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errands

Our new addition

The washing machine hit the spin cycle and made a weird, muted whirring noise. You grow accustomed to the sounds of your life and then the absence of those things, or their replacement by other noises, is startling.

Turns out the sound was one of failure. Broken, but trying, but accepting. At the end of the cycle I opened the washing machine and found the clothes clean, but still dripping. The missing sound was the one that represents the spin cycle. The new sound was one of “Meh.”

So I took the cover off the washing machine. I removed the drain valves and the motor. I found the coupler, which I replaced on this machine last year, was in working order. I also found some brown fluid under the frame.

We called appliance folks. This, they said, was a transmission issue. That’ll run you $500, parts and labor. And you need a special tool. And how old is your washer? You may as well buy a new one.

Well.

I have another washing machine. When we got married we just kept both sets of washers and dryers. So we plugged up my washer, which I bought second hand in 2000 for $1. I used it until 2010 or so and it has since sat patiently waiting. So we reinstalled it. Washed a load of clothes. There is a foot missing, so the balance is off and the spin cycle is violent. There was water, just a little, not a lot, coming from somewhere. I could not detect the where. But I also noticed that this one, too, was showing off some of the same brown transmission fluid. I’d thought connecting this one might give us a few months to save up some money, but figured we were now down to days.

The streak of broken things in this house — the air conditioning (twice), the refrigerator, the dishwasher (twice), the shower, three toilet repairs, the kitchen sink faucet, a broken and repaired washing machine and now two permanently retired — continues. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so expensive. That doesn’t include the new roof the previous owner put on as she put the house on the market (hail damage) or the many, many times Charter has been out to not fix the cable or a few smaller things. We’ve just started our third year in this house.

There are spirits, we joke. I think back on our first night in the house, standing on the top of a six-foot step ladder painting a high wall and shudder.

It is amazing we haven’t seriously hurt ourselves. Oh I grabbed a hot wire fixing the A/C. And Brian tried to help us figure out the first dishwasher problem and shocked himself. He also created a great electrical arc. We discovered, under there, a wire nut that had burned through itself. We’ve asked electricians about that, who don’t know how that could have happened.

Meanwhile, the local Sears is going out of business, so we bought a new washing machine.

It doesn’t have the center post in the drum. It doesn’t have a transmission. It is actually very quiet. It has a digital timer telling you when the load will be completed. If it breaks it displays error messages. You are supposed to be able to call the tech support, hold the phone near the sensor and they can determine the problem. Yeah, I don’t believe that either. It plays a little song when the load is finished.

Page two of the manual says “For your safety, the information in this manual must be followed to minimize the risk of fire or explosion, electric shock, or to prevent property damage, injury to persons, or death.”

It has a stainless steel drum. It runs on an inverter direct drive motor, suggesting if I can turn it inside out I can indirectly drive the space-time continuum. There is also a child lock, which I presume is not meant to keep kids inside, and also SMARTRINSE, which is designed to save water, but wasted capital letters.

And in 20 or so years we’ll have recovered the money we would spend at a laundromat.

That’s mostly what we’ve been dealing with the last few days. I was on fall break on Monday and Tuesday. I decided to take those few days off from the blog as well. These are the first two days without at least something being published since April of 2005.

I’m fine with this decision.

More tomorrow.

collarbone / errands / Friday / iPhone / photo / Samford / site — Comments Off
28
Sep 12

Oh, lovely, sweet Friday

Today I purchased the 2013 sticker for my car tag. Take that, Mayans.

My DMV experience lasted 33 minutes, which was the longest I’ve ever waited in my two years visiting this particular office. But it is the end of the month.

Usually the post office here takes longer than the DMV. I’m pretty sure I’ve tapped my toe in our post office for longer than 33 minutes.

This was nowhere near my longest DMV experience. I seem to mention the DMV every year. Once, in Bessemer, I read the better part of a book while in line. I seem to recall I took a two-hour lunch break to mutter at the DMV in Homewood one year. The other times I’ve bothered to quantify it have all been four, six, 20 minutes or noted as “painless.” I checked.

