Where does all this dust come from?

Me after the war in Belgium for fattening-up.

 

‘We don’t know where Gerard comes from?‘

This was a rather alarming statement for a nine year old to comprehend. My assumed parents used to utter these insidious words in total despair. Once again I had come home with clear evidence that I had been playing in the sea. A white ring of salt water clearly visible around the top of my leather shoes. ‘It is ruining your shoes and your father worked so hard to pay for them’, my mother added. I never told them that I fostered the hope that one day my real parents would turn up on sea’s horizon on a large and luxurious boat. It never happened. Years later we did go on a large and luxurious boat. We were all on-board migrating to Australia. A  decision still open for debate today.

It wasn’t all that long when friends confessed having heard similar foolish utterings from their parents. With another three brothers getting born after me and a sister, they too received similar statements apparently in total contrast to the harsh reality that the real parents were so keen to disown. My mother used to throw her arms up in forlorn hope we would all disappear. The long summer school holidays were total torture. My mother, bent over the scrubbing board, used to enrol us in an organisation with the cruel name ‘Holiday Fun.’ All this entailed, were long laboriously boring walks around The Hague with a whole tribe of other kids whose mothers all connived to have rid of them during the summer holidays.  Having six children would drive anyone to drastic measures, if not also dump them in orphanages or put up for adoption.

Seventy years later, we too utter similar words but not to our off-spring.  Fair crack of the whip, it is their turn for despair. WE are now enjoying the freedom of retirement. No, we have a set of different criteria to complain about. Now it is ‘where does all this dust come from?’

Anyone intimate and so close to vacuuming as I am, could not help but come up with that question. I now have two at my disposal. One, is a Norwegian vacuum cleaner, the other a cordless with lithium battery. They get a work-out every week. It never ceases to amaze me about the enormous quantity of dust. I can’t wait for the vacuuming to get finished in order to peruse the volume of dust in its container. I know Australia is a dusty country. Compared with Thailand or Indonesia, our near neighbours, Australia far outweigh in the dust department. Is this why so many have breathing problems? I don’t know but thought of throwing up the question to you, dear readers. We now have reverse cycle air conditioning which I hope will suck some of the dust out of the air into its return inlet filter.

Helvi and I  are amazed each time we empty the vacuum cleaner. In a special light during early morning or afternoon with the sun streaming in at a certain angle, one can see dust particles dancing around the lounge room in a rather taunting fashion. I have to restrain myself not to get up and start vacuuming the very air we are breathing.

Where does all this dust come from?

Tags: Battery, Cleaner, Dust, Indonesia, Lithium, Norwegian, Thaitland, The Hagye