The last few days have been a total
wipe out. Tomorrow a professional
photographer arrives to snap shots
of the Passion Pit transformation.
Our hope is said photos will entice
a major publication to feature our
Montana manse in a future issue.
Not only would it benefit our tiny
town, it should help reinforce that
we aren't nuts for indulging in such
a major endeavor. This house is if
nothing else a labor of love. And
honey, we're working our tails off!
It's the little things that count. My
bestie "T" polishes door knobs.
While that might seem a tad odd -
in reality a gleaming orb on every
portal is quite welcoming. I can
easily tolerate a dust bunny under
the sofa. However display a piece
of unpolished silver or mahogany
and you've committed a criminal
offense. I abhor most things shiny
and new but I adore anything with
polished patina. Like Aladdin I
enjoy more than a bit of after glow...
Almost a year later we still lack
household help. At some point
I think we both gave up (or in).
Rather than violate our valuables
we've been cleaning and dusting
on a regular basis. I worry that
Frank may crack. His primary
job is maintaining our master
bath which is almost a full time
job. Whereas I get somewhat of
a thrill rearranging a table scape,
he would rather swish anywhere
but in or around our men's room.
After six months most of the residual
construction dust has been wiped out.
However I've found a few spots that
still require attention. Our windows
while new were absolutely filthy. As
we enjoyed a winter respite of warm
temperatures last week I cleaned all
the windows I could easily reach. It's
amazing how transformative cleaning
up one's act can be. As quick as one
swiped the squeegee our outlook
improved dramatically. Trust me it
was well worth the effort.
Yesterday I tackled the chandelier
in our dining room. Every facet
was covered by a glaze of grime.
As I wiped crystal by crystal the
transformation was amazing. If
only we had someone doing that
on a regular basis. All of this dull
domesticity has reinforced the fact
that we need help desperately. In
other words, we're totally helpless.
Hence I'm trying something new.
Next week I'm placing a "help
wanted" ad in the local paper!
I'm dreading the selection process that
will follow. How does one know if the
eager soul applying is a klutz or curator?
I have no desire to put our precious bits
at risk. Yet in order to be saved from a
sinking ship one must sometimes plunge
into uncharted waters. Whoever dives
into our domestic bliss will soon become
part of our extended family. So it seems
perfectly normal that I'll be supporting
another "child". As long as they clean up
after themselves (and us) we're certain to
live happily ever after. Imagine that!
