Look, Henry! There's a Storm Coming!

Fifth grade. Fairview Elementary. Amateur thespian production of The Wizard of Oz.

Oh sure, we all wanted to play Dorothy, but the role (and my boyfriend later in life) was filched by Carrie B. Luanne S. was the prettiest and a natural Glenda. No one really wanted to be the Wicked Witch of the West, and at age ten I was already way too tall to pass for a munchkin. I was cast as Auntie Em. All I really remember is the apron I wore and the solitary line I delivered with enthusiasm in what surely was an Oscar-winning performance:

LOOK, Henry! There’s a storm coming!

Yes, I was a catalyst even back then. But you’re probably wondering what in the heck Mrs. Hill’s class has to do with Windex and a feather duster. Rest assured I haven't resorted to reporting about some deviant behavior (not that the feather duster hasn't come in handy, mind you, but that's an entirely different story).  The common denominator here is a cyclone.

Today is the first day in a long time that I have absolutely nothing on my calendar. I could venture to a museum or day-trip to the lakeshore, but have something else to which I really must attend. While my house hasn’t been lifted from its foundation and dropped into some magical land, it definitely looks as if it’s been hit by a tornado.

I’ve already admitted to not being Suzie Homemaker. I can’t really cook and abhor cleaning. I think the last apron I actually wore was in that play back in 1970.  I live alone and don’t necessarily care if it looks like 40 disorderly slobs live here, but would be mortified if Prince Charming got lost in the forest and showed up on my doorstep. (Hey, it could happen!  In my fairy tales men not only put down the toilet seat and cry during chick flicks, but also actually stop to ask for directions.) Sometimes we must attend to the unpleasant. Today is the day I plug in the vacuum, inhale Endust, run the washing machine, tackle a mountain of ironing, and eradicate all things growing in both my refrigerator and bathroom. Trust me, it ain't pretty.

But after donning rubber gloves, eye protection and a hazmat suit, I’m going in. If you don’t hear from me again by Wednesday, send out a search party!