Housekeeping

When it comes to neatness in a home or office environment, I’m all for a clean, neat and tidy situation. That’s how I was brought up – whether its right or wrong, I can’t say : I understand some folks will think its a bit of a pain in the butt to insist on neatness. Anyway, I’m one of those who stands on the half-way line, more or less – tidy without spick and span.

Housekeeping is not so exciting, but I guess the results are frequently rewarding, so all of us help sometimes (when we can’t get out of it). This post relates to one which I elected to do because I wanted to. Housekeeping in the extension, mostly because the persistent rain-showers outside, has been chosen instead of painting deck strips.

The last time we were involved in construction house-keeping was at Hamerkop Road in 1992 when Achmat Magiet and his extended family did all the building work. Correction: “Construction” work includes building renovations, so it was really about 2006 when Wayne did our renovations of DG01 Dolphin Beach – he brought in extra help on the last afternoon and oversaw the final scrubbing of floors and arrangement of furniture.

However, I recall the sound of the distant waves crashing on the Melkbos beach at Hamerkop Road whilst I sat alone on a paint drum in the untidy garage, having a smoke or two on a warm evening mid-year, going through a check-list of what I needed to buy the next day and who should be contacted. The smell of dry cement dust crept into every pore and nostril. To breathe a bit better, you pull out a handkerchief and blow your nose, producing a light grey material.

(Above): Looking into the bedroom from the sitting-room, floor neatly swept, literally in the pink of things, pink treated framing timber padded with pink glassfibre Batts. The dehumidifier on the left hums quietly to itself, trying to suck up the moisture in the air.

Today, I stand here in the bedroom-to-be, and I smell a similar cement odour, although, in the absence of a cement mortar render, the emphasis is more on dust than the pure Portland flavour. Hamerkop Road and 1992 now seem like only yesterday, but quite some water has already passed under my bridge, 22 years worth. My, how the time has flown…

I awake from my daydream, and start picking up a few stray little bits of offcut pink Batts and wood drillings left by the messy plumber and electrician… Housework almost done.