Dirt Devil, Aptly Named

In my mind, cleaning is just an exercise in rearranging dirt.  Nothing is everlastingly clean, and whatever you do will have to be done again in an amazingly short time.  I stretch that short time to the limits.  Because the squirrels had been pelting our stoop with beech nut hulls, we tracked in thousands of sharp edged pieces.  Most of them were scattered about the carpet inside the front door, but others made their way to the alcove at the top of the stairs and into my bedroom.  For the past week I’ve swept the stoop once or twice a day to interrupt the cycle, but much damage had already been done.  After my husband and grandsons went to the county park to ride steam trains, I hauled out the little Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner.  It failed at the end of my last session, but husband John got it going again.  I don’t think he did anything to it, except maybe glare at it.  Starting with the dining room, I pushed and pulled the red machine under the table, all around and under the chairs.  I stopped twice, and where I stopped, the machine deposited dirt.  I might as well have been walking a dog!  A dog moves around and makes deposits which you have to clean up, but at least it wags its tail and responds to you.  Moving into sunlight in the kitchen area, I saw there was no dirt in the clear holder.  Great!  Only the dirt held by suction was actually transported to another place.  The rest must have been scattered into the corners, where it will remain unseen because I won’t look.  You’d better not look, either, if you know what’s good for you.  I took the Dirt Devil apart and found the assembly had not been properly seated, undoubtedly because I hadn’t twisted it all the way the last time.

The Devil and I began again in the living room where the real mess was (and is).  Most of the hulls were no longer evident by sight, although I’m sure a bare foot would find plenty to complain about.  I was ready to stop when the vacuum stopped itself.  By hand I picked up the biggest pieces left under the machine and dragged it to the kitchen.  When I unlatched the holder, dirt sprayed in all directions.  I emptied the now full container and saw with dismay that the Devil had dirt in its holder and all over the top.  I turned the whole machine upside down over the garbage and shook it for good measure.  Anger is a great help in times like this.  I made sure the wicked thing was put together tightly.  Plugging it in near the coffee maker, I pressed the start button, hoping to clean up the new mess I’d just made.  Nothing happened.  It wouldn’t go when connected in the dining room, either.  Rats!  I shoved the thing ignominiously under the window and went back to pick up the biggest pieces of hulls and dirt in the kitchen.  And that, my friends, is why I make myself vacuum at least twice a year, whether the carpets need it or not.