Showing posts with label chores. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chores. Show all posts

Saturday, November 19, 2022

ADVENTURES IN SLOPPY HOUSEKEEPING: DUSTING THE FURNITURE


I don’t know what prehistoric housewives did to keep dust off their furniture if they had any.  If they did anything at all, it must have been frustrating to try to keep dust off things in a cave with dirt floors.  If it were me, I’d give up.  If you have dirt all around you anyway, it’s silly to try to keep it off whatever you are sitting on.

It must have been challenging, also, to keep dust off all that fancy furniture in the Palace of Versailles and other upscale homes of that period.  Since people didn’t bathe very often or wear deodorant in those days, maybe they didn’t mind a little dirt on their elegant chairs and tables because they were so busy dealing with dirty and smelly people.  Let’s hope so.

The modern householder has choices of methods to use when removing dust from furniture.

Method No. 1 is the one used by fussy people who are addicted to extra work.  This method involves using dustcloths, Lemon Pledge, and other instruments of torture.  Lemon Pledge is fine if you don’t mind your house smelling like the citrus section of a greengrocer’s shop.  The poor misguided people who use this method go from piece of furniture to piece of furniture, moving knickknacks, books, and figurines around, climbing up stepladders, and making sure that every darned spot of dust or anything else is thoroughly eradicated with the cloth and the Lemon Pledge.  This is their idea of a fun way to spend an afternoon.

Method No. 2 is similar to Method No. 1, except instead of a dustcloth and Lemon Pledge, the person uses a feather duster or a Swiffer duster, sometimes with a long handle, making the use of a stepladder obsolete except in the case of a high shelf with stuff on it that has to be moved.  Other than that, the procedure is the same, as is the amount of time it takes to finish the job.  These people are to be pitied as much as the users of Method No. 1.

Method No. 3 is the one used by the rest of us.  It uses a Swiffer duster, preferably with a long handle, without moving any objects, especially on high shelves.  This removes most of the visible dust, which is okay with us.  This method is often used after the chief homemaker of the house has not dusted anything in weeks.

One way of ensuring that no dust will settle on a piece of furniture is to load it down with blankets, clothing, books, or whatever other detritus is available.  When you remove the items, the furniture under them will be dust-free.  This works every time.

I hope my readers have found this little reference guide useful.  By the way, the instructions given above are in no way indicative of the practices of the author, and I hope you all understand that because I would hate it if everyone thought I’m a slob.

 

Friday, November 18, 2022

ADVENTURES IN SLOPPY HOUSEKEEPING: FLOORS

 


In olden times human beings had dirt floors in their homes.  At least the poor people had dirt floors; the rich had things like marble floors and servants to do the cleaning.  You didn’t have to wash your floor if you weren’t a servant assigned to do the job.  This was known as the golden age.

Progress being what it is, washing the floor eventually became “woman’s work,” and the wife of the family got the job whether she wanted it or not.  Thus the tradition of having your mother yell at you for tracking dirt on the floor began.  Before that time, it didn’t matter if you came into the house with muddy boots because the floors were made of dirt.  The advent of wood floors was the cause of a great deal of childhood trauma.

Many modern inventions are designed to make floor washing easier or more efficient.  Along with the regular brooms, dustpans, mops, sponges, and buckets, we have various types of vacuum cleaners, Swiffer WetJets, Swiffer Sweepers, carpet cleaners, and what have you.  Accompanying this equipment, we have all kinds of cleaning agents that smell like everything from bleach to lemon to pine.  All of these have one thing in common:  they can be put away in a closet, and you don’t have to think about them if you don’t want to.

This technique would work fine if it weren’t for one thing:  dust.  Dust flies around the house and settles down on whatever surface it can find, including the floors.  The animal’s hair adds to the dust if you have a pet.  In the kitchen, you are likely to have a couple of spots from dropped food or spilled coffee.  In other words, the longer you keep the cleaning equipment in the closet, the bigger the mess you will have.

When the mess reaches the height of your ankles, you’re sneezing from the dust, and you can’t stand to look at it anymore, you decide it’s time to take a deep breath, open the broom closet, and get to work.

