Over the past few weeks I’ve dug up and repaired my irrigation system, cut down brush, hauled away yard debris and a year’s worth of the kind of garbage the county won’t pick up and Goodwill doesn’t want, sprayed the weeds front and back, cleaned up the tool bench and work area in the garage, and today, waxed my car. Spring cleaning — it’s more than tradition, it’s genetic.
I’m happy to report that I can still work like a mule. At 63, that’s something. Afterward, though, I feel like a whipped mule*. Praise the lord and pass the ibuprofen!
One more car to wax — tomorrow’s project — and this year’s bout of spring cleaning, a seasonal affective disorder if ever there was one, shall have run its course.
*I sincerely hope people no longer whip mules.