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?

What price Freedom?

Mum in Holland with a Hoover electric vacuum cleaner. (not cordless)

We are all not so sure anymore if it is safe to visit the US. A pity. We have never been there. Perhaps it might be possible take a cruise and visit New York without getting off board and risk going through Border Control and be detained. When Ali Jr hardly got through how about anyone with a non-Anglo name? I visited Egypt back in 1961. This might well come to punish me. No doubt the FBI or secret service have kept a tab on that visit.

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2017/02/25/customs-alis-son-wasnt-detained-because-hes-muslim/98419924/

While ‘Oosterman’ doesn’t sound Arabic, it does smack of something sinister. Oost is easily an East, and we all know what that means, don’t we? And what about that ‘man’ at the end?  A man from East? Say no more; detain him.

All kidding aside, and with all respect to my US based friends rest assured that the same is going on here in Australia. We don’t detain for a few hours, our prime minster Turnbull detains people for years if not life on Manus and Nauru. Woe those daring to enter Australia and not having drowned. You will be punished.

When I visited Egypt so long ago it was still allowed and possible to get right inside the Pyramid of Cheops. There was a tunnel that led one right up into the Queen’s chamber. It was quite a hike up and then down with a never ending stream of tourists doing the same. Afterwards there was the obligatory camel ride. I took a bit of stone from the pyramid and kept it for years together with a fez that I had bought in Port Said on our migration trip to Australia in 1956. So, our involvement with the middle East started early. The fez and pyramid piece of stone have long gone, possibly pinched by our children when young, showing off to their friends how well travelled their parents were!

http://www.guardians.net/egypt/gp4.htm

Rumblings of Turnbull’s demise and Trumps impeachment are growing fatter and gets richly fertilized as time goes by. We shall see. In the meantime I am still kept busy with another type of freedom; the Hoover cordless ‘Freedom.’ I have just done ( vacuumed) our whole house with one charge. What do you think of that? Of course, the battery is a lithium. It is now the new catch word in electronic jargon. People ask ; How are your lithiums going?

We were in Sydney yesterday having a lunch with daughter and one grandson. The other one is fighting with his mother over not being home ‘on time’ as promised. We know that problem well. However, it is their turn now. We are old and beyond feeling guilty about grandchildren behaviour, especially teen-grandchildren. There are lots of books about teen problems now. Just don’t read them.

Ever since we started brushing Milo, the hair load on our floor has eased. We brush him twice daily. He likes it and actually leans against the steel rubber tipped hairbrush. I then have the job of unpicking Milo’s hair from the brush. It is quite a job. (twice a day) I was surprised therefore that even with all that brushing I had to empty the ‘Freedom’ cordless twice as the canister was chock-a-block with Milo’s dust and hair. Milo just studies my vacuuming and then yawns.

That’s freedom for you.