Mustering my courage I crouched low and peered under the bed.
It wasn’t my inner child banishing boogey men. It was my outer house cleaner confronting dust bunnies. Rogue dust rhinoceroses was a more fitting term for the tumbleweed-sized collection of neglect.
Winter vortexes, snow cyclones, thundersnow, (plunging temperatures by any other name) brought on a pleasant confinement, a welcomed post holiday lull. The lull filled with reading novels, stoking fires, and cooking soup segued to a bad case of boredom so thick that cleaning masqueraded as entertainment.
Not pick-up-the-house-empty-the-dishwasher cleaning, but cleaning that, through my procrastination, achieved the rank of project.
That’s when I peered under the bed and declared war.
The rogue dust rhinoceroses guarded their territory valiantly. However, the vanguard fell before the dust mop and the Dyson sucked up the rearguard. Once I cleared the plump gray orbs, an epiphany occurred.
There was a lot of stuff under there.
Sorting the under-the-bed flotsam and jetsam was like sorting through my grade school memorabilia. I-remember-this moments and why-did-I-keep- these mysteries occurred as I scrutinized the items that fell loosely into three categories.
Jump rope: I purchased this after reading that the impact from jumping rope strengthened bones thereby safeguarding them from fractures. That may be true, but it didn’t safeguard the crystal vase that shattered when I jumped outside of the designated rope jumping area in my bedroom. After sweeping up the shards, I had wound the rope into loops and tossed it under the bed.
Hand weights: Two weights of different poundage, one 5 pounds and the other 12 pounds. What was I thinking? One bicep needed more girth than the other? Was I attempting to solve a perceived asymmetrical problem? I had rolled it next to the jump rope.
Mats: Two exercise mats of different ilk – a thin rolled yoga one and a thick flat not yoga one. Every downward dog has its day, I had mine before going to the free weights side of exercise. I had joined a gym and the mats had joined the jump rope and hand weights.
Dr. Riter Contraption: I had used the Dr. Riter’s neck and shoulder stress reducer so long ago that I had forgotten how it worked. While searching for the instructions online I stumbled upon an eBay ad. About two dozen of them were offered for sale ranging in price from $15-$35. Evidently it worked so well that the stress-reduced sellers no longer needed them and posted them online. I had thrown mine under the bed.
Foam roller: After reducing my neck and shoulder stress, I’d balance myself upon the cylinder to stretch out my back. This worked well until I had accidentally rolled off. I shoved it next to Dr. Riter.
A dozen framed flower prints, my son’s artwork from grade school, and an oil painting comprised an under the bed gallery. I recall thinking that I’d rotate the flower prints back to the walls in the spring along with my son’s artwork. That hadn’t happened. I’d forgotten about the oil painting. I received it as a gift in the 70’s from a student whose father owned an art gallery. I thought of listing it on eBay, but had visions of accepting $28 and finding out later that it’s worth a bazillion. So I had shoved it under the bed.
Along with forgotten dusty items, I’d found good intentions of reducing stress, gaining muscle and enhancing my home decorating scheme.
I plan on selling a few flower prints and listing the weights, mats, and foam roller on Craig’s list.
For now I’m keeping Dr. Riter’s neck and shoulder stress reducer. I finished cleaning under the bed, but there’s a hall closet I’ll tackle during the next cold snap.
Thinking about it raises my stress.