Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Dislike of dusting is hereditary. My mother hated to dust. She said that was why she had girls, so she could pass on that chore to us. Not only that, she planned it carefully. I was born on my sister's sixteenth birthday so that by the time my sister was ready to leave home, Mother had a trainee waiting in the wings. When I was a kid, we had dark mahogany furniture (do they even make mahogany furniture anymore?) with filigree curlicues. It showed every speck of dust and fingerprint. Lemon oil was her polish of choice. Zesting a lemon now takes me back in time and I feel I should pick up a dust rag. I spent a good portion of the afternoon on Labor Day dusting. I hated it.