Post 364: A clean up and wax.
When I am gripped with the determination to do something, nothing can stop me but my strength.
I know I said that I would start my exercises today to start the rehab on my right shoulder—I didn’t really reckon on the type of workout I ended up with.
While having breakfast, wondering how my Darling was, nearly halfway through her shift, I was looking out at the bit of garden I could see where the daffodils were turning over and I was thinking to myself—I must use this day, I really must.
With a week till the dirty Volvo is booked to be on the hill by the Redoubt fort and café for the big show, it’s only me that would ever wash and wax the old classic.
Bearing in mind my op last Friday and the lack of steam I sometimes have to endure, I could drive the car out of the garage straight as a die, clean it, then drive it back in.
I can’t push it, only on the flat garage floor, and even then only carefully.
I’d already pumped up the tyres I could get at a little more than they should be, for my own assistance in rolling the car back and forward to get around it, so if I get the car out the garage I can pump up the other pair of tyres the same. Easy.
But first I’ve got to get into the car.
This is not easy because of the door not opening to its full extension (while in the garage) and the fact that my huge feet (size 13) find it very awkward to navigate past the pedals and my knees under the steering wheel at the same time. It’s tough—but not impossible.
I got sat in and turned the key in the ignition set in the dashboard and immediately it started up. This was hoped for, but not expected.
I reversed out into the sunshine and parked up. Perfect.
Now I could get my boots on and try and find all the bits to the Karcher power spray machine (other Karchers are available).
But first I needed to empty the washing machine and fill the dryer with my little bit of help for my Darling.
Every Tuesday she huffs and a puffs and the washing machine is on all day—it seems.
But not tomorrow.
I will do my best not to create a mess and to wash one load and dry it so there’s less to do and hopefully there’ll be a little smile on my dearest Darling’s face. That’s the hope anyway.
So while I was still in slippers I put the clothes (mainly mine, I might add) into the wash and had an hour to fiddle about outside before the alarm pulled me back in and I shook them out and loaded them in the dryer. It’s not like I haven’t done it before—it’s that I haven’t done it for ages, for fear of being scolded about doing too much and possibly injuring myself.
Not today, baby!
The only problem was the bloody socks and pants that had a mind of their own and fell to the floor. I could hear them goading me to try and pick them up. Yes, it’s very nearly impossible for me to reach the floor with my fingertips. But I just manage it.
It’s even worse if I get on my knees, because there’s no way I can get up without a ladder of some kind, or a stick (or hoist) perhaps.
So the dryer was spinning away and I felt happy to help my Darling.
A gold star for Mr U, I think.
I got back out of the kitchen and shut the door to keep the cat out, and fastened my work boots on under my shorts.
The bits of the power washer all came together from all parts of the garage workshop and found the hose to be just long enough to get around the car—just. And with the luck that the hosepipe ban was off temporarily, I drowned the old grey classic and washed off months of dust and grime from the last trips out.
The clever tube that squirts the foam from a bottle of soapy cleaner was next, and then the water jet-wash to get the bubbles off before the sun dried it into the paintwork.
It took ages and, by the time I’d swung all the doors open and allowed the inside of the car to dry out where the water had seeped in, I rubbed the polish on, then off, in time-honoured fashion.
This is where the exercise happened, inadvertently. Rubbing cloths and wax this way and that was music to the ears of any physio that could imagine. The only issue had to be—was I overdoing it?
The answer to that will be in tomorrow’s blog. Ha ha.
While the dryer called me to unload it, I was nowhere near finished on the huge car. So I emptied the tumbler and aired the clothes out on the chairs and metal wire floor-standing airer, to continue their airing.
My boots were still on as I did this tumbler evacuation, so I guess there might be evidence on the floor of the kitchen because of my laziness in not taking them off—but I couldn’t be bothered and I did rub them hard on the mats outside before I came in.
The waxing done, as far as I could go, I filled the other tyres with extra air, cleared the way back into the garage and drove back in (in my slippers) shining like a new pin.
By then I had used the Karcher on the patio and the “snug” steps, where I got covered in dirt and water due to the reflecting spray. I was in a right state—soaked and feeling stupid. But the jobs were done and no one was hurt in the cleaning today.
In fact my shoulder probably had a really good workout.
I closed up the garage so my Darling could park up in her usual place where earlier the Amazon stood, not knowing about my little bit of work in the kitchen and the car too.
She came in as usual, very tired, and sloped off to bed after noticing the load of washing that had been done and after I showed her the glossy grey Volvo in the garage, smelling of polish.
She went off to bed tired as per usual, and I had some well earned fruit for a late lunch and watched TV.
By the time she came back down many hours later, the sun was waning and the cat, who had followed me around all day, was sleeping in a patio chair next to me while I caught some well-earned rays of sunshine.
Dinner followed by TV followed by bed came in quick succession, but I had a most productive day.
The what’s-her-name is coming first thing tomorrow to chat over the history of her and me for the eulogy to come later, much later, so I’d better get to bed. So should you.
Good night.
Take care.
