A Kinder, Gentler Vacuum

Light, Easy & Thoroughly Enjoyable

Remember Alma?  And her complicated, cumbersome vacuum?  What a whirlwind of an experience that was!

I only heard from her once more since December, and that was when she called to accuse me of misplacing some of her holiday belongings (which I, of course, did not.).  

Hopefully, she is safely finding her St. Patrick's Day and Easter decorations without too much of a fuss!

I often wonder if our appliances, along with other belongings, and the way we approach certain household tasks, are a reflection who we are as individuals.

The above vacuum belongs to "V".  It is light, easy and thoroughly enjoyable.  In fact, I actually look forward to using it whenever I spend time with her.

It has no attachments that I know of, and doesn't need any.  It does what it is designed to do (pick up dirt!) in a simple and comfortable way, almost graceful in its motions.  

I don't have to fight with it.  Or desperately search for its accessories, after which is comes the struggle of attaching them.

Rather, I pull it out (it is extremely lightweight) and plug it in.  It swivels as needed.  And swerves to avoid collisions.  It even bends completely backwards so as to gently glide underneath furnishings, like a perfectly practiced Olympic gymnast. 

I LOVE this vacuum!  One of my goals in life is to get one for myself when I can afford it!  It's right up there on my bucket list!

My weekdays are very busy, filled with various appointments and meetings.  Today I am looking forward (NOT!!!) to having my neck placed in traction for the first time because I have such a severe limitation in my range of motion. 

Luckily for me, the above activity will be followed by a visit with "V", which I know in advance will be peaceful, predictable (in the best way imaginable) and positive.

She'll start off the visit by asking me about my week, even though I really want to know the details of her week, as they will impact what needs to be done during the weekend.  Did she have any doctor appointments?  Are there any changes in her medications, diet, exercises, overall health?  

No.  She'd rather find out how my son, who is visiting his Father in California, is faring.  When will he be back?  How is he enjoying his stay?  What has he been doing?

"V" also is eager to learn about my week.  What have I been doing?  Did I get a lot of snow and ice in my area (an all too common question this dreadfully depressing Winter season)?  She seems to live vicariously through her caregivers.  I'm rather embarrassed to say that some of them have far more interesting and exciting lives than I do!  But it's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?  I think that "V" finds all of our lives more interesting and exciting than her own at this point, as she is pretty much housebound at the age of ninety-six.  Last week, her daytime caregiver succeeding in getting "V" out to the Library to get some more large-print books, as we had a break in the snow and ice.  From my point of view, this was a major accomplishment, and it made "V" very happy.

"I bet you can't wait until your son gets back," she'll say, "So he can do the shoveling!"

And she couldn't be more right!  At the present time, there are mammoth sized (Okay... a slight exaggeration... but ever so slight!) mounds of ice outside my little mobile home.  I just position the cars between the bergs, and pray that I'll be able to propel them as needed!

The time I spend with "V" is definitely predictable, but there is tangibly soothing comfort in that, especially following the two significant losses I have just experienced in my personal life.

We will eat all our meals together, three square ones a day.  And we will enjoy an array of topics to converse about while we dine.  Sometimes the subjects are rather deep, but the way "V" handles the is full of grace and dignity, making it easy to talk about what could be difficult subjects.

Last week, we talked about death.  Openly and honestly.  At ninety-six, I know she has put a lot of thought into the subject.  And I was amazed at how easily she was willing to discuss it.

"What do you think happens when people die?" I asked, genuinely seeking her guidance and wisdom.

"Well..." she started out slowly, considering the question quite carefully.  "I think that when a person dies, their body is gone, but their soul lives on."

Short and sweet.  Exactly the kind of answer I would expect from "V".

"Yeah," I stated, searching for more.  "But what happens next?  Is my Dad having a cup of coffee with the mother he hasn't seen since 1972?"  "Is "M" having another fancy meal with her sisters?"

"V" smiled slightly at what I thought were silly questions, but her look was not one a mocking one.  Rather, it was full of understanding, as if she'd been pondering these same mysteries for years.  And indeed she had!  Ninety-six, to be exact (although I'm sure she didn't think about these things much when she was a child, innocently enjoying life and not worrying about the future, exactly the way young people are supposed to thrive, learn, and grow.).

"Maybe," she responded to my query.  "I'm not sure what happens to the soul when the body dies," she stated quite frankly.  "But I believe that it lives on in some way, and that people are reunited with their loved ones." 

My eyes teared as I asked the next question.  "Do you think "M" will remember me, even though I wasn't part of her family?"

"Of course she will," "V" said with certainty and compassion.  "You were part of her life during an important time."

She was right.  She was always right.  I so admired "V"s take on life... and death.  The matter-of-fact way that she lived her life, knowing every single day that the odds of her passing on sooner rather than later were significantly higher than all of the younger people who surrounded her.

With one exception.  A dear friend who is about ten months younger than "V".  They speak with each other almost every day by phone, but they don't say very much at all.  Just checking in.  It is rather funny to listen to them.  Question:  "How are you?"  Answer: "Fine."  Question: "Have you heard from anyone?"  (Who would they hear from, I wondered but didn't dare ask.)  Answer:  "No.  How 'bout you?"  Short and sweet.  Two minutes tops.  Hello.  Glad you're alive.  I'll check in again tomorrow. 

After breakfast, "V" likes to sit and read or play a little Solitaire on her I-Pad.  Getting up and dressed is wearying for her, and she seems to enjoy this the time between breakfast and lunch as one of simple relaxation.

That's when I take out the amazing Oreck, the King of vacuums.  "V" doesn't mind the noise at all, and, in fact, the Oreck is quite quiet compared to other vacuums I've used (I still curse Alma's Electrolux and all its infinite gadgets!). 

For me, vacuuming is a stress-reliever.  Always has been.  I LOVE to vacuum.  But only when it isn't a confounding and confusing project!  Just glide the machine back and forth over the floor's surface and listen to the little particles of dirt and what-not get sucked up into the vacuum's stomach.  Very, VERY soothing.  

And "V" doesn't mind at all.  When I get to her reclining chair, she tries to lift her legs up, even though they are already lifted.  It's a rather comical sight.  But she never once takes her eyes off the book or I-Pad, as though she has complete faith in my ability to find the little demons that live in her carpets and on her floors. 

It's a pleasant routine, and I look forward to it.  Saturday mornings with the Oreck.  Calm.  Peaceful.  Easy-going.  Almost effortless.  Just like spending time with "V".  

I guess vacuums, and other household appliances, really are a reflection of their owners.  At least in "V"s case, they are.  

Thoroughly enjoyable and uncomplicated.  Easy, light, efficient, and rather relaxing.

Note to self:  I've got to get me an Oreck!