I’ve had a big week, coupled with a long few days, where I did too many things and now my shoulder is informing me I regret those decisions. Can’t wait to tell the ortho about it next week.

Suffice it to say, because I’m tired of even writing about it: I’ve figured out it takes precious little to aggravate my collarbone, the muscles in my one shoulder and, when that really gets going, across my back into the other shoulder and up into my neck. Maybe I should do less.

Maybe I should do like these guys:

hammocks

This is studying on the Samford quad. Hammocks are a big part of the culture here. I’m surprised the administration allows it to continue, but I’m proud they do. I’m also surprised the hammock scenes don’t make their way into more of the promotional literature they send out.

I should write a memo about that …

Nah. I’m taking the rest of the evening off from writing.

Tomorrow: the return of an old friend!

Auburn / errands / iPhone / photo / Thursday — Comments Off
16
Aug 12

A day out

No. A thousand voices scream out at once. No. The voices were all kids and kids-at-heart. No one is ready to see hints of fall. The left, logical, side of the brain says: Squash. The right, intuitive, side screams: Autumn!

And that, in mid-August, is not cool. There will be a time for it, late September, perhaps. That day is not now.

This was at the locally grown, artisanal vegetable place where we purchase an exceedingly abundant basket of vegetables each week. Fresh food, charming people, delightfully disorganized basket procurement process.

That was our last stop of the day. We bought gas, which is riveting. Riveting!

We shop at Sam’s for gas as often as not. They’ve reduced the entire petroleum purchase experience entire an almost sterile environment. Sterile for stone, cement and gas, at least.

There are eight pumps, allowing for 16 customers at a time. There is no store, no cash, no distraction. You focus entirely on the task of purchasing the cheapest gas in town. (Only the prices are going back up again. Cheap is relative.) They have one person staffed there, presumably in case something catches fire.

It is interesting how you can grow so accustomed to the absence of that interaction. The pay-at-the-pump model has removed every human interaction from fueling your car. At Sam’s they’ve stripped it down to solitude. One nice lady, unlike the rest of her colleagues who just stand around, actually mingles with the customers. The first time she does it can take you by surprise. In the last two years, though, I’ve been learning about her life in 15 second increments. I’ll have to start writing that down.

We visited the pharmacy to pick up new medication. We drove through the worst traffic in town. Three of the biggest intersections downtown had no power. Also this is the first week of the semester crush — too many extra families and too freshmen who are still learning their way around town, when to drive and when to lose their keys — that overburdens the local roads.

Police officers were directing traffic. You wonder how long they spend on that at the academy. Do some of the cadets adapt to it better than others? Is there a special commendation? When the intersection goes dark do the dispatchers call him in to run the show?

Does he then think “And I really wanted to take a nap under the overpass today!”?

We visited the meat lab. You buy select cuts from the university at big discounts. It gives you the feeling of living in an old-time company town, spending your income at the company store. But who cares? We bought two New York Strips and four pork loins for 20 bucks.

If only there was a charcoal lab on campus. We’d probably grill every night.

The next, and last stop, was to the market for the vegetables and seeing the squash above.

This, believe it or not, was a big day out. (I can’t complain because, you know, summer … ) Sitting inside for more than a month now hasn’t been ideal, but I’m bouncing back. I wasn’t exhausted when we got home. But I was sore.

I blame the vegetables.

Those baskets are heavy.

Later: Grilled the steaks in a mild, moist August evening. Put on just enough charcoal to kiss the meat, we had okra and mashed potatoes, both from the vegetable basket. Everything but the seasoning was raised nearby. I feel like I need an imported dessert, just to throw things off.

adventures / collarbone / errands / iPhone / Monday / photo — Comments Off
23
Jul 12

One thousand words, and a picture

The alarm went off, playing some carefully calibrated and focus grouped pop tune that I’ve already forgotten. But I had to figure out how to get to the alarm. You see, it was my wife’s alarm, on her end table. She’d already gotten up — she likes to scoop me on the planned news events. Since my left arm is kaput, rolling is not a good idea. Oh sure, I could get half a roll, and then be stuck in the middle of the bed, still listening to the carefully calibrated and focus grouped pop tune of imminently forgettable quality and unable to roll either direction.

