Dusting

While I vacuum the house weekly, I am able to wait much longer than that between dustings.  Why?  I don't know.  Dust on tables shows up as clearly as bits of food or dirt on the carpet.  Less effort is required to wipe a cloth across a surface than to wield the vacuum cleaner.  For whatever reason I just don't dust unless company is coming.

Yesterday, though, I dusted our bedroom, thinking perhaps dusty surfaces contributed to our coughing.  I enjoyed clearing the top of my dresser, throwing away some things, storing others.  I emptied a box that had sat there since last summer when we made room for E and family.  Another box was moved to the green room, not dealt with yet but out of our room.  The tall chest was cleared of some things, leaving a couple of tins holding part of my collection of frogs.  Two or three months ago Randy placed some clothes he could no longer wear on the back of the love seat, waiting for me to make a trip to Salvation Army or Goodwill.  Friday he tried on the plaid suit from the stack, the one I made for him some thirty years ago.  I took some pictures so I had proof of my expertise at matching plaids.  Now the suit and some pants are ready to go, and I can dust the wood trim on the love seat and vacuum the seat and back.

Long ago Randy's mom told me she was learning the importance of a little piece of advice:  Don't put down, put away.  If you put down a piece of paper or clothing or whatever, intending to deal with it later, it is so easy for that item to become part of the background of the room and to be ignored.  And it collects dust!