IT WAS NEWS to me, but last weekend was supposed to have been a busy time for guys doing seasonal maintenance.

Besides turning our clocks back last weekend, we were supposed to be putting fresh batteries in the smoke alarms and changing the blades in our windshield wipers.

I have noticed that more and more duties are being piled onto clock-changing weekend. I am convinced somebody out there thinks that fellas on the home- front need to be nudged into action. They scheme that once they pry us off the sofa to change the clocks, we can be cajoled into completing other seasonal tasks such as taking the air conditioner out of the bedroom window, bringing in the hose and changing the wiper blades.

I discovered I was supposed to change the wiper blades when the time changes - every six months - while scouring Web sites devoted to foul-weather driving. (My family doesn't call me "Mr. Excitement" for nothing.)

I was doing my Web work after returning from a journey through the mountains of Western Maryland that had served as my introduction to the foul-weather driving season. It rained so hard that Noah would have been scared. There was also thick fog on the mountaintops, and my imagination kept flashing visions of the car sailing off the road and crashing into the valley below. At Keyser's Ridge in Garrett County, an old enemy from prior winters, ice, made an early appearance.

I got back to Baltimore during a rainy, evening rush hour, inching along the Beltway in an aggressive crawl, dodging an SUV that had hit the Jersey wall in the middle of I-83 near Northern Parkway (it happens every rainstorm). When I got home I almost kissed the soggy driveway.

Like most drivers, I harbor the belief that I am a superior wheelman. Yet when I read the tips for driving in the rain, on a Web site called Smart Motorist, and compared them with my driving habits, I saw that I had room for improvement.

I knew enough to turn on my headlights, to slow down by easing off the accelerator, not standing on the brake, and to avoid situations where water might enter the tailpipe. But I did not always drive on high ground - usually the middle lane of a multi-lane highway, where water is less likely to pool.

Also, it was news to me that when my car started to hydroplane, I should think of the steering wheel as a rudder and steer the craft straight ahead, no sudden turns, while easing off the accelerator until traction returned.

Finally I knew that the recommended way to pass a large truck was to pass quickly, not to linger in the passing lane. But the Web site said nothing about my ritual of singing "Nearer My God To Thee" whenever I overtook an 18-wheeler.

Throughout the stormy trip my windshield wipers had been going strong. They had served me well, but they had made a rubbing noise as they cleared the windshield of rain. Drawing on readings in the field of proper wiper maintenance, I surmised that my wipers were wearing out.

So I tried to install replacement rubber blades. This is a task I have been attempting with minimal success for several decades and on a variety of vehicles. When I get it right, when old blades slide out and the new blades slide in, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I am the master of my windshield.

More often that not, however, the outcome is similar to what happened recently.

I spent the better part of an hour in an auto parts place trying to select the right replacement blades. The world of wipers is awash with choice. There are multiple styles that promise to perform in various extreme weather conditions. There are wipers in an array of colors, including neon. There is even a small computer, mounted on the store shelf, to help you make your wiper selection. You punch in the year, make and model of your vehicle, and the computer offers its solutions to your wiper needs.

The other day, I followed the computer's advice and bought a pair of replacement blades, but then I could not figure out how to install them on my car's wiper assemblies. The instructions, printed in small type in English and Spanish on the inside of the wiper blade package, showed seven different installation techniques for seven different types of wiper assemblies. I studied the instructions. Then I examined the architecture of my wiper blades, looking for the "pin arms," "hook arms" or "closed end steel blades" that the instructions promised, in English and Spanish, would be there. Finding none, I gave up, hollered "No mas" and took a different tack.

I bought a bottle of Prestone Wiper Blade Restorer and massaged the old wiper blades with propylene glycol, which, the dictionary told me, is a colorless viscous hygroscopic liquid (CH3CHOHCH2OH) used in antifreeze solutions, in hydraulic fluids and as a solvent. A spokeswoman for Prestone in Danbury, Conn., added that the stuff in the bottle removes road salt from the blades, helps counter the effects of oxidation and leaves a silicone barrier that lubricates the rubber and stops chattering.

My old blades seemed to appreciate being massaged with a hygroscopic liquid. They relaxed and stopped making noise.

But I still feel obligated to replace them. With bad weather on the horizon I did not want to risk driving in the mountains or on the Beltway with a blurry windshield. So when I take the car into the shop for an oil change, I will have the mechanics, who are familiar with "pin arms" and the seven styles of wiper assemblies, replace the blades.

That is how the seasonal rhythm of a guy's life is supposed to flow. You replace your wiper blades during the first oil change right after the weekend you have changed your clocks.