Dust your Way to Heaven*

There is a myth amongst women (formerly known as 'housewives'), which is discussed with passion at places of work, coffee mornings, tea parties and even, shame though it is to admit it, at meetings of the Women's Institute, namely that dusting is an activity which is to be despised, shunned, scorned and avoided at all costs. It is to be placed at the bottom of the list of any self-respecting woman these days, delegated to cleaning staff, husbands (who, after all, fail to redeem themselves in any other way in this modern age), or, if at all possible, to children (although it is somewhat difficult in this 21st century culture of ours to do the latter without incurring the wrath of such busy-bodying organisations as the Children's Rights Campaign or the Children's Helpline). Such has become the reputation of this dignified, invigorating, health-giving and worthy occupation in the early years of the current century.

 

Ladies, what are you thinking of? To what depths have you sunk that you fail to understand the merits and, indeed, the delights of this much to be desired activity? Do you not understand how most fortunate you are, how much honour has been heaped upon your lovely heads, how blessed and favoured you are that you should have been allocated this outstanding opportunity for self aggrandisement, for useful accomplishment, for promotion to a high pedestal of acclaim by all around you, by simply regularly, diligently and dutifully accomplishing this most routine of tasks. Do not think by uttering the word 'routine' I am in any way denigrating this most exacting of exercises. To dust diligently, to dust regularly, to dust rigorously and to dust with no thought for one's own pleasure, comfort or satisfaction is to engage in one of those highly prized moral exercises that is offered to very few of us in this current age. Routine dusting should be considered the pinnacle of your achievements.  In no way should you ever consider parting with this valuable prize, delegating to another member of your family (however deeply you may care for them or however certain you may be of their unquestioned ability to carry out the task to the highest of standards). No, Ladies. This task is tailor made for you, created for you alone, since the beginnings of time and the origin of our species. This task is one in which you alone may shine, may exhibit all the tender care, attention to detail, application, constancy, perseverance and true grit with which your honoured sex has been endowed.

 

Consider with me for just one moment, if you please, the health-giving benefits of this sport - for sport it can be called due to the opportunities it offers for twisting and turning, climbing (please be sure to use an approved form of stepladder for this task), bending and bowing. The proper use of duster, polish and elbow grease will ensure that the heart rate is increased, the muscles are correctly and most efficiently exercised, the lungs are encouraged to take good, deep breaths and the back is strengthened. Do not forget to weigh up the benefits too of the effects of all this exercise on the proper functioning of the bowels (if I may presume to mention this delicate matter in female company) and the strengthening of the pelvic floor muscles, all good practice for later life.

 

Think too of the moral benefits to be attained by this all too often despised activity. Think of that glow of pride and happiness that can be engendered at the end of a sacrificial day of dusting, when you could have been sunbathing on the lawn, eating ice creams on the prom, playing the piano or enjoying the company of your friends. How proud you can be of your superior choice of employment, your worthy practice of self-denial and the cleanliness (which is, after all, next to godliness itself) which your dwelling place enjoys. Think how proud you will be when your husband returns from his place of work, your children enter the door, to view, spellbound, the gleaming parquet floor in the hallway, the spotless work surfaces in your kitchen, the totally dust-free environment in their bedrooms. As it says in the Good Book, your children will rise up and call you blessed.

 

Do not miss out on this opportunity of a lifetime to create a healthy environment for your home and family. Do not waste time on what seem to be more enjoyable pursuits. No, Ladies. Look no further for the career of a lifetime, the dream to surpass all dreams and dust your way to heaven!

 

*An exercise devised for the writers circle to which I belong. Try it out - just think of the thing you most loathe, that bores you to tears and, in the persona of a marketing agent, sell it to others as the best thing since sliced bread!

Ode to Julia Cameron

Three pages a day. Such good advice. I'm a writer. I'm supposed to be able to write anywhere, anytime: empty my head, pour it out word by word, line by line, thought by precious thought, onto the blank page in front of me. Search the corners, shine the searchlight: there must be something lurking in the corners, hidden in my subconscious mind ready for this therapeutic, warming-up exercise. I wait silently, stealthily, hoping to creep up on it and surprise it. Maybe if I look the other way, whistle a little disarming tune and look nonchalant, I can trap my unsuspecting thoughts, tempt them out into the open.

 

There's no doubt about it; I am an intelligent woman. I must be thinking something of value, something I can grasp hold of and ease gently out of its hiding place into the outside world. Someone would love to read about it, of that I am sure. If only I could just penetrate the darkness and extract that precious nugget of wisdom. Three pages is not much, after all. With years of creative writing behind me and a degree in English Literature, I have something to contribute. My powers of observation are honed and standing to attention; my senses are primed - sight, sound, taste, touch and smell - ready to record the wonders of the natural world around me.

 

I sit, pondering, surrounded by luscious green grass, a closely mown cricket pitch with an old-fashioned roller standing in readiness nearby. The tall poplar trees are sighing in the breeze. The old church clock tells me that it is ten to two on this fine spring afternoon and the stream behind my seat is rushing along, murmuring busily. And what am I thinking? ("You have a good brain, Julia. Why don't you use it?" as my father used to say.) All I am thinking, all I can muster, is to observe amidst all of this that these young women passing at this moment by my bench, disturbing my peace and tranquillity, are using only one small yellow ball to exercise simultaneously four yapping, troublesome dogs. It's a breeze! One small ball, one lazy underarm throw and four dogs - two large and athletic, two small and irritatingly yappy - are tearing uncontrollably around the recreation field, competing with each other, barking and snarling, in their attempts to capture the prize and thus spending all their copious energy in exercising themselves and going home exhausted. Job done! Round and round they go; round and round go my thoughts and after all is said and done, this is the one small nugget of truth that this intelligent, creative mind can achieve.

 

But wait a moment... wait just one moment! Let us count up and see. Yes, it is true: my fellow writer and inspirer was justified, correct in her attempts to spur me on. I am approaching the finishing line! My trail of words, phrases and thoughts are laid out behind me, line by line, page by page of this scruffy exercise book which I am steadily filling up. My thoughts have triumphed. My writer's training has stood me in good stead. I have run the race, I have fought the good fight and the prize is laid up before me: one, no, two, no, three pages, to the very last line!