Giving Up

I surrender. I’ve tried for five years now and done everything I can to professionalize myself with regard to this task. I’ve bought the finest Italian-made tools. I’ve tried using every imaginable resource to improve my capabilities. I’ve broken the task down so that I space out my efforts and not grow weary. But I’m here to tell you after this latest bout of effort that I simply cannot clean windows well enough to justify the expenditure of time and trouble. I have thrown in the microfiber towel and told Kim to order up a window washer to do the job properly. There is, indeed, something to the “I don’t do windows” castigation that goes beyond laziness or lack of effort. I have worked steadily for the past several weeks on the living room and deck glass, as well as the windows in the master bedroom. I even got Kim to assist by having her stand inside while I washed outside and squeegeed myself silly, over and over again. I really thought I had it licked. Then came the last few sunny days and my ineffectiveness was revealed in many streaks and marks and unbearable spots on the windows that I thought I had thoroughly cleaned once and for all. The harsh light of day made my efforts futile. What really troubled me most was not the corner here or streak there, but the glass railing on the deck. I can unequivocally say that despite all my efforts, those glass panels were better looking before I cleaned them than they are now. I don’t know how that happens given that they hadn’t been cleaned in well over a year, but it was simply so.

If I were inclined to be stubborn, I would shadow this window washer when he comes next week and I would carefully watch every trick of his trade and then try to replicate it on my own. I will not be doing that since I believe I have learned my lesson. There are some thing that are easy enough for a layman to do around the house and then there are a whole bunch of things that a layman should never attempt to do on his own. I refuse to be that stubborn guy that won’t accept defeat for the sake of some combination of pride and a few bucks. My mantra is simply that if Mike won’t tackle the job himself to save the money, I should be smart enough to realize that there is a reason for that. And Mike does not do windows. He pulls weeds, he spreads mulch, the guy even vacuums twice a week. But he brings in a pro to plant his trees and to do his windows.

I am about to start the process of ordering our holiday cards, something I just remembered that we haven’t done yet. I tend to want to get my cards done very soon after Thanksgiving, much earlier than most, but in a timeframe that leaves me December to enjoy myself and not be nagged by guilt. The process is somewhat collegial with Kim, but basically it’s a chore I have undertaken in the most recent years. We pick a design, pick out pictures that depict our year’s events and then use an online printing company who has our lists (which we update or refresh every year). They print the cards, address the envelopes with both receiver address and our return address, and what’s left to be done by us is to include a personalized note if we wish, sign and stamp the cards and off they go. We have honed this process and very intelligently (I think) retained the work we feel we can and should do, while outsourcing the work (especially the addressing) that we think is smarter to have done for us. I’ve only ever gotten one negative comment on the fact that we do not hand address our cards and that was from the seventh wife of my long-since deceased father, a woman who probably has too little to do to fill up her life. I think its amazing that I have kept her on my holiday card list since I have only seen her once in the thirty years since my father passed away (even though she lives only 12 miles or so from here) and even before that I have spent less time with her over our respective lives than I have with my gardener, Joventino, who speaks absolutely no English. But instead of being grateful that I continue to show her the respect of sending her a holiday card, she nailed me for impersonalizing the process. I’m not entirely sure why I even send holiday cards, but I’m pretty sure its not to draw that sort of ire. So, I’ve given up on addressing cards at the holiday, but not on my sort-of-ex-step-mother.

Our friend Melisa, Mike’s better half, is quite the industrious craftsperson. Her brother makes a living being a creative and skilled craftsman and she draws off his skillset and some of his tools (and occasionally his assistance) to take on all manner of project that would be beyond most homeowner’s ambitions. She built her own George Nelson style slatted bench and it looks impressively professional. She is building her own arched wooden bridge for the Japanese Zen garden she is installing in her garden. I feel I should note that we have a George Nelson style slatted bench in our guest room and I have an arched wooden Japanese zen garden bridge that traverses the dry creek bed down by the front games area in the garden. Both items I have purchased online at one time or another and I can safely say that while I probably debated at the time as to whether to buy the item or not, it never occurred to me to take on the task of building either of these myself. I did build my Hobbit House myself and that was no mean feat, but I’m not sure I would have found anything on Amazon to match.

Doing things for yourself can be extremely satisfying in ways which outsourcing the same tasks cannot compete. But there are other things that would prove more disappointing than not if we insisted on doing them ourselves. We are all incompetent or at least with finite competence to one degree or another for one task or another. I generally let Joventino do my planting for me but I will buy the plants and then place them where I want them to go, so I have outsourced the hardest manual labor, but retained the design and aesthetic work as well as to do some prepping and maintenance primping after they have been planted. I know how my garden fountain works very well and yet when it was having difficulties, I asked handy Brad to come and fix it. He and I spent many an hour noodling over what the problem was and finally came up with a solution. I went and bought some drain pipe and had my irrigation guy, Andre, address the water feed to the fountain reservoir, but I left Brad to kneel in the rocks and get everything arranged properly. Handy Brad spent a lifetime on his knees working as a master stone and tile craftsman and he has the knees for the work where I do not. I feel I did not so much give up on fountain repair as gotten sensible enough to enlist the optimal amount of support. The other day I bought four new cacti and I decided to repot them myself. It took me several hours of delicate work to keep from letting the cacti shred my hands. It was pretty dirty work that I did out on the patio. I felt the satisfaction of a job well-done and even cleaned up the patio myself with the hose which, given that it was cleaning crew day, could have been easily outsourced. Sometimes not giving up makes you feel good and sometimes it makes you feel stupid. I will keep potting cacti and yet I will surrender my squeegee to the pro window washer coming next week.