Why would anyone write anything about a vacuum cleaner – a piece of necessary household equipment? They’re ugly, make loud irritating noises and have a foot-tripping cord, dangerous for old people. So again, why?
Perhaps I simply have a strange fascination with them. Or is it because we haven’t always had one? Back, way back in 1955, as newlyweds in Torvik’s basement apartment in Decorah, we found the linoleum tile covering the cement floor very cold. Paul’s parents came to the rescue with an old maroon eight-by-ten threadbare carpet from Aunt Carrie’s house. Ugly! You bet, but it did help insulate the floor.
Paul’s mother knew we didn’t have a vacuum and probably Aunt Carrie didn’t have one either. She shared two methods for cleaning our new possession: (1) wet newspaper, shred it, distribute over the carpet and “sweep the rug” or (2) after a fresh snow, fold the rug, take outside, and with each of us holding one corner, “walk the carpet (face down) back and forth over the snow. We did both procedures a few times our first winter.
After we moved to Madison, and the relic became history, we rented the Brown house on Cottage Grove Road. We purchased a nine-by-twelve rug for the living room. I liked it, especially because it didn’t have a history. We didn’t allow Poik, our Golden Retriever, on the carpet, but I remember him lying on the wood floor adjacent and putting his front paw on it – just to tease.
I needed a vacuum for the new rug. On our tight budget, we couldn’t afford a new one. The dealer at the vacuum shop found an antique (Paul thinks an early Kirby) in the back room in our price range. The ugly metal monster worked, and it worked for another eight or ten years, time out for many repair jobs. I knew how to replace the belts, but Paul would take it into the school shop on a Saturday where he could work on it further.
Finally, after renting the first twelve years of marriage, we moved into our own home on Vilas Road, the old vacuum in tow. With wall-to-wall carpeting and four kids, the old metal geezer got a workout most every day. One day it came to a stop, and a new belt wasn’t the solution, so I placed it at the top of the following Saturday’s honey-do-list.
Dutifully, Paul took it into the school shop while the kids and I tended to all the other Saturday tasks. The rabbit hutches needed cleaning, the dog pen the same, the garbage cans needed to be ready for Paul to go to the dump when he returned, the crate of milk bottles also needed to be returned to Link’s Dairy for the following week’s refill, the boys “had” to watch morning cartoons – Saturdays were always full.
Paul came home just in time for lunch. Our typical Saturday lunch was a choice of Campbell’s Chicken and Dumpling or Tomato soup plus grilled cheese sandwiches. As we were eating, Paul casually stated, “Your vacuum is in the living room.” I left the table to see if he was teasing. He wasn’t.
There, in the center of the living room, was a brand-new lime green Hoover upright vacuum. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I just screamed! I wouldn’t have been happier with a diamond ring. (I didn’t have one of those either!)
The Hoover served us well for two decades. Near the end of the eighties, after I’d been in the classroom for a number of years, we had the resources for household help. My good friend Janet Goodwin agreed to clean for us. But, because of back problems, she found the Hoover too heavy to negotiate. She recommended her favorite.
I headed to Hans’ Sewing Center on Williamson Street and purchased Janet’s favorite, a Panasonic. Today, thirty years later, we still have it, even though, once again, Paul has had to use his ingenuity in replacing some of those “cheap plastic components” on the chassis.
Again, who would ever write about their vacuums? Am I losing it?
