Maintenance

Tools

Taking out and washing both sides of my storm windows yesterday (& feeling virtuous--it's not an annual occurrence), I noticed how much clearer the windows are without screens. Is it OK to leave them out over the winter, I wondered?

In fact, it's recommend, by this window co.: 
window screens block sunlight; taking them out allows in more warmth from the sun.

I grew up in a house that was left to its own devices, and I'm in awe every time I discover another simple gadget for home maintenance.
Yesterday, a razor scraper.

Along with washing windows, I'd touched up the trim. Someone at the coffee shop had advised me to leave a tidy line of paint on the glass, to create a seal. Mine was more of an expressionistic swath.
I went to the hardware store to buy razor blades to scrape it off, imagining holding one between my fingers, but of course someone has created a holder (several someones, several holders).  

Turns out it's sort of fun to scrape paint off glass, smooth and satisfying, like popping garden peas out of a pod, as those of you who've done it know. (Right?)

Still, it's a big job, even in a small apartment. 
I'm motivated to do it this year, I think, by having been in my father's uncared for house this summer. That house sold recently––for one-third less than the original asking price. I'm thrilled and relieved it sold at all, considering how dilapidated it is, even if it has got beautiful bones.
(Dilapidation, however, wasn't even the main impediment––the lack of a driveway or anywhere to put one was.)

My sister sent me a photo of a fox sunning in our father's backyard, taken by a neighbor after the house sold. Sister said the fox is a spirit guide, reassuring us that the buyers are the right people for the house.

We never see things the same way. 

I say the fox could hardly approve: my father (jokingly?) called his backyard a prairie restoration project, but it's a ramble of weeds and scrub trees--perfect habitat for urban wildlife. 
The real estate agent says the new owners are excited about restoration--actual restoration, not neglect. The fox will have to move on.

Hobbled

I'm trying to stave off dilapidation myself, and have been disheartened that I've been hobbled by another long-lasting workplace injury:
The stiff calf I complained about when I was working at the thrift store did not go away after I quit back in August, like I'd assumed it would. 
(I quit because the boss was a bully in an exploitative workplace, not because of my leg, but I'd have had to quit soon anyway or work in increasing pain, as many people trapped in these physically injurious jobs do.)

The physical therapist says I've got Achilles tendonitis--another slow-healing injury, like the tendonitis I got in my forearm working as a nursing aide, unexpectedly trying to lift a man with my thumb. 
[Tip: don't do that.]

I'm faithfully doing my stretches and heel drops, feeling a little dismayed at how much work it is to maintain this old house (me).
But what's the option?

Uh, yeah, so, the house sold, so, with my siblings, I'm going to be an heiress. It'll be nowhere near enough to retire on or anything, but it will give me freedom from needing to get a job until my tendon heals.
And it'll give me options. To have such freedom––me, a single woman––is an incredible luxury in the entire history of the world. (And hot running water too!)

Sensible people tell me, Don't squander it. But what if I bury it like acorns and the world blows up and spring never comes?
Weird, weird world that we think not irrationally in such terms these days.

Well, whatever I do, I feel almost giddy now not to have to choose the cheapest everything––like you do when you're short on $––at least for a while. When I looked at the razor scrapers, I bought the one with the most comfortable, cushioned handle ($5.99), not the cheapest little hard one ($2.99).