Forgotten Places

Three bites into my carefully crafted turkey, ham and Swiss cheese sandwich, my husband pulls the four-step ladder my daughter had just returned over to the picture window, climbs up, and peers over the top of the vertical blinds. “We need to get the vacuum up here,” he says.


“Anything growing up there?” I respond around a bite of freshly sliced cucumber.


“Nothing would survive. It’s way too dusty.”


“I’m sure you’re right. I’ll get after it just as soon as I finish eating.”


“No, I’ll do it,” he replies. 


Sure, like he really needs to be balancing on a ladder with a vacuum in one hand a little over a month after open heart surgery.


Hubby descends the ladder and disappears into the spare bedroom, where I have stored all the boxes of Christmas decorations. He returns with the artificial Christmas tree box in tow. 


“Why didn’t you tape these boxes up?” he asks. 


“I thought I would do it tomorrow and get them out to the garage then.” That’s me, always the procrastinator. Heaven forbid I should get something done today that can wait until tomorrow!


Wordlessly, he retrieves a dispenser of packing tape. 


“Here, I’ll help you” I gaze longingly at the page of my book I’ve started to read.


“No, you go ahead and finish your sandwich.”


Yeah, right, like the guilt trip I’m on over the dusty sill and the untaped boxes have done anything for my appetite. I place the sandwich in the icebox on its paper plate and daydream about later.


We get the boxes taped and hubby proceeds to the garage with the first one. I know that when he goes to the garage he always finds something to do out there, so I don’t expect him back for at least a few minutes. OK, now that I’m up off the couch and my lunch is in cold storage anyway, I might as well do something, right?


I spend the next half hour vacuuming a quarter inch of dust and cob webs from the top of the blind, then for good measure, dust down the walls as well. Actually, accomplishing this seldom performed feat feels kind of good.


I’ve decided to attack some forgotten corner of my humble abode at least three times a week. I’d set a goal for every day, but I know how the every day thing works. Miss a day or two and I throw up my hands in frustration and declare myself a failure. Whether it’s cleaning finger prints off light switch plates or vacuuming under the bed, the little bit of satisfaction in completing small tasks will hopefully motivate me to greater accomplishments. 


Thanks for reading my blog!