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November 14th, 2005

I do windows.

washer

Yesterday I washed windows all afternoon. It wasn't quite as tricky as the situation pictured above, but it did present some small challenges. All in all, though, I had a great time. Used a broom handle and a washing attachment and a squeegee attachment like this squeedge, making sure to wipe the squeegee between swipes (the key to good window washing, as I learned from observing the "full serve" gas station guys when I was a kid). Then I set about cleaning & putting in storm windows. A little early, maybe, as there could be another day or two on which I'll want to open up windows and air the place out, but I'm trying to get a jump on keeping the heat bill down. (Hearing of my exploits, coworker AXH mentioned that she recently read the suggestion that cleaner windows themselves, letting in sunshine more thoroughly, could thus help reduce heating costs. Think it could be at all signficant?)

It's remarkable how much I could tell the difference inside the house (from the cleaning), even on windows whose insides I hadn't yet gotten around to. While I was motoring along with the washing, I had a few moments of anxiety that I wasn't working on projects that are higher on my priority list, but I got past them, and I'm glad I did.

I once had landlords who were moneyed & sent the window washing people down to our (split into 5 apts) house whenever they hired 'em for their own place. I remember being shocked when I first saw the washers out there, as somebody suddenly right up against your window can prompt a bit of a start. It was cool to have clean windows then, too. I recommend ya'll try it if you have the option.

I do have to learn about window glazing now, though. One of the older windows needs some assistance, or will by Spring, prob'bly.

I've been noticing things about the larger subject of my relationship(s) to the homestead, which I'm enjoying thinking of that way (thanks, Michigan tax code, for the label)---but I'll spare ya'll that talk for now.
 

resisting the urge to look

Don't look, I tell myself, and so far I haven't, since the second time I read that recent bit that seemed unnecessarily cruel, not to mention had me composing in my head the slam-style rant "As If," whose lines all start, like an exercise in Whitmanesque anaphora, with those two title words, some of them running on and on, building momentum and defiance with their cut-through-the-crap zinging clarity & spiffy turns of phrase, yet encompassing before their settling to a finish a flash of the diehard compassion I can't deny and would have to include, it being, after all, a correct-the-record kind of soapbox performance, so righteous it'd remain dope authentic even were I compelled to smoke and drink cheap booze, straight up, in a beret on a cabaret chair at a round black café table in dim light, beforehand and after-words.

But I am curious. And I don't know that I won't look again.
 
bhcb
fflo
'Ff'lo

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