Walden and Gertrude

I have befriended the dust bunnies that live under the kitchen stools.

One is long and thin, with an errant Christmas tree needle for what I assume is a tail. The other is a bit chubbier with dust-fluff, and a tiny scrap of pink construction paper which I assume is a nose.

Sometimes, between changing the latest load of laundry and wiping the day's stickiness off of the counters, I sit down at the table and chat with Walden and Gertrude. That is what I named them, after they had been there so long I decided to let them stay.  

Walden (left) and Gertrude (right)

Yesterday, as I swept away last night's dinner crumbs and set down a steaming mug of raspberry tea, I mumbled under my breath, "Why am I the only one in this house who cleans anything?"  

“There ain't no answer. There ain't gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. There's your answer,” Gertrude responded from beneath the kitchen counter. 

"Ah, the question is not what you look at, but what you see," Walden twittered. "Perhaps you should aspire to live more deliberately, and put forward only the essential facts of life. Suck out all the marrow, I advise you, instead of busying yourself with domestic tasks." 

"Easy for you to say," Gertrude spat back. "Your mother laundered your clothes and made your sandwiches while you were out discovering life." 

"I find it wholesome to be alone most of the time," Walden bristled. 

"While you're being good and wild and free," I said, "somebody has to manage the details that keep life moving. And that somebody is usually a woman."

"Life is frittered away by details," Walden said. "It is both astonishing and sad how many trivial affairs even the wisest thinks he must attend to in a day. Simplify!"

Gertrude and I both groaned. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they'd pop out. 

"What you think is details is actually essential to keep this family going," I said. "And why is it left to the women to keep track of all that stuff? Scrubbing rings from toilet bowls, noticing when hair needs to be cut, shopping for new shoes, signing permission slips, scheduling the carpet cleaner, getting birthday cards, knowing when the dog's shots are due, buying toothpaste, scheduling annual check-ups. Women have always carried the burden of domestic labor that is necessary for humanity. And a lot of them have done it while holding down a paying job, too! How is that fair?" 

"We know that we can do what men can do, but we still don't know that men can do what women can do," Gertrude snapped. "That's absolutely crucial. We can't go on doing two jobs."

"Between my part-time job, housework, errands, cooking dinner every day, and everybody's appointments, I don't have any time to simplify," I said, the edge in my voice glinting in the morning light. "And I certainly don't have any time to sit by a pond and write about simplifying.

"I wish I had more time to write," I added, quietly, after a pause. "My family is so loud. This world is so loud." 

"Listen to yourself and not to them," Gertrude told me gently. "To write is to write is to write is to write."

"The best you can write will be the best you are," Walden added like an apology.

I let go of a heavy sigh, and it settled onto the unswept floor.

The dust mice under the stools grew quiet. After a few minutes, I assumed they had fallen asleep.

I padded silently to the kitchen sink, dumped out my cold tea, and went to fold the latest load of laundry.