Is it airing your dirty laundry to remark that a family seems addicted to the musical chair version of “Who’s crazy now?” Oh, it would be. Well, never mind then and, after all, I didn’t mention the family in question.

So, on with the routine. Oh, dear, that involves crazy, too. Well, try to ignore it.

Yesterday had the makings of a garage cleaning, leaf-blowing, leaf-raking country song. I guess the end line of the refrain would have to be: Since I didn’t leaf vacuum, it didn’t suck. Actually, the main theme was fighting the impeding rain.

I worked as long as I thought wise in the garage, moving some stuff that could use a nice dust-off out to the driveway. I used the leaf blower to send all the little windblown-in debris heading back out of the garage and moved on to the little picket fence area, the woodpile areas, the garbage can niche, the hedge line and the under the blue spruce area. It was sort of fulfilling, watching the dry leaves before the Black & Decker hurricane fly.

They were so dry, however, they tended to disintegrate and form a nice leaf dust that permeated the space around me. Then the sky grew ominous and I grabbed this rake that is sort of the Godzilla of rakes and “rake-dozed” my piles to the curb.

I was done with what I wanted to do that day; I felt the first sprinkles and scurried back into the garage. I looked at the result of my work and thought, “Aha, and now the rain will wash the dust way.” I went inside and cleaned myself from leaf-entwined hair to ankles that were pitted with high-velocity dust, as opposed to summer’s high-velocity grass and weed particles.

I sat down and chanced to look out the window. It was not raining. I stared hard because maybe it was a fine rain. Well, it wasn’t fine because it wasn’t raining. I went out and saw I could count the sprinkle splashes on the dusty surfaces . . . including my car.

If I could keep up with my tipping points, this would be one of them.