Of an embarrassment of vacuums

Metaphor for my life: It was 3 degrees when I walked the dogs this morning. So, soup for breakfast sounded appropriate. Walking up the stairs with a hot soup bowl and two rambunctious little dogs in tow yielded this result. Not a true hardship, I agree.

I recently started thinking about the hardships I have faced throughout my life.

I mean … I’m a 54-year-old, quite well-fed, white woman living in Boulder, CO. So, to say there have been hardships during my life would be a vast overstatement.

I’ve never been racially profiled. Sure, I’ve heard a few dumb blonde jokes in my time. Most are meaningless. That said, a few have hit a little too close to home.

I’ve never been violently shot. Exception: My younger brother did shoot me in the face with a curtain rod launched from his air rifle when we were kids. The ‘entrance wound’ was directly below my left eye. It turned black and blue. In return, I chased him down, noogie’d him senseless, and wrestled away the air rifle for immediate disposal.  

I’ve never been verbally assaulted by a complete stranger because of my race. I have been yelled at multiple times for the work I did as a journalist. I even received a death threat from a grown-ass man.

All this is to say, I have lived a pretty blessed life—two cancer-related detours aside.

I think the recent Super Bowl halftime show got me considering the hardships other people face each day.

Kendrick Lamar performed and put on what I considered a pretty straightforward depiction of life as a Black person in today’s America.

While others saw the show as 13 minutes devoted to dissing his rap enemy Drake or they dismissed it altogether, I walked away thinking about the games people play with other’s lives, the significant role Black people had in building this country, and the hardships they face each day.

Yesterday, I challenged myself and asked: What hardship have I faced in the past week?

Answer: The motor burned out on my vacuum cleaner. Honestly, I tried. This is as far as I got.

I understand and appreciate how totally ridiculous this hardship is. However, please bear with me, this development has left me facing what I can only call: An embarrassment of vacuums.

If you open the guest bedroom door at Casa de Weed, you will see three upright vacuums. One works.

If you open the linen closet at Casa de Weed, you will see one brand new canister vacuum. It works. Unfortunately, the hose connecting the canister to the handle is so short, when I use it for 10 minutes, my back starts spasming and I find myself considering installing hardwoods throughout.

If you walk into my office at Casa de Weed, you will see one Roomba charging in the corner. The Roomba, dubbed ‘Bowie,’ has had a good life but now limps around the house with two well-worn carpet brushes that turn up very little debris. Basically, ‘Bowie’ is still here to remind Luka and Layla that I’m a superior being and I can send this maimed, revenge-seeking autonomous robot chasing after their disobedient furry butts.

So, if I’m counting correctly—and math isn’t my strongest skill—that’s five vacuums stationed at Casa de Weed, with only one serving as the primary vacuum overlord.

I’m pretty sure if I asked a credentialed therapist, their reaction to five vacuums in one household, it would be: ‘My dear, that’s too many vacuums’ while typing notes about ‘possible hording tendencies’ into my patient file.

To be sure, an embarrassment of vacuums probably isn’t a hardship, I agree. Still, it sucks. (Somewhat.)