Mr and Mrs Hesse

I am a housewife in Germany. A Swedish housewife in the country of the housewives. I believe the word and concept of a housewife was coined and perfected in this country. At the moment I am trying to sort out my own household and to organise it in a certain way so that I hardly notice that I have anything to do with it. But I have come to a realisation. The more you do housework the more it becomes. It seems to accumulate actually. Instead of the odd hour I did before I could easily spend the whole day doing obscure chores that lead to nothing.
To my immense gratification I live door to door with a older couple that has taken housework to the next level. To the highest level. There can be no other level. His name I know but I will call them Mister and Missus Hesse just to simplify the matter and to protect their privacy. (They have nothing to do with the great author, just to clarify.) Why is this of pleasure for me? Because of one reason only: I am so far behind them in efficiancy level of this particular branch that I would be reaching for the stars in housework to come close to their league. I can therefore sit back and enjoy the little quirks they deliver on a regular basis.
Yesterday I got another of those kicks and it made my day. I had done a quick lunch for Peter and Joshua and I opened our dining room window to call them in. They were playing in the garden. Peter was trying to assemble the wooden table without any success and Joshua sat in the sand pit and watched him intently. I call them and then I lean out a bit more to take a close look at the Hesse´s garden. It does not actually classifies as a garden per se as it is more a organised storage of grass, paving stones and green bushes with pink ball flowers on them.
Then I discovered it. Leaned up against the vanilla colored plastic partition-wall stood two garden umbrella stands. The umbrellas themselves where not present. (Surely they are protected with a plastic wrapper somewhere in the cellar.) The stands were the sort that weigh a ton and therefore not easy to move about all the time. I am always pissed off when the sun moves and I have to drag our stone stand around. But Mr Hesse has draged them both to the wall and positioned them next to eachother on a strip of small pebble stones which indicates that he has to have lifted them up a bit. Well, that might pass for some people. A hassle but not out of the ordinary. I agree. It is ok. But Mrs Hesse (Now, I just assume that is how they divided the work up.) has taken two cream cups, cleaned them and slid them over the metal pipe for protection. It is not that I don´t understand why they do it, for I do. I bow in awe for their foresight and their never ending energy to conjure up more chores and better way to keep things neat and cleaned.
Last week they kept me giggling for a few days in a row. Every time I walked to and from our front gate. Around all our houses in the whole neighbourhood there are red brick stones lined up next to the asfalt pavement. This is part of the design of this particular area of the town. Mr and Mrs Hesse take a keen interest in their realm of habitat. For several months now they have noticed that the brick stones lack an even surface and has started to crumble at several spots. Mr and Mrs Hesse take the matter into their own hands and hire two sweaty workers to lay new brick stones on the four meters that contains their rented apartment. The workers work long into the night and Mr Hesse is often seen out there to inspect. Even Mrs Hesse ocasionally comes out to watch the work progress.
I am only human enough to feel a pang of guilt when our 82 year old neighbour under us scratches up weeds between the paving stones on our lane. I smile at her apologetically and takes big soft steps passed her and make sure to close the gate behind me. I know that is important to her.
The Blond Gardener