Dust if you must

 One of the benefits of living in our apartment here in the retirement community is free housekeeping. On Monday morning, every other week, a housecleaning staff person comes in and spends an hour vacuuming our rugs, scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom floors, and giving the bathroom a thorough going-over. I haven’t cleaned a toilet in seven years! I really appreciate it.

The cleaners, however, are not allowed to dust. I think it’s because everyone here keeps little precious trinkets, statues, vases, photos, or whatever. These occupy dresser tops, bookcases, and other spare surfaces. A duster would have to take them all down, carefully, dust them, clean the surface of the dresser, and then replace them. Not only time-consuming, but risky. If some little precious thing dropped and was broken, well, some older people would get really angry. (Not me, of course.) The community might even get sued.

So the dusting is up to me. Seems like a small task, as, in fact, it is. But the funny thing is how often I notice that I could actually write a poem with my finger on my dresser top! Since retirement, I’ve become a little lax.

Recently a friend sent me a poem by Rose Milligan. I had never heard of her, so I looked her up on the Internet. An English poet, she lived in North Lancashire until her death in 2011 at age 89. I can’t find much about her as a poet and apparently she wasn’t critically acclaimed. But in 1998 she published a poem called, “Dust if You Must,” that has since been republished countless times and broadly quoted and misquoted.

The poem not only makes me laugh, it helps me be more gentle to myself concerning my current housekeeping tendencies. If you notice that it sounds a little like a Hallmark greeting card, just have patience. Read on. Here it is:

Dust If You Must
by Rose Milligan

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come, and it’s not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Now, don’t you feel better too?

Set that broom back in the closet. Put on your sweater. Go outside and play.