So I waited. And after a moment she came back in and turned off the alarm, apologizing. Not to worry. The carefully calibrated and focus grouped pop tune that was already forgotten.

Also, Penn State, she told me, got hosed.

I could write a great treatise about this, but others have done that already. I’ll just keep it to four sentences.

The people involved are getting theirs as a virtue of the law, as they should. This precedent-setting action, based largely on a report that would get laughed out of court, is one other universities will come to regret when the NCAA comes calling. But congratulations, NCAA, you declared you are against sexual assault; very bold. This, meanwhile, simply punishes everyone else at Penn State.

I’ve been fighting headaches today. First a bad one that faded away with the necessary pills. It returned with an ice pick that could pierce both eyeballs. This required a dark room and a nap. At the end of which I had a dream about the world’s worst spy, who was trying to break into a family member’s home. I watched her every move, being about as obvious as possible, but the dream person never caught on. I woke up cautiously. Is this headache still with me? For the most part, no. I’m still not sure what the dream spy could have been looking for in that house, or why she was wearing teal and black and white socks.

Did get out of the house twice today. Visited the drug store to pick up a refill of medicine. A student pharmacist from the Harrison School of Pharmacy at Auburn handled the transaction. She needed to see my driver’s license, a new thing for this prescription, her supervisor told us. A brand new thing, because they didn’t card me last week. Why my driver’s license is an important part of this transaction escapes me.

I said, “You should see what we’re cooking up in our basement!”

The Yankee quickly said, “We don’t have a basement!” (Most places in town don’t, for some reason.) I wondered about this ID rule. If you can’t get your drugs without a photo ID, how do the politicians against Voter ID laws think their constituents are getting their necessary medications?

The student pharmacist interrupted the thought — the nerve of her! — and asked if I had any questions about the pharmaceuticals. Yes, how many are in there? She told me, and then said “I hope you feel better” in this soft and sympathetic way.

I’ve never heard an Ole Miss pharmacist say it that way.

After my second headache and my nap and my dinner we went out for ice cream therapy. The young man that served us was snappy, happy and eloquent. We were the next to last customers. They closed in 15 minutes and they were ready to clean up, but you couldn’t phase them. Pleasant young kids who seemed happy to work. What are the odds? I asked one of them about two different ice creams that I had no intention of ordering. I was pretty sure, but you still need the descriptions. He took it with ‘How could you know, otherwise?’ ease. And then I ordered something that wasn’t even on the menu.

“Not a problem.”

The Yankee and I meet smart and charming young men and women every year in our classes. They are optimistic and cynical. They are serious and silly. They never seem like the stereotypes you might read about or conjure in your mind about “kids these days.” One of them, at 23, is running for city council in his hometown. I read the story today. The guy gives good quote, as they say.

Anyway.

We sat under the umbrella at the round picnic table eating our waffle cones. I mentioned the waffle cone is disruptive to my ice cream eating system. I work my way around a round cone, to stay on top of any potential dripping issues. Waffle cones don’t have that perfectly round top, but rather taper into something that suggests hand-crafted with care and quality. So I have to come up with a waffle cone system, because the traditional method isn’t working here. Also, there was a lot of ice cream in this cone.

We talked about the Aurora shootings — bad, and too many journalists own jump to conclusion mats — and the Chick-fil-A non-controversy. I don’t know why any executive’s stance on any issue should carry weight in how you choose to do business with that company. Ask around and you’ll find someone in every business that supports something that you hate, no matter what it is that you like or hate. None of this changes the fact that the waffle fries are delicious.

[Strunk & White note: the phrase “the fact that” is regrettable, and should only be used when emphatically pointing out something requiring great attention (e.g. waffle fries are delicious).]

If there is a company, however, that explicitly puts revenue towards some cause with which you disagree, that is another thing. But, still, we must consider the quality of what they are serving.

The ice cream therapy worked, by the way. The pain is gone and you can barely see the incision! Why, it is almost like a carefully calibrated and focus grouped pop tune that I’ve already forgotten.

