Done Any House Cleaning Lately?

Quick! What's the first feeling you get when someone mentions "cleaning", as in "we're cleaning this weekend" or "we can't put off the cleaning any longer"? Let's face it. It's a combination of dread, resignation and resistance. I like to call it "dre-sig-nis-tance".

When a wave of dresignistance comes on, suddenly climbing Mount Everest and cliff diving in Acapulco seem like things you ought to be doing instead. Now, if you could only find those travel brochures you picked up last year---as if you thought you'd ever actually do those things in the first place.

I'm not sure what makes cleaning such a chore. Maybe it's because it's almost the worst kind of chore. First of all, depending on how brutal you decide to be, you have to retouch everything at least for the second time---if not third, fourth or fifth---even the stuff you should never have touched to begin with.

Then there's the dust, most of it laying there waiting to explode with the slightest breath, like one of those dandelion seed tufts. How do those little dust bunnies form, anyway? There they are, just lurking in corners and under furniture, waiting to pounce---or escape ahead of your approaching rag or mop.

The worst part may be the mental battle between the left and right sides of the brain, first trying to remember what made some particular thing so darned interesting at the time, then reevaluating whether to delay its immediate demise---a-g-a-i-n.

Cleaning has no gender boundaries either---there's no preponderant male/female claims to chronic collector status. Doesn't everyone have stacks of cherished magazines and catalogs, from Playboy to Pottery Barn, from "O" to "Q", from Real Simple to REI? All of them are so hope-filled and glossy.

Sure, we'll get back to that compelling relationship article eventually or try that recipe for goat cheese-vegetarian lasagna with avocado and a hint of mint. Toss them out? How could we? To paraphrase the classic from Seals and Croft, "these may never come this way again." Hope springs eternal....

But wait. Maybe the act of the cleansing purge (we're talking housework here) has gotten a bad rap all these years. When you get right down to it, cleaning is really just a mini-archeological excavation, with surprises under every layer.

Now I know why retail stores rotate their product lines so often. It's really just a business exercise in cleaning. Much as a fresh, clean store draws the eye and corrals customers, so too will your home, divested of its dust and clutter, be inviting to all those visitors you've been meaning to have over---you know, someone besides your best friend who loves you even with all your warts.

Just think of the fun in the discovery, nay even the reward, that awaits you. Have you browsed through the rows of packages and cans in your pantry which are months or even years beyond their "best if used by" date. What about the caches of expired coupons in that little basket by the phone; the knic-knacs and chotchkys---priceless dust catchers lined up in formation on shelves and hutchtops; and the pages of three-hole punched portfolio reports added monthly and quarterly to the "file later" pile?

Ah, but the true irony lies in the well-intentioned buckets and bags of partially and never used cleaning supplies shoved into the dark recesses of "the under-sink"?

So, what's to be done with the dust and clutter of times past. Can we ever part with our accumulated stash of good stuff which seems to have taken up permanent residence? Isn't it time to toss off the tantalizing tyrany of "too much"? To soundly trounce the trash evolved from treasure? To finally unburden the body and soul?

Come on. You can do it. Compulsion is under rated. Just think of it as turning your cleaning quirks into fashion statements. That damp rag tucked under a rubber band at your wrist will eradicate errant smudges in a flash. White gloves with a spritz of dust spray? Perfect for swiping away new traces of pre-dust on the bannister? And what could be bolder than strapping on a tool belt filled with cleaning supplies?

But the ultimate? A stylish row of easy-reach hooks by the front door is ideal for hanging dustmops, brooms and the afore-mentioned tool belt---all at the ready so you can start cleaning as soon as you walk in the door and keep at it until you leave. Throw caution to the wind. No mercy! This is war! Be the first cleaning fashionista on your block. Are you with me?

Wait. Where's the TV remote? Isn't there a game on now? Dirty Jobs? Animal Planet? Jeopardy? Anything?

Dick Van Dyke: Fashion genius

Some days life unexpectedly presents what can only be described as an unassailable truth. Yesterday was one of those days---actually, it was last night, as I watched an ad about "Mary Poppins," a magical English Nanny back in the day, immortalized in a Disney film that is making a come-back on family TV.

Granted, this topic has nothing to do with writing really. But when such time-tested truth presents itself, it would be unfair to the rest of humanity not to share the revelation. I can only hope that those few of you who stumble across my post might feel sufficiently driven to pass it along---to teens in particular. Some day they might thank you for it.

In the ad, one short scene shows Dick Van Dyke dancing with penguins. No doubt many of you remember it well but you are probably wondering where I'm going with this thread. Well, there Dick Van Dyke was, all decked out in striped jacket, hat, dancing shoes and trousers---the latter downwardly adjusted to make his penguin dancing partners feel right at home.

That's when it hit me: the low-slung pants in that penguin dance 50 years ago were the forerunners of the "below the drawers" style sported by today's teenage boys. Who could have known back then that Dick Van Dyke would be the genius behind the youth fashion movement of today. Admit it. The similarities are uncanny---the low-slung crotch nearly down to the knees, the waist barely suspended from the hips. The only real inter-generational difference is the drawers.

Today any youth hoping to survive the darts and arrows of his high school peers, must "step in time" (another Dick Van Dyke song in "Mary Poppins") with the uniform of the day. The weight of the jeans must be precisely calibrated not to exceed the anti-gravitational resistance of multi-colored drawers, themselves appearing to beg for help from hipbones seeminly not quite up to the task.

Even the walk---or I should say the penguin waddle---looks the same as in the penguin dance. Every three or four steps requires a hitch in the giddy-up to keep jeans and drawers from sliding beyond decency and wearers from falling on their faces. I'm thinking such attire among prison inmates might be almost as effective in escape prevention as ankle chains.

I wonder how long it might take for the slightly off-putting, low-hanging youth fashion to change if teens were to realize that their penguin look isn't irritating to us old folks at all but only humorous and cute---kind of like Dick Van Dyke and his penguin friends?

Something to think about, wouldn't you say?