Once the dust settles
We live in a house that was built about 135 years ago. Our driveway, a third of a mile in length, is an unfortunate combination of mud, rocks, and gravel. Excluding the tiny house that our son and his wife built nestled in a stand of cedars, our nearest neighbors are the cows that graze on the far side of the rickety fence. It is country living at it's finest--except for the dust and dirt. I probably vacuum the rug in front of the kitchen sink at least twice a day. Now understand, I am not a clean freak but once the dirt and debris carried in on shoe bottoms covers a substantial percentage of the surface area, I am compelled to do something about it. But that is not the worst of it. When the morning sun streams in through the need-to-be-washed windows, a fine layer of dust is revealed. Coffee table. Countertops. Stove top. Everywhere. Even the air itself seems filled with tiny particles that take great pleasure in frolicking about. How does this happen? How can it be? Honestly, I ...