(Not my photo, alas)
All winter long I've been ignoring the dusty scruffiness of our house, concentrating, for the most part, on staying warm. But as the temperature rises and the days grow longer, I find myself in the old familiar mode of Spring Cleaning.
As if in a trance, I pull out the Liquid Gold and begin anointing the various bits of wooden furniture in the living room and dining room--chairs, tables, an ancient trunk, a secretary, two chests of drawers, a curio cabinet. . .
It's a slow process. My back begins to hurt after a bit and I have to sit down with a heating pad till the pain subsides. I could push through it but have learned that it will get much worse if I do. So I use my resting time to re-read a Harlan Coben mystery.
Meanwhile, John seems to have been struck by a similar urge. He has varnished surfaces in the mudroom and now he has pulled the kitchen table out to the porch and is refinishing the top.
It's a welcome seasonal affliction--like birds nesting, bulbs sprouting, forsythia blooming.
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