Altius et fortius, anyway

Swifter I wasn't too good with, but the other two parts of the Olympic motto -- higher and stronger -- were as good as I get them today.

The temperature got in the way of "citius" again, and I had to do 30 minutes of work and 30 minutes of recuperation, over and over. Lots of water, too, considering my quarts of sweat.

But I trimmed the hell out of the deck, with no mercy at all for things hanging over the pool (and dropping their lovely little scarlet or yellow blossoms, and their attendant leaves, therein). Nor for the five dead foxtail palm fronds in the least accessible corner that I had to saw down from inside the pool (try keeping your footing shoulder-deep).

Thus the three giant bags of trimmings next to the big, full city trash receptacle similarly packed, ready for Friday's pickup.

I was sweating to wrestle one of the bags to the front when a guy I've seen around town but don't know stopped by to say how much he liked the place. He looked as cool as I looked sweaty, and I asked him how his day was going, ready to give him a quick boo-hoo about how nasty mine was.

His partner of 22 years has been in the hospital for four weeks with peritonitis, from a burst appendix, and was about to be discharged yesterday when they took him in for a new round of emergency surgery. So he's solely taking care of their two giant Great Danes, between visits to the hospital and running the Xena Fund, which they founded for needy people in the service industry. His air-conditioning went dead during Fay, and he can't get a repairman to come out. And the storm blew off a chunk of his roof, which now leaks.

I decided I wasn't having such a tough day after all, and on my next indoor break contemplated the magnificent blooms on the four-story-tall scheffleras across the street.