Vacuuming by Gina Meyers

 We lived kind of busy, “organized chaos”  lives in our four bedroom suburban home in Fresno, California back in the day of leg warmers, roller skates, and MTV. My mom, a single parent who worked full-time as a teacher was the domicile goddess in charge of delegation of domestic duties to her charges domicile princess in training Gina and domestic partner in crime Patrick. Sometimes my grandparents would make surprise visits to Fresno. They resided in San Francisco. A 3 1/2 hour car ride away.

 Ring, ring. They’d call from Longs Drug Store in Fresno, or from Los Banos. We preferred Los Banos as that was a long 75 minute car ride away, verses Cedar and Herndon, a mere seven minute car ride

to the Ferrari-Hill Castle. My mom usually picked up the receiver since my brother and myself were usually either watching Saturday morning cartoons or still sleeping. 

“We’re on our way.” These surprise Saturday visits were random in nature and somehow not exactly wanted. But later appreciated. 

This sent my mother, brother, and myself into a cleaning freenzy.

If you've ever watched Batman it was like the "bat phone", we were suddenly called into action. 

I remember, I was often in charge of vacuuming. 

Vroom, vroom, (the sound our industrial Hoover beast made) with  me running around in my pajama  shorts and pj’s top vacuuming as fast as I could. Still sleepies in my eyes as I lugged that monstrous beast from room to room. 

“Oh my god they are here we would holler.” “Quick, quick, hide the vacuum.” For some reason my grandparents' visits felt more like “inspections”. 

Of the Glady’s Kravitz variety from Bewitched. 

But, as soon as they were settled in, we had a blast. My grandpa would putter around in the garage and backyard. My grandma would wash and iron everything in site, including our underwear and bed sheets.

These memories though distant now remind me of how fast the vacuum of time can suck up the dust and debris of life but occasionally, superticiously in fact, will  fill the canister with a precious object or two that you take out and remember.