Thank God It's Just Dirt

My agenda for today was to throw in a load of laundry and to pay attention to my much-neglected floors.  While we love Gladys' terrazzo floors, we find that having all hard surfaces in the house also allows us to notice all of the sand, dirt, and other debris that migrates indoors each day.  I will freely admit that with the amount of sand here in Florida, I would never have wall-to-wall carpeting.  What must accumulate in those carpets in a year is disgusting!

Our terrazzo has lots of grey, white, salmon, rust, and brown marble chips in it, so actually seeing the sand is sometimes difficult.  A walk across sandy floors with bare feet, however, is very revealing!  We also have learned that the sand and dust that accumulates on the furniture and floors requires a good dust-mopping or vacuuming at least every other day.  Since I have not truly scrubbed most of the floors (with the exception of the bathrooms and guest bedroom) in the last couple of weeks, today was my chosen day to tackle that task.

I am so thankful that my talented husband installed a central vacuum system for us last year.  The central vac has 10 times the suction power of a canister vacuum, so we know that when we vacuum the floors, we are getting everything off of them. (The exception to that last statement is plaster dust.  Anyone who has ever remodeled knows that plaster or drywall dust is insidious-- getting into every crack and cranny, and actually embedding itself into fibers and skin. Thankfully, we have not done any drywall or major demolition lately.)

Since the completion of the laundry room this year, Gladys' square footage has risen to approximately 1400.  That's a lot of floor to vacuum and to wet mop!  As I started the task of vacuuming this morning, though, I thought of the news events that I had witnessed earlier on TV, and I have to thank God that the only thing I have to worry about is dirt.

I do not have to worry about my children.  They are grown, educated, gainfully employed, and safe.  I do not have the burden of that poor family in Boston who mourns the loss of a daughter younger than my two daughters.  I do not have the responsibility of trying to explain to a six year old who loved to Irish dance why some madman set off a bomb that destroyed her dreams of dancing or even normally walking again.  That same little girl also will have to face the even great trauma of losing her beloved eight-year-old brother forever.

I am not one of those families whose homes were blown apart last night by a massive explosion from a fertilizer plant in West, Texas.  Who am I to grumble about a little dirt on my floors when those unfortunate families may no longer have floors to mop. And in that tiny town, those who only lost furnishings and floors may be the lucky ones because they are not mourning the loss of a husband or wife, mother or father, brother or sister, child or grandchild.

My house still stands, my belongings are secure, and my family is safe.  I have no major trauma in my life.  All I have to worry about is a little dirt.  Thank God.