Why I belong indoors

When Tom and I got married we made the deal that he would take care of the outside of the house and I would take care of the inside of the house. This meant that he mowed the lawn, raked the leaves, and completed all plantings and such. I scrubbed toilets and showers, cleaned all the rooms, and completed all the vacuuming and such. Of course we both pitch in when it comes to trash and laundry and such, but for the most part he is in charge of the outdoors, and I am in charge of the indoors.

Then the recession hit. Tom is busy trying to keep us above water and to keep his job. He leaves at 7:30 AM and most of the time doesn't return home until after 8:00 PM. He is tired, at times grouchy, and he could use a little vacation. So this morning I decided to give him one. After dropping off one child at school (the other is home sick) I returned home and stood outside in what use to be my driveway.

It is now hidden beneath mounds of pollen that drip from our huge oak tree in the front yard. You can stand right there and listen to the pollen as it drops. It sounds like rain trickling through the branches of the tree, which would be a welcome sound if it really were rain, but instead, it is this horrible, allergy-inducing, sneezing producing pollen.

It covers the yard, the driveway, my neighbor's yard, and driveway, and the street. A beautiful downpour would wash this stuff down to the sewer at the end of the street, but this is Florida and the reality is that there is no rain. It was up to me to find the driveway.

I got the outdoor broom, the one with the wooden handle, and set to work. Our driveway is divided into four sections. I started at the top of the first section in the middle. I decided I would sweep out from the yard to the middle and make one pile and then do the same with the other side, thus creating eight piles on the driveway that would need to be bagged.

While I swept, my mind was working through the second task, that of bagging the pollen and leaves. Tom usually dons work gloves and picks up the piles and bags them. I've always found this to be difficult, especially when it comes to getting both hands into the trash bag. Most of the time the bag closes in on itself and half of the pile misses. Then there is the problem of leaves and pollen falling from your hands or the dustpan. I got to thinking that the wet/dry vacuum would be easier. Bring that puppy out, plug her in, suck up all the pollen and what not, and then dump the inside of the vacuum directly into a bag. Clean and efficient.

Then out came my neighbor, Howard, to walk his little dog, Penny. I love Howard. He is a go-getter and a helper to those in need. He has given me (and Tom) advice from washing windows to cutting down trees. If Howard is upset about something in our yard, instead of whining or arguing, he will knock on the door and offer to remove whatever it is that is causing him agony, thus pushing us to get off our butts and take care of things. So out comes Howard who observes me working outdoors, and stops to chat. We discuss the indoor/outdoor thing of our marital arrangement and how the recession is forcing me to move outdoors.

Howard: "You know, I have a push broom in my garage. Do you think that would help you in any way?"

Me: "Well, this broom is working quite nicely, thank you, Howard."

Howard: "I have a small one and a big one. Shall I bring them over?"

Me: "Sure."

Howard: "Which one would you like?"

Me: "Which one do you think would be better?"

Howard: "Well, I like the big broom, but Netta likes the small broom. Which one would you like?"

Me: "How about you bring them both over and I'll be the deciding factor on that argument."

He brought over the big broom. He made me try it out and it was a nice broom that would cut down my sweeping time. In return, I gave him my bright idea about the wet/dry vac. He listened, pursed his lips, and said that sweeping it into a dustpan was another way of doing it. I joked that he was a man and didn't like straying from the usual. He left me to my work.

The big broom was wonderful. Those sections were done in record time, and soon I could see the driveway again. I moved into the street and had to go back to my broom as the push broom was too big. By now dawn had passed, the sun was rising higher in the sky, and I was getting a tad warm, not to mention tired. I hadn't eaten or had any coffee yet this morning. But I thought of Tom slaving away in his office, and I kept sweeping. By the time I finished in front of my house and my neighbor's to my left, I had five more piles.

I stood and surveyed the scene. My bright idea of the wet/dry vac was not going to work. My nice neat piles were spread out all over the place, and I realized that the extension cord on my wet/dry vac would only reach about halfway down the drive. I was sure that inventors didn't give up as easily as I did, but I had a blister on my right, middle finger from the wooden broom handle, and a ton of work inside the house, AND a sick kid in bed so I put on the work gloves, got out the big, black trash bag and began picking up piles.

By the time I got to the street, my back was aching from bending so much, my legs were shaking from holding my weight while bending, and I was wishing I had just gone to the gym. I had two piles left. Out came Howard.

He wandered out to put something in his trashcan waiting at the curb for pick-up. He sauntered over to admire my work and complimented me on my job. He did not mention the wet/dry vac, but instead took the broom from me and helped me finishing bagging the last two piles. I showed him my blister and he examined it closely, recommended a band-aid and some coffee, took his broom and headed home chuckling.

I heaved the heavy trash bag full of pollen, mulch and leaves to the curb. I cleaned up my mess and headed back inside feeling quite satisfied with myself and thinking how surprised my husband would be.

Seven hours later the driveway was covered in pollen again. It looked as if nothing had been swept at all. I whined all the way to soccer, and when I returned there was Tom, home from work, sweeping the driveway. Lucky for me I had thought to photograph my hard work. Lucky for me I had Howard as a witness, and lucky for me he had already filled Tom in on my hard work. I got some brownie points, but they were also given with quite a bit of snickering.....