No Grunge Here!

The "Seattle Sound" emerged less than 50 miles from me in the mid-80's. NOT my cup of tea. Heavily distorted electric guitars, disheveled performers and angst filled lyrics were the tune-du-jour.

This weekend, in honor of the indie rock, heavy metal and punk rock movement...we decided to reduce the grunge level at our house. No, not that kind of grunge. Our kind of grunge.

First, supplies. Soap --- with wax thrown in. (How do they do that?) Sponges to clean and sponges to clean sponges that clean. Scrubbing Bubbles for fizziness and involuntary inhalation therapy. If that fails, a natural bristle horse brush to assist in the time honored version of elbow grease.



Good help is so hard to find these days. Thank goodness hubby is my resident truck-and-trailer-washer-and-polisher. He's always full of tips like, "Wash from the top, down." "Don't do the sidewalls 'til the end. They'll get the water dirty." And, honors of honors, he allows me to clean the wheels all by myself, with a toothbrush. I'm so fortunate to have his guidance.



I've waited at least two or three lifetimes to own a horse trailer made of ahhh-luminum. No rust, no peeling paint, none of the big time ugly that comes with steel trailers. It was a delight (yeah, I know, I'm sick) to wash this baby 'til he shined. Oh, you're so stunning, you gorgeous hunk of glistening metal!



Up front and personal. I shudder to think of horse slobber coating the sides again some day. Of hay sneezes sprayed over the smooth metallic skin.

Oh, let me count the ways I love aluminum and Plexiglas...one-million and one...one-million and two...



The finished product, a thing of beauty once more. Green slime removed, dirt scrubbed off, bug guts obliterated.



Kurt Cobain would have been proud.