Until the meds wear off.

adventures / cycling / errands / iPhone / memories / photo / Thursday — Comments Off
14
Jun 12

Wheels and bolts and things

My bike at rest. It deserves it.

Not because I’ve been riding a lot, but because yesterday was just hills.

Lots of hills. I rode this one over and over again, finally quitting when my times stopped improving.

So I did 15 miles of hills yesterday. That’s a lot of stomping on the bike for a guy with big feet like me. Thirty more miles today. Just as I got back home I glanced down at the odometer.

That’s for the year. So I’m only about 450 miles behind where I want to be on the year. I’ll catch up eventually.

The story about the faucet: This would be a great entry to the running page on fixing things in our house. I don’t have a category for it. It is too late to add one now and I’d probably just name it something hateful anyway. But we can now add to a list of repair jobs that include the air conditioner (twice), the shower, refrigerator, dish washer (twice), washing machine, the toilets (three times between them) and more.

We’ve lived here for less than two years.

So the kitchen faucet developed a drip. We found a certain way that you could turn the nozzle and the handle to minimize the problem. This worked for a while. And then it stopped working. And earlier this week the drip almost became a stream.

I’ve tried to take the faucet apart before so I could replace the washers, but the water is so hard here that all of the innards (plumbing term!) were fused together. I tried this for a few days. I tried this with WD-40 and various other things found in the cabinets and garage.

Having failed at this simple task I decided to just replace the entire faucet. So out from the cabinet came all of the cleaning supplies. Under the sink went my head. The supply lines, I discovered, were also fused on the faucet end. OK, then. I’ll just take it apart and pull the supply lines up from the top and buy new stinking supply lines with my brand new faucet that has to be installed because I can’t take the old one apart to install $.75 worth of rubber gaskets to it.

I’m thrilled.

The supply lines were disconnected from the bottom. I disconnected the sprayer nozzle. I freed one of the nuts that attaches the faucet to the sink from underneath.

The sink, you’ll notice if you spend enough time in the cabinets, is a great two tub cast iron deal. This is the most sturdy thing we own, I’m certain of it. That and the other nut that is attaching the faucet to the sink. That joker was fused with the bolt in the worst way. But underneath that nut was a concave washer type thing (more plumbing terminology!). It, too, was rusting.

And so it was that I found myself donning goggles, grabbing a screwdriver and just stabbing the crap out of that washer type thing. The plan was to punch out so much of that rust-crusted impediment and then just pull everything out from the top.

Which, eventually, I did.

So we went to Lowe’s and bought a new faucet. Nothing they had matched exactly, but that’s OK because we needed a working sink.

And we got in trouble at Lowe’s too! They have those rolling ladder step things and we moved one into the aisle to inspect the faucets above our line of sight. An old guy with a ponytail and a red vest took exception to this. I understood his point — safety is important — but he also understood mine. There is no one around in the store to give you any help. I know this because I’d done this exact same thing on this exact same aisle for more than 10 minutes last night. There were no red vests to be found. So I went to Home Depot, which is literally right across the street. And I stayed on their faucet aisle for even longer, and there were no orange aprons to be found.

Which brought up a great conversation about all of this online. In the middle of which came the Home Depot social media person with the “Oh no! Sorry to hear that! Which store were you in?” It might have been rude, but I said “Is it unfair to say “All of them”? Based on the responses I received from others the rep on floor help is staggeringly poor.”

The social media person did not write back to that.

The Lowe’s red vest with the ponytail came back later, as we were wrapping up our choices, and commiserated on the faucet problem. He knew they had a floor problem. I’m sure the Lowe’s managers do too; they just don’t care. Home Depot? Same thing.

But it gave me time to see things like this, the paper towel holder!

You’ve never seen such excitement for such a prosaic tool! It holds your paper towels! Above the countertop! It holds! Paper towels!

This, at a glance, is simply disturbing:

A jaundiced hand emerging from the wall, holding some sort of Matrix device. Or is it from Alien? Or is it Elvis’ alternative universe microphone. Don’t sing into this one though, you’ll just drown.

Or you could go into our backyard:

It rained a lot today.

Oh, and I installed the new faucet. Took eight minutes. It better work for years.