House of Dirt
I had no idea dirt could be in so many places in a house. Dirt, dust, and remnants in nooks and crannies that have been collecting dirt, dust, and remnants for forty years. At least, that appears to be the last time this house was thoroughly cleaned. Forty years ago.

When I first started looking at the house to buy, the house appeared spotless. It was owned by an old lady, who had actually only lived there a year. Walking in the door was like stepping into Grandma's house. Clean, smelling good, and everything in order. It seemed filth was not a factor in this house.

I always clean any time I move. I like to get in and make sure everything has been cleaned properly, before I use anything or get comfortable. You just never know what someone else's interpretation of clean is, and I can almost guarantee it's not nearly as clean as my definition of clean. I'm not a freak about things being sterilized or freakishly clean. Well, at least not anymore. But I do like to know that the only funk that I am living with is my own funk. No foreign funk.

Apparently when the old lady moved out, she unleashed the dirt and filth of the house. It had been cleverly hidden under furniture, tucked away in crevaces, and disguised as anything other than dirt and filth. The empty rooms of floors and countertops were now covered in layers of funk. It not only looked like the dirt had been freed from hiding indoors, but it also appeared she had gone outside and carted extra dirt in from the outside, by the wheelbarrow load.

Fortunately, it's been fairly easy to clean. Although cleaning has taken place in places where I had no idea it was necessary to clean. But after seeing the clean aftermath, it was obvious that several layers of dirt and funk had been removed to reveal a clean, pleasant surface. Where does all that funk come from??

Oh well. I figure one good cleaning every forty years should have this place ready for another cleaning by the time I'm an old lady, ready to move out.

C.T.