its a mad mission

Not too long ago I was comparing city sidewalks to George Forman grills. I’m now changing that comparison to well-salted melty popsicles. It has been storm after snowstorm here, and the snow is sticking this year. I love it, actually. Not the walking on the sidewalks part so much as the clean snow covering the dirt part. The random trash, the hundreds-year-old grime, the occasional stench—all masked for a few blissful hours by clean, albeit acidic, white snow. It’s really beautiful. By the time you wake up the next morning, the plows have scraped it and the dirt underneath onto gray sidewalk piles. But the memory lingers.

***

Bill was at school Tuesday night, and I decided I couldn’t wait another day for a vacuum. Funny, isn’t it, how I somehow managed to overlook dirty carpets for a year (well, I beat them out or swept them with a broom, but that hardly does the job), and then all of a sudden, I couldn’t take it anymore. They MUST be clean. So with a gift card burning a hole in my pocket, I trekked out to Bed Bath and Beyond in Chelsea after work. Got me a real pretty Hoover, and then decided that the money I saved with a coupon was better put to a clearance dust ruffle than to delivery service for the vacuum. **Commence channeling of inner Xena.** I’ve never seen handle-making stations anywhere but the city. A guy is paid full-time just to man one at the exit. He wrapped the box numerous times with hardy string, then twisted on the handle, and voila! I was ready to roll. Too bad the vacuum wasn’t very light. It was a long 5 minutes to the subway, and an even longer 20 when I got off in Brooklyn. I’ve never been so grateful for that orange hand at the stoplight. But my rugs are now clean, and when wifey is happy, Bill is happy.