Hand in Glove

No doubt about it.  When it's 38 degrees out, the water in the gutter overflowing at the corner of the house is going to be cold.  Plunging my hand into the liquid ice to unclog the downspout sent a chill-shock all the way to my elbow.  My first thought was:  that's why people die when they fall into the 40-dgree ocean.  It just sucks the life out.  But here in the gutter, the water and gravity and the downspout and the rain barrel soon worked it all out harmoniously, and my job was to put the ladder away, thaw out my hands and wash my gloves.






You've got to be joking:  "get to" is not how I think of washing dirty, cold and so-soggy-I-have-prune-fingers garden gloves.  But after my adventure with the gushing gutter, the supply of fresh, clean ones in the cupboard was spent.  The bottom of the laundry basket was littered with gritty pairs, but not enough for even a micro load in the wash machine.  Previous trips through the washer hadn't improved their appearance remarkably anyway.






Finally I knew that dealing with this pile of gloves was one of the Things I get to do today and the sooner I did it the better. Fortunately, an instant later,  an image popped into my head.  Instead of peeling off the gloves and then scrubbing each wobbly finger while muddy water splattered about creating another "deal with", I left them on, filled my palm with soap and "washed my hands" with the gloves on, closing my fists from time to time and scrubbing my knuckles together.  I was delightedly stunned at the results.  Repeat with the orange ones, the pink ones, the purple ones.




After wringing them quickly in an old towel, I cast about for the perfect, clever place for them to dry.  What did it look like?   There! Yes.  The "coat" rack used for running shoes right above the heat was it.  So easy, so slick, so fun I felt right proud of myself.








Bright, clean, happy gloves all gave me the "thumbs up" on a job (well) done.