It's back, it was gone but now like the proverbial bad penny, it's back. It's no good looking the other way, looking past it or even on the bright side. IT is back and must be dealt with now and yes most likely dealt with for the rest of the day and evening. The only thing to do about it is meet it head on, than, THAN, there might be some small hope that it will not become the weekend house-guest. An uninvited, uninteresting boar of a house guest. A smelly, frustrating in all aspects, guest. One that consumes the whole day with need and is simply the worst way to spend a sunny fall Saturday. Housework!
It arrives as a plastic utility bucket full of special cleansing, polishing, buffing, scouring lemon scented potions. An increasingly rare one is for use on the 240 year old English table, the same for the 238 year old chair from London and their American cousin the 200 year old table from Philadelphia, the one which presently finds occupation as a bar in my dining room, so too is it used on the cherished new old friend, the 230 year old tall-case clock from Mad George's capital city. If this particular sauce is good for the Goose, it is sauce for the Gander, so it is freely also used on more recent family heirloom pieces. All treasured relics of the life of a very prosperous great -grandfather, bought from a store famous for furnishing Nabobs homes in a city that new how, from the time T.R thought it progress to save our most spectacular natural landscapes. It is also the serviceable yet unbearably oily mixture, which promises to revive wood, though I dare use that only on pieces bought in my youth. Another bottle for leather, yet another for crystal and glass. A soap mixture for floor, woodwork and fireplace mantel and surround. All simply all, to be kept away from wool carpets, swags, tassels,throw rugs, silk tablecloths, throw pillows and paintings. The list of what on what, where and how is simply too long and detailed to relate and has caused the hired cleaning team to be banned from two rooms, than finally, as idled help is never a desired housekeeping budget, let go entirely.
I simply could never relax when they were about. The thought of a harried cleaner using the wrong solution on the wrong piece was so horrifying I'd put on house slave clothes, greet them at the door, set them loose on bedrooms and bathrooms, halls, study, boudoir and kitchen, than I'd begin work on the living and dining rooms. I soon saw the wrong bordering on weirdness of being unpaid day labor while two or three ladies and gentlemen were happily cleaning away elsewhere in my house. Had I been unable to achieve Zen about it I would not have simply stopped booking them and took the work on wholly myself. The fact was and is that I simply do it better or at least as well. An added benefit is that. I have no fear of theft ( that's never happened) I never am late nor leave early and I trust me with the pieces that are rarer than most.
That doesn't mean I haven't broken things. I have, oh, have I. Naturally when I have screwed up the courage to 'fess up to my Miss June ( a.k.a. my 91 year old mom) it's because a favorite piece once belonging to her grandparents has been broken and the lady had noticed it gone from the niche it had resided in for decades. The work I destroyed was ba 2 foot tall, 100 year old statue of a farm woman bearing water and a stunningly elegant in its simplicity 19th century Swabian Crucifix. I've also shortened a flute being played by a boy in 18th century costume so that it appears more the jew harp than enlightenment period instrument. The fool really is me, I've let a semi- trained, upright walking, Ape loose in a room full of furniture promised to the National Trust for Historic Preservation. In addition and in summation I simply do not like it. THE HOUSEWORK!
It, however, is a tireless task master. It needs to be done. I've reached somewhat of a compromise. I will entertain this boar no more than four times a month. I treat it as my Dharma though it really is more like a non paying John. My housekeeping gods appeal to you. Oh the remembrance of Venice in fall. Jove rescue me from the Vestals slavery. Than it is what it is, it needs to be accepted and if at all possible embraced. It is an exercise at once fiscal (no charge) physical (did you know you can burn 150 calories per hour doing a rumba with a vacuum) and philosophical (the dust, like life, is transitory) but good good it is BACK.
Oi vey I think I need a union.
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