The great moral vacuum

Vacuum sweeping the carpet is a matter of great theological importance to me, as it turns out. You see, I have to apologize to the Almighty every time I take the great electric creature into my hands.

It seems a minor thing, housework. But even aside from Martin Luther’s assertion that there’s divine purpose in even the most mundane task when done to the glory of God, I still have a problem with using the vacuum cleaner.

For one thing there’s the cord.

I hate that cord.

I’m convinced the thing is alive – and not just in the metaphoric sense. It’s actually in cahoots with the machine itself to defy the laws of physics and crash into every piece of nice furniture I own (the crappy ones it misses with the dexterity of a Russian ballerina). Despite expertly guided thrusts of the operator, it consistently navigates awry to suck up rogue twine or a heretofore invisible screw that clanks around for 45 seconds before getting ejected into the drywall like a scud missile.

Then there’s the evident paradox of a suction ability isn’t quite enough to get a large dust bunny along the side of the wall, but IS substantial enough to suck in toile drapes from nine yards away and nearly burn out the motor.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact it seems mathematically engineered to just miss fitting between the width between chair legs so the chairs actually have to be moved.

Then there’s the stairs.

Have you every tried to vacuum clean a stair step measuring six inches wide with an upright? It’s a bit like trying to pick up a hair with a screw wrench. I realize there are inventions called “attachments” for this sort of work, but mine were lost within minutes of opening the box.

I’m always sweating and puffing at the end of a wrestling match with my vacuum cleaner, and feeling a bit sheepish over the creative epithets which came involuntarily (although most satisfactorily) from my mouth in between the grunts and sighs.

“God, I hate this thing!” is one of the milder examples, and unfortunately, an instance where I was using the Lord’s name quite in vain. Had I actually repaired to Him, I’m sure I wouldn’t have followed by damning the poor inanimate object to the seventh circle of Hell.

I’m afraid the dust from my clay feet was showing.

In reality, the vacuum cleaner is my friend. Without it my home would be a gobbled whole under a dark gray cloak. Well, that and it would look very dusty.

Yes, the vacuum cleaner is a friend – but somewhat like the friend who reminds you of your diet as you reach for a chocolate chip cookie. It’s definitely one with whom I share a love-hate relationship.

As a matter of fact, the thing may even have a spiritual purpose in my life after all. Philosopher Blaise Pascal did say we all have a God-shaped vacuum.

But surely he didn’t mean my Dirt Devil.