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All four storm doors are still the kind made from galvanized aluminum. The stuff that leaves a powder grit dryness on your hands.
To make myself get around to it, I first brought up two of the screens and stashed them behind a door. They’re light. It would take a hell of an excuse to somehow claim that bit’s not doable.
That momentum gained, I puzzle out which one goes where, and I remove the heavy glass panels one at a time. Once each screen’s in, I feel a powerful, capable, responsible lightness. It makes working the glass sheets down the winding stair to their cubby in the basement natural. Easy. Important.
Once back down there, bringing up the next screen’s a no-brainer. Just like that, I’m pushing ahead with the season change. Head-up, capable, taking care.
One to go. The last screen door’s in the basement, adjacent to the storage slot. Though it’s late and dark, there’s not much point in giving up now, so I don’t.
When I tighten the last mounting bracket and wipe nonexistent galvanic debris on my pants. I feel: I did it. Done. By myself.
I feel galvanized.
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