Yesterday at a Glance

    If my calculations are correct, my right arm should start screaming in three or four hours.  That’s the standard lapse between exertion and pain.
    But I really couldn’t help it.  Our filthy front door has been begging me for months to clean it.  This morning, with a sudden burst of motivation, I relented.

    The inside was, well, more than dusty.  Thinking to preserve the paint, I simply wiped it down with a wet cloth.  The results were encouraging, so I rinsed the cloth, pulled out the 409, and stepped over the dog onto our front porch. 

    It didn’t take long before our dog, Radio, moved out of the way, sneezing from the 409 mist that kept getting into my eyes, too.  Cleaning off years of dirt was gratifying, but I discovered that the door and frame are painted, not metal, and that they need repainting.  The finish on the door lever and dead bolt need some attention, too.

    But my arm has done enough, and I am happy with the now-clean door.  It’s only noon, and since I was wise enough to practice my flute before I washed down the door, my arm is done for the day.  When it gets too loud, I’ll hush it down with ice or heat and maybe some Tylenol.  But right now, it’s time for my nap.