You are immediately faced with two choices.  You can do things the old-fashioned way, also known as the hard way, or the modern way, also known as the lazy way.  The old-fashioned way involves buckets, mops, sponges, brooms, dustpans, vacuum cleaners, and muscle power.  The modern method involves Swiffer Sweepers, Swiffer Dusters, Swiffer WetJets, and other lightweight items that don’t include using muscles, pushing semi-heavy machinery around, or bending over.

The old-fashioned way has one thing going for it:  your floors get thoroughly clean.  They had better get thoroughly clean because of all the effort you have to put into the job.  The bucket full of water mixed with bleach or Lysol is heavy and has to be schlepped from room to room.  At the same time, you must carry the mop you are using to put the mixture on the floor and spread it around.  If you haven’t cleaned your floors in months, you will have to press hard with the mop and go over the floor more than once to get all the dirt.  If you are really zealous, you will get down on the floor with a sponge and dig at especially stubborn spots.  By the time you are finished, you will look like this:

 



You are advised to use the old-fashioned way if you have an afternoon to waste use up with miserable, backbreaking housework.  You might be able to eat off your floors afterward, but you’ll be too tired to try it.

I won’t even mention waxing floors.  I won’t even think about it.  What you don’t think about won’t hurt you.

The modern way produces a fine floor if you don’t have your mother-in-law or some other fussbudget visiting you.  With this method, there are no heavy buckets, bleach, or Lysol.  There is only a long-handled thingamajig, to which you attach a hopefully absorbent, light piece of electrostatic cloth.  If you are “mopping” the floor instead of only dusting it, you attach a piece of material that has been soaking in cleaning stuff and smells just like it.  If you are using a Swiffer WetJet, the cloth sticks to the bottom.  If you are only dusting the floor, you quickly push the long-handled thingamajig around it, sometimes turning it around so it will pick up all the dust and pet hair, not just some of it.  If you don’t feel like bending over and picking up the stubborn things that won’t attach to the cloth, keep turning it around until you catch it or push it into a dustpan.  If you are using a Swiffer WetJet, ignore the remaining dirt spots.  They are part of the modern housekeeping experience.  After you have been doing this for a while, you might end up looking like this:

 



Today’s apartment or house dweller often chooses the easier way out of the household mess problem.  Of course, there will still be some dust on the floor, a few pet hairs here and there, and maybe a drop on the kitchen floor, but you’ll get most of it, anyway.  The proper modern housekeeper has learned to be content with this.  You can always tell yourself that your home looks like people live in it, which is more accurate than you think.

There is yet another option:  hire someone else to clean your place.  If you are paying someone else to do the crummy jobs you don’t want to do, you can specify the old-fashioned method.  After all, it isn’t YOUR back that is being bent!  The only problem with this is the financial outlay.  You get what you pay for, though.  If you want a clean home and don’t want to do it yourself, pay a professional and shut up.  Tips are also welcome in these cases if the person has done an outstanding job and you want to get a reputation as a good customer so they’ll return to continue doing your work for you.

 

 

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Funny Things That Didn't Happen to Me Today

Nothing funny happened to me today.  It's not that it was a boring day or anything.  It was a normal Sunday in Lent at St. John's Roman Catholic Church, which meant that I was up in front of the congregation during two masses, singing my lungs out in both English and Latin.  But that doesn't help me, as a humor writer.  When things go completely right, and nothing unusual happens, it's a disaster.

I sang all the hymns and responses right.  I came in at the correct times and didn't misread any of the words in the Responsorial Psalm.  I still can't get used to the new/old version of the Nicene Creed that was imposed on us a while back, but that doesn't matter because everybody is reciting it at once and I just mumble along.  Nobody cares if I get it right or not, least of all me.

I got the second half of a huge load of laundry done today, too.  Now THAT'S something to write about.  I hate doing laundry.  It's not that it's hard.  It isn't.  There is a laundry room in the basement of our building and it's really easy to lug a laundry bag full of dirty clothes down there.  It's just that I hate doing it.  Really.  I'd rather clean the bathroom than do the laundry; it's that bad.

