Too Tough to Tell the Truth

I've put them on nearly every day.  These gloves have been the protector of my hands since September 26th, the day we started the carport in Bend.  Except for a five-day break around the first of October, every other day the Things I get to do today involved building (along side my hubby who did the heaviest of work) the foundation and structure that would provide shelter for Samantha (she's a long-ago-retired Forest Service Jeep who's needed a cover for years).  

Hiding the truth about the effort it takes to build a carport.

The gloves are just cheap throwaways.  But we shed our dirty clothes each evening, and the gloves got tossed into the wash with all the rest.  Everyday they were fresh and clean.  It certainly made it easier to put them on.  

The carport is to go along this sidewalk.

It wasn't until the last day, as we poured grout behind the retaining wall, that I noticed gaps where the thumbs join the hands.  These little tears do not tell the truth about the work they did from dirt to finish.

The footings were to be two feet deep and one
foot square.  This is what we found in most
of the holes for the footings.

West side footings  are poured.
Took a few days break here.

Extra help putting up the "bents" and bolting them to
the footings.

Finally well "out of the ground"

Smiling Sheltered Samantha
The sign belonged to the construction business of  the
previous generation.  The company would have been proud.

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.