Relative Something

The following is one version of a creative nonfiction piece I wrote years ago and find myself returning to on occasion.

There is a saying that goes… “If a little is good, more must be better.” Most often, I bristle at the mention – see “salt” in a recipe, or eye shadow, or cologne. However, there is an instance for which I embrace the premise wholeheartedly. Consider, vacuuming.

Sometimes I wonder what vacuuming would be like as an Olympic competition. I’d like to see the judging criteria for such an event. The style aspect is easy to imagine. It’s the technical merit that I need defined. I think it would take a significant amount of technology to adequately measure results that provide a panel of judges an opportunity to make truly unbiased declarations.

In the mean time, I struggle with an ongoing dilemma when it comes to the fine art of vacuuming… perfectionism. If I am going to haul the noisy apparatus out and bother with the chore at all in the first place, then how do I justify overlooking the crap along the walls and under the edge of the couch? I can’t seem to get myself to just do a light once-over touch-up. Unfortunately, my ‘all-or-none’ compulsion means the floor is more often than not an avant-garde pallet of detritus due to my usually choosing none.

For their part, vacuum manufacturers, or more precisely, their marketing departments, are sensitive to my plight. Ad campaigns tout the effectiveness of modern vacuum appliances at cleaning along edges. Attachments are provided to facilitate reaching under the couch. Manuals even provide diagrams suggesting patterns to follow for optimal effect. Looks like an exercise in lawn mowing to me. Did you know that a recommended technique involves a “cross-hatching” pattern? First, move in a north-south pattern of sweeps, then turn and work east-west (direction for reference only, your orientation may vary). At least with lawn mowing, if I become distracted, I can see where I left off.

What I need from the Research and Development team of the manufacturers, is a way to measure the point of diminishing returns. Otherwise, left to my own mind, I don’t know at what point more vacuuming no longer provides better results. I become the prisoner of an ordeal than can take up the better part of a day for just the family room alone. In addition, one thing leads to the next. If I am going to hook up the hose and nozzle attachment to consume the gray mass of dust at the corners, why not reach up and take care of the cobweb dangling from the coving overhead? If I am going to move the couch to access the flotsam beneath, why neglect the accumulated crumbs petrifying within? The coins under the cushions can provide additional reward for that effort.

It’s hard to argue the benefit of all this additional effort, so due to perfectionism, the task of vacuuming looms daunting in my grand scheme of things. I admit solutions abound. Clearly the simple practice of removing shoes at the door and limiting food to the dining area will reduce the major source of debris to be vacuumed in the first place. In my situation, history proves such logic inconsequential. There are teenagers to be factored in as well, so logic may never play its worth in the equation anyway. Oh, and a cat, so let the kids off the hook for another 60% of responsibility as source.

All things considered, without a new development in vacuuming appliances or some dramatic change in daily activity around this house, I rely on practicing the art of heedlessness. When I finally do succumb to the pressing need for vacuuming, I practice as my mantra, the aforementioned: “More is better… more is better…”