Nothing stays dust-free.

I remember once talking to a friend of my mom's; she told me that she started making her children wash their own laundry when they turned 12 or 13. Maybe it was 8. Either way, it was when they were young. But that's not the point.

She did this because she called laundry the "most thankless task" ever invented. She didn't want to do it, and it was bad enough she had to do her own, let alone everyone else's. So, the moment they were old enough to handle the task without wrecking things, they started taking their own wash to the modern river, washboard in hand.

This is how I feel about dusting. It is a thankless task, and I'd really rather not do it. True, no matter how much you clean, you will always end up, sooner than you may think possible, back doing the exact same thing again. But dusting is different; the moment you finish, new dust has already settled. The dice are stacked against you.

So tonight, while attacking the living room, contemplating the dust and the ever-grosser dusting cloth, I thought of practicing scales back when I took guitar lessons twenty-something years ago. My, how time flies. Of course, the scales didn't fly with me. Ah no, I left those behind in my guitar teacher's basement room. Scales were thankless tasks, and they bored me.

Has this affected my songwriting? Most likely. See, the musical structure is important to me, but I really feel like lyrics are where the action is. I take great pride in them in my song crafting. Had I practiced my guitar more often and with more intensity, I would likely play I great deal better than I do now, but would my lyrics have suffered? Who knows. Maybe.

I'll take things the way they are. My fingers still don't want to play those damned scales. Or dust that end table ever again.

It is my living room, and I want it dust free, thank you very much.

Good people of the world, today the entryway, living room, and hallway were on tap.

I'll go ahead and start the post with what was managed:

*Fluffed and rotated sofa cushions (of our lovely purple velvet sofa)
*Dusted surfaces, objects, furniture, light fixtures (I remembered them today!), and electronics
*Swept, vacuumed, and mopped floors

This took 2 hours and 15 minutes. And to top it all off, I didn't even finish all the things on the list for today! As it stands, I'm running through all of Ms. Stewart's Spring chores in March, and scattering all the duties throughout the month so I won't be doing everything on one day (and, seeing the amount of time involved, I wouldn't be able to get everything done in one day anyway). When added to the daily, weekly, and monthly tasks, the Spring tasks add a lot to do. Spring is the season with the most items on the to-do list, but Summer seems to be the one with the least. So, I'll look forward to less hectic days then.

I did manage make the bed this morning, so we'll see if we can keep that daily task on schedule.

It was also time to replace the baking soda in the fridge. However, I found (at my beloved neighborhood Big Lots) a mesh packet filled with volcanic rock pieces which neutralize odors and can be used in the fridge (even Ms. Stewart mentions these packets in the Handbook). The coolest thing: after a few months you can microwave the packet for a few minutes or hang it in full sunlight for a few hours, and it's ready to go for another three months. No more replacing boxes of baking soda! Reduce, reuse, recycle! Yes.

But enough, dear readers, you must certainly be wondering how my music came into this domestic assault on dust, dirt, and dog hair. Let me tell you...

Once again I tried to keep my mind focused on the music as I performed my tasks. And again, my mind wanted to focus on anything but. To force my hand (well, to force my mind, that is), I determined to turn my life into a musical. I began singing to the muse, asking her to drop by. Now, I've sat through enough horrible musicals in my day to know that you don't need to be given a transcript of my song; what I sang wasn't important. No, what was important was the simple fact that I was singing at all. You see, despite the fact that I am a singer-songwriter, I don't always sing every day, or sometimes even every second or third day. This is a habit that must end.

So, I sang to the dirt. I sang to the clumps of dog hair that are ever present no matter how much I clean. I sang to Simon, the adorable creator of the aforementioned hair. I sang to the mop and the hardwood floors. I sang to my hands.

And, when I determined that I was finished for the day, I went and picked up the 12-string guitar that my dad just sent me (thanks Dad!), tuned it up, and strummed for a while. Some nice chord progressions came, nothing Earth-moving, but still nice. Much like singing, I don't play every day, which is also something that has to change.

And change is the name of this game.

Happy scrubbing, folks!