Dec. 11, 2020



Lessons learned from being my wife’s house cleaner.



When self isolation began, we had to agree roles. I saw myself as the supervisor. My beloved felt she better fitted that role.

We compromised. I am now the cleaner.

Involuntarily doing this job has been good for me. I have to keep telling myself this.

It makes one appreciate those who clean for a living.

There are tricks of the trade.

There are dodges to ignore. The boss insists on 'a proper job'.

Now for the scary part.

Sweeping floors is bad for the environment.

Months ago, an electrician re-wired much of the house. He did his best to clean up the copious plastic coated wire. It reappears.

After all this time, there are two possible explanations. Stray bits maybe spontaneously arriving from another dimension. I keep abreast of my quantum physics, so see this as the obvious solution. 

Much less likely, they are drawn into the open by the vacuum cleaner.

Removing these pollutants from the dust before tossing it onto the garden seemed to be the answer. This lumpy dust is rich in human hair, Simone the parrot's feathers and other recyclable material. Some of the content is unspeakably miasmal, dismal and abysmal.

My brush's bristles are natural fiber. The handle and other parts are plastic coated. Nothing we humans do is free of pollutants.

There are too many witches around here to risk the twig type switch. One per household is  more than sufficient!

Oh dear! Tiny plastic particles from various sources still appear in the dust. It is possible to take time to pick them out, but missing some is inevitable. 

Soo, a solution.

As humanity is polluting the world, we are all doomed. The Goddess of the Environment, Greta Thunburg, says that plastics can take a thousand years to degenerate.

The logic is irrefutable. The answer is to start that process immediately. Then, the world will be cleaner more quickly.

From tomorrow all plastic goes onto the garden. This approach will go viral.

In 3,120, the ruling cockroaches will have a plaque dedicated to me, 'The cleaner who gave us our chance.' The rest of humanity will be long forgotten.

Avoiding arrest for sexual harrassment

Another result of my cleaning is that our regular house keeper is much happier working in our tropical garden. Recently, she went home at the usual time. I was overcome with a fit of jealousy. In the darkness of the early Central American evening, I decided to enjoy a little garden work too.

Foolishly, I deployed the sprinklers on a steep part of a lawn. One failed to rotate. Naturally, I slithered carefully down to investigate on the wet grass. 

As my feet slid from under me, I landed painfully astradle a reinforced pipe. Partly demolishing the sprinkler, I did unknown damage to a sensitive body area. Adding to the mayhem, the pipe scraped a wide, 30 centimeter long piece out of my inner thigh.

Dripping with now bloody water, I crawled back up the slope. 'Ouch!' was not one of the words used. There were other consequences.

You may be unaware, that Costa Rica has declared war on sexual harrassment. Generally, laws here are widely ignored. This one is in vogue. It results in punitive prison sentences. 

In the glare of the spotlights, I was watering the garden in a loose fitting yukata, a Japanese robe. Now, I have to hold it away from the bloody and super sensitive thigh, to avoid painful contact. 

To the evening walkers strolling by the metal bars of the gate, it must look as though I have overdosed on Viagra. I back crablike to the fawcets near them. Ne'er a glance do I cast behind me. I prefer not to be jailed as a predator. 

If the necessarily loosely tied robe were to drop, they might still call the cops. My black, blue and bloody leg is that of a half finished Frankenstein's monster.