Monday, 10 July 2017

Monday Moanings - July 10, 2017

The Monday Maid

Monday is 'housework' day; the day "The Maid" materialises out of the mist of dust particles to restore cleanliness and good order. She is well schooled in all the tools and techniques of her trade. She has no shortage of buckets, brooms, rags, and mops to go with her well-chosen array of solvents and solutions, sprays and polishes. Most are 'Green' at least according to the label but a few are not so environmentally friendly - because sometimes a blowtorch just isn't practical!

Come close of business, the Monday Maid surveys her domain with great satisfaction as she steps forward to claim "The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval" for yet another job well done.

Yeah. Right! That's the demo version. The one I get, the Monday Maid that materialises out of my bones and brain, though thorough, boasts one significant flaw. Regularity. And not the kind remedied by bran. This charlady cannot be trusted to show up on a regular basis. Every Monday? Dream on! One Monday a month? Hmmm, not likely. One day, any day, once a month? Perhaps. How about a half day every four to six weeks? Or worse?!

Is it any wonder I have so few (none) of those Good Housekeeping awards? Sometimes she does indeed arrive as agreed then spends the day drinking coffee and scrolling through travel pages on the Internet. Can you believe it? When she does actually set to work, she does so with a great clattering of buckets, brooms, and mops accompanied by a few expletives as she searches for potions not put back where they belong. If she were a smoker, there would be fag dangling from the corner of her mouth.

So imagine my surprise when this past Friday morning, the grumbling woman thumped into my kitchen, ordered a mug of coffee, then set to work. The dust bunnies gasped in horror, the fur balls scattered, the crumbs crumbled and the big drips that slid down the sides of oven and cabinet hung on for dear life. The sugary bits burned onto the stovetop laughed, sure of their tenacity to outwit all the maid's solutions, but the giggles died the instant a razor blade scraper flashed in the sunshine. She brandished her weapon high, then one quick scrape here, another two or three there and not a trace was left, save for the maid's triumphant chortle.

Then the chairs were wiped down and moved out; the lights turned up high for a full assault on the floor. There was nowhere to hide from this maid on a mission. The broom handled the first sweep, then the tractor beam of the vacuum sucked up the runaways. A thorough mopping up completed the operation. And then she was gone. As quickly as she had appeared, the Maid vanished into thin air, leaving behind a pile of dirty rags and a pristine kitchen.

Mission accomplished. And it was a fine mission, well executed and successful, but only in the kitchen. Wonder when she'll be back to do the rest of the house? I'm thinking it won't be today or any day this week for that matter. Next week? I'd best not hold my breath.

Pristine is for other people's houses. I prefer the lived-in look, one that tells a story of a home where life happens - good, bad, and messy; sometimes chaotic but mostly fun, and full of love. My house is clean where it needs to be and tidy-ish, emphasis on the "ish."

The only news here is that the Monday Maid is likely to remain under-employed.

©2017 April Hoeller

Monday, 3 July 2017

Monday Moanings - July 3, 2017


Along with the drought of words in this location over the past month, there has been a more systemic drought of sunshine. The solar panels on our roof however rain-washed clean they are, have had precious little to work with.

In fact, 2017 has offered up below normal sunshine for three months now:

The grass is thick, trees burdened with green, and the robins are getting fat on a bounty of night crawlers - all testimony to the 209mm (8.2 inches) of June rainfall (normal is 78mm). There were only eleven days in the month when it did not rain.

One might think that so many days of indoor type weather would yield a bumper crop of writing. Not in this house, not from this scribe's hand. Between the stops and starts of a construction/reno project, the doldrums induced by way too many grey days, a world plagued by malicious acts of death and destruction, and an incredulous political scene, I've thrown up my hands.

Mix in days on end of gloomy weather and even gloomier events and soon I despair the future of my children and the world.

What's the point?
Why would anything I have to say matter in the chaos and uncertainty?

I have nothing to offer that will change the course, so let's just eat, drink, and be merry.

Enough already! I am declaring an end to my writing drought.

The sun is shining.
The blue sky is decorated with puffy white fair-weather clouds.

It's time to pick up my pen and write - rain or shine.

©2017 April Hoeller