This must stem from my childhood, when I would often watch my mother spending half a day washing our clothes in an old ringer washing machine, then hanging them outside to dry.  It was a holiday in our house when Mom finally got an automatic washer, after almost everyone else in town already had one.  Our family was always behind the rest of the world when it came to mechanical devices.  We could say we were letting others test them out first, but that would be a lie.  We just didn't have the money most of the time.

Another reason was that my Dad was always looking for bargains, and he was convinced that all his friends were as honest as he was.  It didn't take anyone long to learn that if he had an old piece of junk for sale he just had to look up my Dad and make a sales pitch.  As a result, we had a procession of impossible cars, TV sets and what have you.  Once in a while, Dad would come up with something good, like that great stereo console that looked fine, sounded even better and lasted for years.  That was an exception to the rule, though, which stated that anything in our house that originated with one of Dad's acquaintances would end up being a piece of crap.

Most of our TV sets were the kind that worked best if we could get our little brother to stand nearby with his arms out, like he was making a semaphore signal, acting as a human aerial.  Little Brother was not eager to perform this service for more than about 5 seconds, if we could get him to do it at all.  Bribing him didn't work, because we didn't have anything he wanted.  We just had to be content with a lousy picture or take turns doing the human aerial bit ourselves.

Gee, I got all this out of my hatred of doing laundry!  How's that for inspiration?

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The Reluctant Homemaker


My Mom and my Grandma made valiant attempts to domesticate me when I was a kid back in the 50s and early 60s.  They were worried because I was a tomboy.  I was not above playing with dolls.  Some of my best toys were dolls.  But I also had baseball bats, tennis rackets and cap guns.  BB guns were forbidden in our house, or I probably would have acquired one of those, too.*  When we played Cowboys, I had to be either Annie Oakley or Marshall Dillon.  I was not going to be some sissy girl who sat around waiting to be rescued.  I was tall for my age, so I made a good western hero(ine) … well, passable for a kid, anyway.

I never wanted to be a boy.  Being a girl was cool.  I just wanted the option of being able to do all the things that boys did, and I wasn’t about to get stuck in a gender role.  June Cleaver was not my role model.

In other words, I was okay with learning how to cook, sew, iron clothes and clean a house like all the other girls, but I wasn’t going to let all that interfere with playing baseball in the park, and I was really pissed that nobody ever made my little brother help with the housework.  He got off scot-free, the little twerp.  All he ever had to do was mow the lawn, and he got paid for that.  The only benefit my sister and I received for washing dishes was not being yelled at.  You can’t save up for a new bicycle with that.
                                                                    
One thing I never learned was how to change a flat tire on a car.  My mother, who was petite and feminine, could change a tire like a veteran mechanic.  You just never know.

Okay, so, like everyone who lives long enough, I grew up and grew older and I am now in my 60s.  My childhood domestic training has come in handy all these years, just because I have never been rich enough to hire someone else to do the freakin’ work.  In self-defense, I have learned to make housework as quick and as painless as possible, with the aid of the following labor-saving devices:

A Swiffer Wet Jet Mop
A Swiffer Sweeper
Swiffer Dusters

(Do you see a pattern here?)

Mr. Clean Magic Erasers
Lysol or Clorox Wipes
Cleanser
A funny looking thingy on a pole that I use to clean the bathtub
A toilet brush
A plunger

I have no rugs on my floor because I hate vacuuming, even though I have a perfectly good full-sized Dust Devil vacuum cleaner sitting in a closet.  I also have a cat.  Cats and rugs do not mix well, for reasons I won’t go into here.

The catch in all this is that I have to keep buying refills for the Swiffer, Mr. Clean, Lysol and Clorox stuff.  What’s a little expense, though, if it means less time spent trying to be a freakin’ domestic goddess and failing at it because I don’t care enough to really get down and scrub.

Grandma, please stop turning in your grave.  I turned out okay.  Really, I did.

                                                                                                                                       
*And I would have shot my eye out.  In addition to being a tomboy, I was a klutz.

Opera is Funny, and I Don't Care Who Knows It

  Image purchased from Shutterstock Opera is serious, right?  It’s a fusion of music and drama.  The characters fall in love, sometimes with...