I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I was a prized window washer in LaGrange, Illinois, in the early 1960s. I worked on old houses, and owners would ask for me by name. Often, at the end of a full day, an extra dollar or two would be slipped into my soapy hands.
Fast forward to yesterday, when my house chore was washing two sets of sliding glass doors facing the west. I was supposed to take care of them weeks ago.
I did the inside first, knowing the real work had to be done on the outside, where our dogs sniff the windows daily and the wind brings dust down from the mountainside. After an hour of labor, I stepped back to inspect my work. The glare of the sun on the glass still showed major streaks and smudge spots. But were they from the inside or outside? How was I to tell? My reputation was at stake.
With my bottle of Windex and a fresh roll of paper towels, I attacked both sides of the glass doors with determination. Hour two passed, and I stepped back, only to find the sun’s glare had uncovered new patterns of streaks and smudges.
My window washing talents could not have abandoned me. What gives?
Then I remembered an old lesson. When the sun goes down, windows look spotless.
I waited till sunset before again inspecting the doors.
Spotless! I still got it.