Wednesday, February 17, 2010

A girl can dream.

Prior to the recession the area I live in was one of the fastest growing areas in the country. That is a good thing on many levels. (Not, necessarily that I live here, but the growth part is good, I mean.) It had created a lot of jobs, an influx of new residents and visitors, a lot of attention, and a lot of traffic (to the local businesses). It also created a lot of dust and dirt!

Where I live used to be primarily dairy farms. Every year the smell lightens a little. I am hoping the flies get the hint and take a hike, too. (This is my favorite dream.) I am hoping that the city planners, in their infinite wisdom, leave some of the green grassy areas instead of just filling in every square inch of earth with homes, sidewalks, and stores. (Still dreaming here.) Anyway, every once in a while I will deviate from my normal travel route and a former dairy farm will have suddenly vanished. The cows—gone…the farm house—gone…the barn and other milk structures…gone. And all that is left is a big pile of rubble. All of the concrete and other hard materials from all those years of life, toil, struggle is all that remains. Sooner or later one of those big machine trucks comes and pulverizes it into gravel. It’s amazing and sad and interesting and exciting and strange all at the same time.

I passed one of these ghost farms the other day and there was a hand-painted sign out front that said, “Clean Dirt Wanted.” It made me laugh out loud. Me, too! I want some clean dirt! I want it on the floors in my house, on my furniture, in the laundry basket, on my front porch, on my windows—I want it everywhere my dirty dirt usually is! I think it would save me hours and hours of time wasted on cleaning. Because I don’t know about you, but when I clean my dirty dirt (none of your business how often or seldom I clean)--it always comes back. Not that I really get rid of it—I just displace it. It goes from my furniture to the dust rag to the washing machine to the lint screen to the trash, to the floor to the dust pan to the trash, to the mop to the bucket to the sink or outside—and then someone tracks it back in again.

Hubs had to burst my bubble and tell me that ‘Clean Dirt’ is not what I think it is. He gave me the whole explanation of what it is and why it’s needed and where to get it. I prefer to pretend that there really is something known as Clean Dirt and that it could make my life so much simpler if I could only find it.

A girl can dream.

Posted by The Editor for Busy Body.

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