I’ve never been much for carpets. I’ve only lived with carpeted floors for a few years in college and pre-house apartments. During that time, I hated vacuuming because it was loud, I always got the cord wound on something, and then there’s the matter of emptying the bag. Most of my life I’ve had tile and hard wood floors. With our cats, all rugs and carpets get puked and peed on, so we basically can’t have anything on the floors. Not even in the bathrooms. It’s so much fun in the polar vortex winter!

But I digress. I’ve been discovering how nice it is to sweep the empty, uncarpeted floors, to follow the lines of the wood and to carefully caress the contours of our rooms with my soft broom. It is repetitive, and quiet. A time that I can take to empty my mind and think of nothing, to do nothing but concentrate on the brushes lightly gathering the dust and hair to leave an empty, lustrous surface behind. It is also a time that I can get reacquainted with my house, with every corner and nook I may have forgotten. A time to appreciate the dimensions, colors and sights of the place I spend so much time and dedication on. I am always reminded of how nice it is to have a modestly sized-house, because sweeping my entire house will only take about an hour. Even when it seems like a drag to sweep, I realize it is good for my mind. That it’s just as beneficial, or even more so, than to sit in front of my computer reading blogs (oops!) or catching up on TV shows.

Once we have swept, we can walk on the smooth floor in our socks and pretend that no dirt was ever on the beautiful clear surface. We can look at the shiny wooden surface and hopefully see a reflection of ourselves that we are content with.