As I've shared before, though I am not a particular fan of winter, I will grudgingly credit the season with occasional days of brilliance. Today is one such day - a combination of bluebird skies, and sun and snow so bright that the world looks like one big Delft plate. Periodically, a hint of wind nudges a branch, exhaling a shimmering puff of icy crystals. Granted it's a bit chilly, at minus ten, and that hint of wind comes with a northerly bite, but the sub-zero temperature keeps the snow firm upon the trees and unsullied on the ground. Clearly a beautiful day, begging to be embraced.
But here's the rub with winter: not every day is like this. Not by a long shot. There are plenty of days when a metaphorical crowbar is the force necessary to pry oneself from the comfortable confines of the great indoors. Some days even the dog, generally an ardent fan of ANY outing, peers outside only to pooh-pooh the ill-advised idea of facing the elements (a statement which, unfortunately, significantly increases the chance of him also pooh-poohing on the carpet...).
The worst thing about those inclement days, particularly after a generous spell of good weather, is that I am suddenly confronted with the unpleasant reality that I have not engaged in anything remotely resembling housework in several weeks. I am forced to look around me and admit that, yet again, the magic cleaning elves, in whose existence I so fervently wish to believe, have failed me.
My faith shattered, I have no option but to mount an offensive attack on dust, dog hair and downright dirt. To be honest, neither I nor the man known simply as Geoff is particularly fussy about general household cleanliness. Nonetheless, given that societal norms discourage such things as an unidentified black substance overtaking your toilet bowl, or a layer of animal hair so thick it completely obscures the underlying floor, I feel obliged to conform.
In my mother's day, house keeping was a relatively simple task, unhampered by any inconvenient urge to question the environmental impact or general toxicity of the cleaning products being used. (My mother, for the record, is of a rapidly-diminishing secret society of individuals who fully comprehend the mysterious function of the iron). In the sixties, I believe that had weapons-grade plutonium been proven to clean a toilet, it would have been readily available on your average grocery shelf (cold war be damned!). I grew up believing anything less than a spotless house was an indication that one was, at best, mentally deficient, and at worst, a socialist. Whatever chemical price was necessary to avoid these crippling stigmas was well worth it.
Today, I am compelled to shed the blissful ignorance of the perils of household toxins, and attempt to wrestle our house into a semblance of cleanliness using more benign substances than, say, weapons-grade plutonium. This is not without its challenges. Simply put, those toxins-in-a-bottle work like a hot damn. When it comes to removing unidentified black substances, goopy bathtub scum and the abundance of general grime created by, well, living, you just can't beat a good poison. And let's be honest, a dishwashing detergent without bleach or phosphates? Sure, fish love it, but it's not all that effective at washing dishes. Nor is the eco-friendly laundry liquid particularly 'tough on stains'. Cleaning a bathroom with baking soda and vinegar? Feels good for the soul, but is a helluva lot of hard work for the body! How I long for the simple days when soaking baby clothes in a solution from a container labelled with a skull and crossbones made perfect sense.
But another thing my mother taught me is to stick to my principles. While that may have back-fired on her, given my raging socialist tendencies and considerably-less-than-spotless home, it does mean I am committed to avoiding toxic household chemicals wherever possible. As a consequence, my bathtub may sport a residue of soap scum, my clothes may have the odd faintly-discernible stain and, if you're super fastidious, you probably wanna check inside the mug before pouring a cup of coffee, but I don't think that's too big a trade-off against pouring litres of poison down the drain each year.
And good news abounds... I have discovered that things look virtually spotless when viewed without glasses. I knew there would be a silver-lining somewhere in this failing vision thing.
Note: for those of you looking for some good information on eco-friendly cleaning check out http://www.ecoholic.ca/. Great website and the book 'Ecoholic Home' by Adria Vasil is a great resource.
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