Dirt and Destruction

I survived the week.

I started cleaning last weekend in preparation for my guests arriving for Thanksgiving. Somehow, my house managed to get filthy since the last time we cleaned it in earnest; places and things you generally tend to overlook during the day, or perhaps you might actually look at it every day, but the filth becomes sort of mundane instead of openly repulsive. Dust bunnies and smeary fingerprints, little crayola scribbles via the two small feral children you share your home with. All of these things must be hunted down and erradicated when company is coming, including the wild streak your children have cultured in their small beings.

The cleaning took 5 days, and by the end of it all, I started making compromises. "Okay, this can stay a little grungy looking, IF I can get this other thing spotless." I never even considered looking into the kid's rooms with any sort of hope that it would be presentable. My own bedroom became the dumping ground for all things that company shouldn't be subjected to, yet didn't have "a place," or couldn't be thrown away. I think we got very close to living in a clean home by the time Thanksgiving Day arrived, because while my guests didn't exactly remark about how clean everything was, they didn't run screaming from the house, either. If they'd come on, say... Monday, they would have, and I would have gladly run with them, adding my own screams to the chorus of disgust. We are now three days past "clean," and it's starting to show again. Apparently "clean" is a fleeting thing around here.

Also momentary seems to be the viability of my kitchen appliances. Last Christmas our oven died right in the middle of my trying to bake the ham. My mother and I stood in the kitchen as I cursed, and my husband assured me that we could just finish off the ham in the microwave. It is one of those giant convection oven microwaves. We'd never used the convection part of it - mainly it's used for reheating food, making my water hot for my morning cup of tea, popcorn, and frozen pizza. My mother purchased the microwave in 1996, and had forgotten how to use the convection part of it, as well. It smoked. It stank. We turned if off as quickly as possible, and just nuked the ham in the microwave like normal people trying to salvage a holiday meal. This year, as I was standing in the kitchen chatting with my mother while I made Thanksgiving dinner, the microwave died as I was zapping the last of the sweet potatoes. "BZZzzzzzzzft." There was a little puff of smoke from the back of the thing, and a smudge of black on the outlet itself. We sort of laughed about the coincidence and then continued on into the lovely meal that awaited us. My mom's friend said it was the best turkey he'd had in years. The new recipes were a success. Brilliant!

I have my eye on Christmas. I am not sure I can afford to replace another appliance should our new trend continue. Besides, a lot can get dirty in a month.