We moved back into our house on December 5th after over three months of commuting back and forth to the suburbs from Chicago. This was because some long-unused portion of my tiny, reptilian brain knew--with the calm certitude that brooks no argument--that living in our house while a new kitchen and two new bathrooms were being installed would be Hell, capital h, underlined. In fact, it would be old-skool Hieronymus Bosch Hell, complete with pitchforks, bare rumps, and the screams of the damned (or the screams of Poppy, whichever would be louder and more unpleasant.)
And so, three months passed where I spent many hours at the gym, and attended more than my share of Weight Watchers meetings. And spent no time whatsoever in my house, and therefore, didn't worry my pretty little head about it.
And then we moved back into the house, and almost immediately, Christmas struck. Christmas and parties and performances, all washed down with loads of drinking. I managed to refit the kitchen with dishes and Small Appliances, and I even managed to get the halls decked.
But now that Christmas is over, it is time to deal with this house. And I am going to town.
Today I hung out in the basement. The cleaning ladies were here to work their magic upstairs, and I like to stay out of their way. And I had laundry to do. So I retired to the basement with a book, my laptop, and a DVD to watch while I folded laundry. But oh, my God, the mess. The chaos. It's always cluttered, but there were piles of things that got stashed there to keep them out of harm's way during the construction. And not just stuff I expected. But shoes. Tons of shoes. (What the hell were they doing there? I have no idea.) And papers from my study. And all kinds of other crap. All dusty and needing to be wiped and vacuumed.
So I moved furniture around, dusted, made with the shop-vac, threw out some stuff, bagged up a ton of stuff to take to the thrift shop. A few hours later, I emerged from the basement looking like a potato farmer. And of course, my house was spotless.
It was kind of like the scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door of the farmhouse and discovers that she's in Oz. My house was in technicolor. I, on the other hand, was sepia with dust.
And that is why I'm having such a good time reading all the nice complimentary comments on my last post. You know, about how I'm so glamorous. Where's blackbird's Leica when I'm cleaning the basement?
In Tuvalu. And you, internet, should be feeling very grateful right about now.