Scrub-a-dub-dub.

Fresh off my triumph of doing yard work yesterday without it raining — take that 70% chance —  I decided to double down and do some yard work today as well.     Out I went!

Since I mowed the yard, weeded, and did some other stuff yesterday, I did what Frank suggested.    Off I went with the ancient but serviceable blue bucket and a scrub brush.   With a trusty and pretty old bottle of Bar Keeper’s Friend, I scrub-a-dub-dubbed all of the green grim off the concrete decorations what are holding in the front yard plants.  I was really pretty pleased with how easy the green stuff came off.   I was expecting an epic battle, but that just didn’t happen.

The battle came in the form of the mailbox.  White and PCV, it had a lot of stains from — from I don’t know what.   Weather, I’m guessing.   While I didn’t get all of it out, the mailbox is noticeably less spotted and more of a dull white now.   I even went after the fake roses and post.    I think I greatly disturbed a lot of spiders, but I took care not to kill the plants I have growing around the base.    So, it’s all good.

Then, I turned to the garage door.
It was supposed to be white but had some of the same green grime on it as the plant’s concrete along with a lot of dirt.    There was even a little air plant starting to grow on it — which I dislodged gently before going after the garage door with Bar Keeper’s Friend.  This proved it’s own challenge on a couple of levels.

It’s difficult for me to get to the higher parts of the garage door and I didn’t have the foresight to use the mini ladder.  The green grim and dirt kind of smeared together.   While interesting, it’s not what I was after.  And, I couldn’t help notice that my cleaning water was starting to turn white.    So, I was actually scrubbing off layers of paint.

That did not give me a good feeling.    It was kind of like when I would brush my hair and clumps come out.  It’s just something that shouldn’t happen.   The garage door actually looks more white then what it has since the … well, for years…  it’s a lot more noticeable that it needs a paint job or be replaced.

Well, I’m a little critical of things like that but now I want a gallon of paint.  White paint, I guess, although it would really contrast to my new dull black driveway.

Will I get a gallon of paint?  Probably not with the way things are going.   Maybe if I insist on it, but Jason is good about talking me out of these things.  Once I get rolling, I always find other things to do.    I could start digging a hole for a tomato plant and finish with a swimming pool.

Nothing is ever finished with me.
Nothing.    There’s always something and, most of the time, I don’t really have to look for it.   It’s just a natural progression that I should follow until it ends, although I know it’ll never end.

It probably contributes to why my moderation needle is on both sides of the extreme dial.

If I got a gallon of paint, I know I’d want to do more.    I already see more I can do.

While I was working on the garage door, the neighbor actually came over and introduced herself.    Thin, thin, thin, thin, little thing.   Long light brown hair, tan wrinkled pants, burgundy shirt, sunglasses that were so dark I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes.      She was a little shorter than me and seemed extremely nervous.

That’s okay because I’d be nervous meeting me as well, but she was nervous because the front door of her house was open.  Somehow the slide bolt didn’t click and swallowed her fear to ask me if I noticed anything or anyone nosing around her house.  Which, I didn’t.   I’d been outside scrub-a-dub-dubbing most of the morning and a couple of hours after noon.

I told her so and she seemed relieved.
Then, like a State Farm agent, I tried to be a good neighbor.    I told her that if something like that happens again or if she felt nervous to come over and get me.    I’d be happy to go into her house with her or have her wait until the police or her husband comes home.  Definitely not a problem.

Kara, I think her name was, thanked me several times before retreating across the street.  It kind of struck me how young she looked and I knew that was the last time that I’d probably see her.  Oh wells.

I hope I helped her a little bit.

Now, the real test is if Jason will notice that I did anything outside when he comes home.   Doubling down, even if he did notice, would he say anything?

I’m betting on no.

Sigh.