We recently replaced flooring, and part of the “pitch” regarding the striated wood tones was that the floor rarely “looked dirty.”
Eww, I thought silently to myself, that doesn’t mean it 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵….
Growing up in the typical Italian household instilled a borderline cleaning neurosis—we never walked past a countertop without a wipe.
Saturday was “National Sheet Day” (along with the associated extra laundry), and all hard floors were swept and mopped at the end of every day. 𝘌𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘐𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 the kitchen and entryways.
This was BS—Before Swiffer. 😂
My new floor did just what the installer said it would do—even drops of spilled coffee were hard to see! Crumbs and sand dared me to find them.
While this may sound like Nirvana to some, for me, it made my task harder. I felt like Clouseau. Was I getting it all?
The sun rises behind us, and one morning I realized if I catch the right time, it streams through the glass sliding doors at just the precise angle and hits the floor.
There was the hidden dust, a little unseen canine fur, and some random crumbs I might not have otherwise seen underneath the chairs.
And while I would have swept and mopped there anyway, it gave me an odd satisfaction knowing I got it all out—because it was 𝘌𝘟𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘌𝘋…
I now look forward to that “right time” when the sun streams in to help me with my housecleaning.
What parts of our metaphorical houses may have trapped debris? Looking good to the eye, yet likely in need of cleaning?
☀️ The dark parts are exposed when the light streams in.☀️
And while they may function “well enough,” imagine what would happen if they gleamed and shined ?