Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in a land far away, a little girl watched her mother sweep the house every day. Her father had a broom just like her mother’s, but his was special, used only for something called curling.
Once upon a time, a shorter time ago, in a land far away, the little girl and her family moved to the city. The old broom was cast aside, replaced by a vacuum for now they had wall-to-wall carpeting.
Once upon a time, a day or two ago, in a land called Mexico, the girl, now a woman, watched as Dona F used one of her many brooms to sweep. It seemed that each had a special use.
Broom number one has fine soft bristles suitable for catching all the little motes of dust (and there are many) inside the bungalows. Broom number two has somewhat stiffer bristles and is used on the patios and balconies. Broom number three has the stiffest bristles of all and is used on the textured tiles that surround the pool and bar area.
And broom number four? Surely it’s long past its prime. The woman carries it to the garbage only to be told in no uncertain terms that it is not to be discarded. Broom four, sits with the others unused to date, but presumably it will come in handy one day. Perhaps to sweep up bits of cement during repairs or…
The munchkin uses broom number five. Apparently, one can’t be too young to begin learning the finer art of sweeping.
by Darlene Jones
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