Kitchen Fans and Dog-Hair Tumbleweeds

tired of housework

On Wednesday it was hot in my kitchen, which I took as a sign that it was time to get the summer fans out of the attic.  So up and down the stairs I went – four trips up two flights of stairs and four trips back down two flights of stairs, stopping only once, when I cracked my head on a support beam and temporarily lost motor functions.  When I was done, there was a fan in every room but alas, only two were near sockets.  Thus began the hunt for extension cords, a quest that would take me to the basement, the backyard shed, the attic, and eventually the Canadian Tire store a few blocks from my house.

Fourty-five minutes later, I was sweaty and exhausted but victorious.  A (wo)man-made breeze wafted through every level of the house.  Unfortunately, the newfound airflow was messing with my delicate indoor ecosystem, churning up dog-hair tumbleweeds that now drifted along the hardwood, whispering to me as they passed.  “Don’t just sit there… get the broom out… it’ll only take a minute”. 

Thirty minutes later my floors were glistening (you may as well mop if you’ve already swept).  The house was cool, the house was clean, and a whole new season of Orange is the New Black was waiting on Netflix.  Eureka!  Unfortunately, by this point it was nearly five o’clock – time to get dinner started.  Sighing, I headed back into the kitchen, stepping over Buster on my way.  There he was, stretched out long against the cold ceramic tiles.  I realized that he had been there for most of the past two hours, finding his Zen while I whirled around and around like one of my summer fans.  Makes me question whether I am really smarter than my hairy little man.

Sometimes you need to get the fans… and go to the store… and sweep and mop… and make dinner.  But sometimes, as Buster has taught me, it is also perfectly acceptable to just STOP.  On Wednesday, I left the stir fry ingredients in the fridge, although I did dig out a bottle of Pinot Grigio which paired beautifully with the pizza I ordered.  And Buster joined me on the sofa where we both enjoyed the fans, the television and the pure joy of just doing nothing together.

Author: kim scaravelli

Kim lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, with her long-suffering husband, an assortment of off-spring, a charming cat named Winnie, and a less charming (but oddly loveable) schnauzer named Buster.

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