTW, the odor of bleu cheese does have some longevity.
And, no, my kitchen was not as bad as the above picture suggests. That was taken years ago upon gutting the upstairs bedroom on Fyler street in St. Louis - the construction site we called home for seven years.
Cat ceased to play. Instead I heard only the shrieking music played in horror movies just as the heroine opens the one door she should not. My mouth formed a voiceless scream.
Crumbs and Criminy. I had to clean.
I couldn't let Cat back. You can't clean to Cat Stevens. You need the Eurythmics.
Off came the cream silk writing pajamas. My tea grew cold. Out came my capri overalls and strong coffee. Promise you'll never drink tea while you clean! Trust me when I tell you it's just wrong.
I don't really mind cleaning once I get started and, of course, all feels marvelously right with the world once you've finished. I should try to keep up with it all better than I have been.
If only the occasional sweeping glance worked even a little magic!
BTW, the odor of bleu cheese does have some longevity.
And, no, my kitchen was not as bad as the above picture suggests. That was taken years ago upon gutting the upstairs bedroom on Fyler street in St. Louis - the construction site we called home for seven years.
I can identify with every line of this today! Only can argue with one thing--drinking tea while cleaning. Yep, it works. Only use a mug, tall and hearty with a fat handle for heft. Brew in a solid, working class pot and use Irish Breakfast or some black industrial strength tea leaves. That will bear up to hard cleaning!
ReplyDeleteOh, and glad you explained the picture! :)