Lurking in the laundry room is my new favourite way to spend time with our aging appliances.
Laundry happens in every family and I know some folks who are obsessed with providing their families with the brightest clothing on the block. A ketchup stain would not dare stand up to their very latest and best laundry soap product.
I like clean clothes just as much as other people of my acquaintance but the process has always been an irritant, starting back when I was old enough to help hang the clothes on the outside lines, regardless of the weather, and then in turn removing the frozen clothes from the lines and manoeuvring those stiff-as-a-board longjohns through the door without one clean foot touching the ground.
One thing I did enjoy even back in those days in my small town was the smell of line-dried clothes. No brand of soap or dryer cloths comes close to replicating that clean smell.
And so through the years I have accepted laundry as one of the evil necessities of every-day life. Because it is not my favourite chore, there is admitted procrastination which results in large loads of clothing finding their way to the laundry room.
In that room sits a vintage dryer that was one piece of a two-piece appliance deal from a favourite sales person many years before Sears became but a memory. That dryer outlived the washing machine of the same make and model and one of these days I suspect it will give one final whir before it leaves a load of towels only semi-dry.
The newest appliance in the room is the washing machine, perhaps eight years old, and purchased by itself because we already had a perfectly fine dryer.
Through her many years of doing the laundry with a variety of wringer machines until finally an automatic machine entered her life, my Mother had one brand and one brand only that she allowed in her home.
So when we went to buy our latest machine, I insisted on buying her favoured brand. I can say without reservation that “they don’t make ’em like they used to.” I suspect that lonely repairman is no longer lonely. While she “swore by” that brand, I have done nothing but “swear at” our machine that bears that once magical name.
This machine has a mind of its own and the trouble-shooting guide is useless, so I’ve used hocus pocus on occasion to figure out why it is draining with so much fervour or why a half load jiggles from side to side while a larger load sounds like gears are grinding, giving me the fear of mangled clothing when the machine finally goes through all the cycles and the menacing red light goes off to signal its permission to open the lid.
Just the other day I engaged Housemate in a conversation that suggested that one of these days we might have to think about replacing one or both pieces of laundry equipment. That means that what happened just hours later was my fault for bringing up the topic.
The water going into the machine sounded more powerful than usual but I put in the load of T-shirts and wandered off to do other important jobs, like read the latest James Patterson murder mystery.
When I returned to put the clothes in the dryer, I was unpleasantly surprised by water where there shouldn’t have been water, coming from the washing machine, and covering the floor. I’m sure I said “gosh darn” loud enough to alert Housemate to some form of disaster.
While I sponged up the water and moved soggy bags and boxes, including one full box of Tide powder whose bottom fell off when I lifted it, Housemate undertook the task of calling the repairman and leaving a message of distress.
When the repairman was able to visit, we explained to him in detail the plight of the washing machine and he went about determining its future. I hovered, in case he needed my help, but as any professional would have done, he ignored my presence, until finally confessing that he couldn’t find one thing wrong with the machine.
He ran water through to the spin and drain process, checked seals and hoses and shook his head. He did agree that this brand of machine isn’t anything like the machine my mother used, but that was the only solace he was able to offer.
So now the machine is framed by rolls of paper towels to catch any errant flow of water, and I position myself close by just in case there is a flow that isn’t supposed to be flowing. And of course every gurgle and grind is magnified.
I know loitering in the laundry will not lessen the chance of a leak but if I set up a little desk and bar fridge close by, the laundry room might become my most favourite room in the house. Wash on but don’t leak!
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
