It’s rare for me to reblog one of my previous post, but since I’ve been in a cleaning mode, this one still resonates with my spiritual walk.
My eyes and nostrils burn from the pungent fumes of household bleach. For today, I meant business with my upstairs shower stall—the one I never use—which got plenty of use this summer.
Long, steamy showers (and a lack of ventilation) allowed specks of black mold to creep into the crevices of grout between the shower tiles.
With gloved hands, I scrubbed the shower walls and basin with a brush. Then I held a dish towel to my face while I attacked the grout with my spray bottle of bleach.
Spray. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
Water flowed down the shower stall walls, becoming a mucky grey, and swirled down the drain.
Satisfied, I advanced towards the commode, brandishing my toilet brush. I showed no mercy to the porcelain. I also mopped floors. Washed laundry. Cleaned out the cat’s litter box.
My housework wasn’t finished until I’d emptied all the garbage cans and took the…
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