Some of you know I'm the barter queen-- witness my raised bed food gardens, my compost bin, my mountains of yarn, etc. A few months ago, I was hit with an intriguing offer. The owner of Gwyndows, a women-owned and operated window washing business, is getting hitched. Did I want to swap clean windows for doing the honors? Clean windows? This concept was beyond foreign to me-- in a galaxy so far, far away that the notion didn't even register in my otherwise large base of personal knowledge. Well, wait-- there was the vaguest of memories of childhood weekend chore slavery. Come to think of it it did fall to me to shine up the sliding glass doors with newspapers and vinegar water Saturday mornings of my tortured youth. Maybe this is why I grew up to avoid the task altogether. To the point that, by the time I connected with Gwyndows, I was 6.5 years into home ownership and NOT ONCE had I cleaned the windows.
In particular, the lower windows of the French doors leading to the back yard were caked in so much mud from the dogs pawing at them that they were pretty much opaque. After a team of about 700 Gwyndows Washers descended on my house and whipped through the place like squeegee-wielding human tornadoes, every window was so clean that honestly, I appeared to not have windows at all. Everyone who entered the house had the same question-- What happened in here? It was sort of like trying to put your finger on it when a long lost friend turns up and it takes you a while to run through the possibilities -- weight loss? hair cut? nose job?-- before you figure out that he's shaved off his eyebrows or something. Having the windows cleaned was, in fact, very much like having cataracts removed, only about $2800 cheaper. No really, you cannot believe how crystal clear the panes are. It is totally freaky.
Even the dogs think so. I catch them just standing or sitting in front of the lower windows of the French doors staring in wonder and disbelief. Rebound in particular loves this new pastime. Lately I've been meditating in the sitting room since Henry is temporarily living with me and has taken over the mediation room. That means that I sit down in the morning facing the French Doors, and Rebound sits in front of me. Yesterday when I opened my eyes, I spotted what Rebound was fixated on: one of the garden-demolishing squirrels that was creeping up on Dante's food bowl. The squirrel flattened herself against the patio at one point and was either staring back at Rebound or, probably more likely, pretending she was invisible. Whatever the case, it was most excellently hilarious. I only had my iPhone nearby, so you'll have to look pretty close to see the flattened squirrel. But this morning I got out the good camera and took a whole series of shots of Rebound Looking Out the Amazingly Clean Windows. Much better than TV.
|Look closely at the flattened squirrel|