Back in the city apartment, I could plug this vacuum cleaner into the outlet in the hallway and clean every single room and surface in the place. I never had to unplug it and switch to another outlet to get the whole apartment. It’s not that this vacuum has an incredibly long cord, mind you. Our apartment is just that small!
Here at the house as I move from room to room, I have to stop to unplug the vacuum and plug it in again closer to where I’m working. Admittedly, this totally belongs in the #firstworldproblems category. Still, it’s annoying and it slows me down when I’m trying to bust out some frantic cleaning.
I started using an extension cord to afford myself a longer reach when vacuuming. The first time I plugged the vacuum cleaner’s cord into an extension cord, I unplugged it when I finished and stashed the two separately. I did this three more times before it occurred to me to just keep the two cords attached. Hey, I never said I was the sharpest knife in the drawer!
Now that I keep a cord on board, I can vacuum the entire first floor of the house without unplugging the machine. I can do the same upstairs, too. Hooray for streamlining cleaning!
Image: This American House
We spent most of our weekend doing two things: cleaning up the yard and exploring the contents of the garage. In doing so, we not only learned what it takes to maintain our big yard, we also turned up some new discoveries for the house. I’ve gathered up five things we learned this weekend: two are practical tips that came up when we were raking leaves and the other three are fun finds related to the house and its history.
If the NSA had been documenting the goings on at the Dream House over Thanksgiving weekend, they would have witnessed Mr. and Mr. Blandings wildly flailing their arms and gasping for air as the house filled with smoke. Our first attempts at using the wood burning stove in the basement quickly devolved into a comedy of errors. We’d light the fire, the basement would start to fill with smoke and then we’d panic. We’d run upstairs and find that the first floor was also filling with smoke. So we would throw open the windows and let the arctic winter air fill the house and force out the smoke. We repeated this scene three times over the weekend before we finally decided that we’d better call in the professionals.
Mr. Blandings called me from the apartment back in the city on Sunday and said that he was cleaning up for the week. He took out the garbage and scooped the cat’s litter box and generally got things in order. You know, typical Sunday afternoon stuff. “But then when I went to vacuum,” he said, “I discovered we don’t have one here anymore!”