Living with Dirt

Often I’ve said, “I know clean. I want clean. But I don’t do clean well”. My way of saying that I’m thankful for those folk who make their livelihood from cleaning. Now, I may have to learn clean.

The Prius is filthy, road weary from driving cross-country. I’d take it to my favorite car wash, assuming they are open post-COVID but there’s a glitch. The car, dusty from back roads driven in Wisconsin…or were they in Nebraska, is packed, stuffed. with my suitcase, camping chairs, sleeping bags, books I picked up along the way, extra water should the car break down in the desert, and enough food to keep me going for a day or so. Cleaners couldn’t get near the inside of it.

Sounds easy enough to remedy that situation. Unpack the blinking car! How difficult is that?

More difficult than someone living in a pristine, immaculate, perfectly decorated place might think.

I awoke last night, tired after weeks on the road, to hear rats, mice, something clanking round somewhere above and to the side of me. Yes, rats, I’m pretty sure.

I’ve not lived in this place, even been on the property for years. COVID-19 delayed my return even longer than I expected. Memories flood me when I return each time briefly but on this trip, I have plans, ones that start with having an immaculate place for me to rest my weary head.

While the place was locked, seemingly secure and I could never find an entry point, somehow “they” gained access and damaged much. Kindly, they didn’t touch my most…