It is annual feel-good day for the house. The stalwart Ken – thorough and hard working as always – has been pressure cleaning it for nearly four hours and has a distance to go. Mine is a small house and it has an old-time concrete tile roof. It’s a good roof to have in hurricane country – it weighs a ton. But it’s white. Or supposed to be. So the down side of having this otherwise fine roof is the slow loss over the year, of its, well, its white. Which is why Ken will spend so long on the job.
While the forces of water and muscle and bleach are at work outside, I am plowing through files inside. My recycle bin tomorrow morning will be heavy with discarded paper, some of it three-year old email exchanges I printed because they seemed important. I look at them now and am embarassed that I ever thought so.