By Nellie Curtiss …
It’s a vacuum in here; or rather, I need to vacuum in here. I made that up, just now. As I look around at the dust bunnies clinging to the edges of the baseboards, I know it’s time to empty out the canister and start again. The hairy bunnies cleave to the edge like they are begging for safety, like they have ESP or something that the Shark is coming out just for them. With or without my dog snarling at the green headed giant, I need to get this done.
I’m reminded that I should vacuum once a month, at least. And I remember my mama vacuuming daily. I remember how she would remove the sofa cushions and vacuum each pillow, front, back, sides. Then, she would take the slim tool and suck up the dirt down in the arm crevices and along the backdrop where the cushions rested. Sometimes she would find a popcorn kernel, quarter, or ball point pen. Once, I found a whole fiver.
In similar style, I have yanked cushions off and once or twice when I couldn’t find the attachments to the upright, well, I’d just put the whole shebang on the cushion-less couch and let it roar. Mostly, the loose crumbs shook and shook until the dust was gone but not the crumbs. Then I’d have to find the broom to sweep them back to the center so the machine could suck them up for good.
The other day, I noticed that even my bed pillows and sheets were getting gritty, and I wondered how people vacuumed their beds. Of course, that was silly. The air here in the valley is so dry but ripe with fine particles of dust. Of late even California smoke slag in microscopic sizes inundates or atmosphere. It is almost enough grime on horizontal surfaces that one could vacuum. Thankfully, my face appreciated a sweet soft new cover on the pillow that night as I had rotated the mattress and fastened cleaned sheets before bedtime. Mama would be oh so proud of me.
Still, I remember how the vacuum was Mom’s go-to tool for almost everything. She would use the vacuum brush on the Australian Shepherd’s back and back side where his plumes were. Funny thing, Tiny would stay put while she pushed it through his hair. She even had a trick how to vacuum the Venetian Blinds, standard issue in military housing.
Additionally, I have used this Shark on the welcome mat outside. I don’t recommend that. There’s too much silt. In the kitchen, the vacuum cleaner is supplemented by my dog who scarfs up what tumbles off the counter when I make spaghetti and meatballs, or popcorn. When he gets a crumb picked up the way he does, I can’t help but remember the elephant that Wilma would pull out of the cupboard on the Flintstones.
That reference brings me to Sophia Loren, Italian Hollywood Siren from the 60’s, who famously said, “Spaghetti can be eaten most successfully if you inhale it like a vacuum cleaner.”
And once Roseann Barr spouted: “I’m not going to vacuum until Sears makes one you can ride on.”
Finally, I choose this, I choose to vacuum, even if it is only for five minutes at a time. Dust bunnies can run but cannot hide, the Shark vacuums them all!
Image from Flintstones.fandom.com
Columns by nellie 