What my shower and the situation in the ME have in common
My friend says that my blog has too much about Palestine and not enough about me. The truth is I am bound up in the issues involving Israel/Palestine and I simply cannot detach myself from the struggle I know goes on and on half-way around the world while I enjoy the mundane simplicity and pleasure of life in a peaceful burg in America. Furthermore, “the war” goes on here, too. It’s a public relations war, a war within which I must fight. From my perspective the whole Middle East thing is a matter of public opinion. The Zionists have the most brilliant public relations strategy ever known to man and they’ve been at it since the late 1800s. Those of us who value a world not tied up in “isms”, nationalism heading the list, have only of late begun a campaign to foster peace and prosperity for people everywhere; irregardless, of religion, culture, color, creed, whatever. I do not want a land for Presbyterians for heaven’s sake, or any other “ians,” and I’m going to have to sell that idea, I guess, even if I have years of catching up to do.
Given the history of the struggle for land in the inappropriately named Holy Land (it’s not holy, these days), I feel that there has never been a time better than now to start sharing and behaving ourselves worldwide. The situation reminds me of cleaning the bathroom. I’ve always been a bit of a potty mouth.
Today, no less, I really cleaned my bathroom, especially, the tub. Our bathroom was installed about 10-years ago, all white and shining. At first, I took care of it, going in periodically to look at my matching towels and wallpaper and smiling at the thought of my Corrian shower, something special for us. But, it wasn’t long until I lost interest in the novelty of this corner of my house. I stopped washing down the walls and the glass doors. It was in and out of the shower for me. Sometimes my beloved husband would suggest a cleaning, and I’d give him a look that said, “you do it.” I think some men trick us women when we ask them to clean something in the house. They do it, but ever so badly. I never ask my guy to clean anymore. Well, sometimes.
Of course, a scum developed, a scum that could not be washed away simply . Remember those shower sprays advertised as a way to clean the shower without having to do any rubbing at all. I did that. It only added to the scum; it was like a public relations campaign that tries to get people to see things in a certain way knowing they don’t have the understanding to know where the real dirt begins and ends. It’s a perfumed spray, a cover up, unsanitary with nothing in it to really solve a problem or bring disaster to an end. It allows build up after build up. Soon, the mess is truly out of hand. I’m sure you get the point.
Well, I finally knew that I couldn’t let the shower go any longer. Mold developed making it into a no-mans-land for me. My shower was a place that made my eyes sting and my skin get hives. My shower was winning. Hum! So, I bought the strong lye based cleaner I could find and started. I bought an excellent squeegee that really gets the water and soap off after each use and I started caring about my shower: how it felt, how it looked, how it made me feel.
The first scrub down did nothing at all. The second did a little more, but all the yellow mold spots stayed stuck (they always do). I got a different kind of cleaner. I scrubbed until I was red in the face and even though I wore rubber gloves, little warts arose on my hands from the fumes coming from the cleaner. I put on my swimming goggles and a worker’s face mask. I scrubbed some more. Today is the first day since all this cleaning began several weeks ago that the yellow spots began to fade. I still have a long way to go.
Even with my shower, it’s never too late to make things right. In my case, there was no time like the now before me to start. I want a perpetually clean shower. I could not get that without an effort, the right kind of effort: a cover up wouldn’t do; ignoring the creeping sludge made things worse; refusing to face reality pushed my shower and me further and further apart; a change in strategy and behavior became essential. When all is said and done, to make a place safe and clean and pleasant takes work, care and recognition of truth, i.e. justice for the shower and for me. I’m sure you get the point.
Given the history of the struggle for land in the inappropriately named Holy Land (it’s not holy, these days), I feel that there has never been a time better than now to start sharing and behaving ourselves worldwide. The situation reminds me of cleaning the bathroom. I’ve always been a bit of a potty mouth.
Today, no less, I really cleaned my bathroom, especially, the tub. Our bathroom was installed about 10-years ago, all white and shining. At first, I took care of it, going in periodically to look at my matching towels and wallpaper and smiling at the thought of my Corrian shower, something special for us. But, it wasn’t long until I lost interest in the novelty of this corner of my house. I stopped washing down the walls and the glass doors. It was in and out of the shower for me. Sometimes my beloved husband would suggest a cleaning, and I’d give him a look that said, “you do it.” I think some men trick us women when we ask them to clean something in the house. They do it, but ever so badly. I never ask my guy to clean anymore. Well, sometimes.
Of course, a scum developed, a scum that could not be washed away simply . Remember those shower sprays advertised as a way to clean the shower without having to do any rubbing at all. I did that. It only added to the scum; it was like a public relations campaign that tries to get people to see things in a certain way knowing they don’t have the understanding to know where the real dirt begins and ends. It’s a perfumed spray, a cover up, unsanitary with nothing in it to really solve a problem or bring disaster to an end. It allows build up after build up. Soon, the mess is truly out of hand. I’m sure you get the point.
Well, I finally knew that I couldn’t let the shower go any longer. Mold developed making it into a no-mans-land for me. My shower was a place that made my eyes sting and my skin get hives. My shower was winning. Hum! So, I bought the strong lye based cleaner I could find and started. I bought an excellent squeegee that really gets the water and soap off after each use and I started caring about my shower: how it felt, how it looked, how it made me feel.
The first scrub down did nothing at all. The second did a little more, but all the yellow mold spots stayed stuck (they always do). I got a different kind of cleaner. I scrubbed until I was red in the face and even though I wore rubber gloves, little warts arose on my hands from the fumes coming from the cleaner. I put on my swimming goggles and a worker’s face mask. I scrubbed some more. Today is the first day since all this cleaning began several weeks ago that the yellow spots began to fade. I still have a long way to go.
Even with my shower, it’s never too late to make things right. In my case, there was no time like the now before me to start. I want a perpetually clean shower. I could not get that without an effort, the right kind of effort: a cover up wouldn’t do; ignoring the creeping sludge made things worse; refusing to face reality pushed my shower and me further and further apart; a change in strategy and behavior became essential. When all is said and done, to make a place safe and clean and pleasant takes work, care and recognition of truth, i.e. justice for the shower and for me. I’m sure you get the point.
posted by Facing Facts at
11:53 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home