While my beloved is driving to Motovun, I am cleaning my house. And I am following her eyes as I sweep and wipe every nook and cranny from room to room. The kitchen and bathroom are teeming with her watchful eyes, it goes without saying. As I have reported many times over, this is my remedy for all the worries that accompany her three-hour trip from Zagreb along the perilous Croatian roads. But it has just crossed my mind as I was wiping the floor behind a toilet bowl that the remedy deserves a proper label, as well as a lofty one. Behold, housecleaning yoga it is. As remedies go, housecleaning is hardly new, but it still invites celebration, and especially when love is concerned and dogged worries abound. Ah, look at that ugly smudge! The dining table needs to be wiped clean. The cobwebs in that corner over there are too much to bear. The vacuum cleaner is called for at once. But look at all the dead flies on that windowsill! And so on, and so forth. My beloved’s eyes lead me forth without fail. Housecleaning yoga has come to the rescue, as ever. But what a wonderful label, this!