I try not to think about dusting, it being one of my least favorite chores. I avoid it as long as possible. There comes a time when it simply has to be done. I have a dust meter, do you? It’s the top of my jewelry box. When the afternoon sun shines in, that dust stands up and salutes. If I left it another day, I’m sure the dust would have a rehearsal on the parade ground.
John might have been planning to listen to a NY radio station or music at his computer. To avoid a music war, I asked him, “Could you put on some music to dust by?”
He asked whether it should be choral or orchestral.
“Orchestral. It needs to be very loud and happy.”
If I’d thought about it, I would have known he wouldn’t have much to choose from. I’ll bet he could fill 24 hours playing funeral masses or another 24 with Gregorian chant. When I reached the living room, I saw I’d left some CD’s near the player the last time he was away. He put in the one I handed him. It was lovely having an assistant. As the beginning bars of Brahms’ first symphony filled the house, I flitted off to flick the duster in every direction. As the last bombastic chord sounded, I sat down. Perfect timing! How long did the dratted chore take? 47 minutes and 67 seconds. I must remember to set chores to music.