Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

Just learned today that a good friend, a few years older than me, is suffering dementia. I’ve been through this with other friends in the last twenty years, so I’m loaded with expectations. Most of them aren’t good. But medical technology keeps advancing and I hope that my buddy and his family don’t endure what many others have gone through.

Fingers crossed, you know?

Monday’s Wandering Thought

I watched a young woman walking past the coffee shop. Wearing light-toned blue jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, a dark blue ball cap let dark hair escape but was pulled low, like she was some manner of gunslinger from wild west days. It was her walk which struck me; her white shoes seemed to slap the concrete and she kept her head down, as though she had to concentrate like the Newman song, left foot, right foot, left foot, and so on.

That walk and style reminded me of someone I knew but no names came to mind. I’ve always been bad with names and faces.

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

They were a couple, with those socks. Skin-tight, displaying every angle and curve of their ankles and feet — they both wore sandals on this warmish winter day — his socks were as golden as a Trump Towers sign, while hers were hot pink. Though he wore loose trousers and she wore capris, both garmets displayed a good six inches of their interesting socks.

They raised some questions, they did.

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

“Let’s go,” I urged myself this morning. “Time is ticking away. Time to go write. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.

“Well, first I’ll dress. Of course. And shave. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.

“I should clean the kitchen first. And exercise before I do that. Okay, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.

“But I think I’ll have more coffee first. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

The Writing Moment

Finished editing and revising for the day on page 320 of 525 on what I consider the fifth revision. A sixth revision is planned. It’s needed for the music and levels.

Started a new novel today. I’d been thinking about it, and the words began coming to me last night, so I sat down to write those opening pages so they’re not buried in memory with other ideas. This is a corollary novel to the work in progress. The main character is level seven.

All very satisfying and challenging. Still, I look forward to being done (enough) with revisions that I’m happy and able to advance toward the next steps to publication with it.

Cheers

Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

One woman at the table beside me in the coffee shop said to her companion, “I wish the Dairy Queen would re-open soon. I’ve been eating healthy all year, and I need a break.”

* Our local DQ closed after a kitchen fire in September of 2023.

Mom’s House – A Dream

First, this isn’t anything like Mom’s real life house.

I was sleeping in the dream when something awoke me. I stayed in bed listening. Shades were pulled but daylight was growing visible through the slates. I knew I was in Mom’s and I thought I was alone but I was hearing noises downstairs. As I listened, I realized it was one of my younger sisters, so I dressed and went downstairs.

Down there, I found an open door that led to a patio. A man in half-removed black leather clothing was prostrate on the patio. My sister was further out on the patio, busy doing things. We said hello, and then I asked about the man. She said it was my cousin, Rick. (Due to the marriages and divorces, Rick isn’t her cousin.) Rick, half sleep or drunk, said with a grin and eyes barely open, “Yes, it’s me, Rick. I came to see you.” He then went to sleep.

I moved on out onto the patio. I’d need seen this house of Mom’s before, and was amazed. It was a white cement modern design on the ocean’s shore. Sunshine brightly lit the day. The tide was coming in, entertaining me with smells and thunderous cracking sounds. I was pleased and astonished and talked to my sister about this.

But — the house was right on the shore, although there was an elevation down to the sea. The incoming tide was coming closer and closer to the house, slashing the rocks and earth with heavy rolling waves. I worried about the house flooding, and watched until the waves were right at the house’s foundations.

Then something moved on my vision’s edge, flagging my attention: a black and white kitten was cavorting about on a cement piece. It disappeared.

I hustled over to look for it. It was down under white cement bridge trusses, along with another kitten. The second one was playing in the sea water. Horrified, afraid they needed rescued, I leaned further over.

A man and boy were down with the kittens. With me watching, the boy retreated, calling the kittens, who ran after him.

I headed back for Mom’s house. Now I could see more of its exterior broaded slabs of glass and white cement at arty angles, a very modern and interesting design, with several patios, porches, and balconies. I also saw then that the water had completed retreated already. I asked myself, “How did that happen so fast?”

Going over, I spoke with my sister, pointing out the tide threat to the house, because climate change was raising water levels. I showed her where I can see how high the water used to go, and compared it to this latest. My sister was dismissive, answering, “I know, but this is Mom’s house. It’s not my problem.”

I chastised her for that thinking but left. Mom and her partner arrived. We talked about the house but then she mentioned her other house and wanted her partner to go check on it because there’d be a storm early in the week. I volunteered to go with him and we headed for the door. Mom stopped me and said, “Do you need money? I can give you some if you need it.” I graciously turned her down, thanking her as I did.

Her partner and I arrived at another place. Isolated and not nearly as grand as the place which I’d just left, surrounded by mud and puddles, it was also white and modern, although it all looked shabby and dirty. I asked him, “Whose house is this?” When he replied that it belong to him and my mother, I followed up, “You two bought it together?”

“Yes,” he answered.

He and I made our way into the house. There was no furniture. In the kitchen, I discovered warped, damaged cupboards. I pointed these out to him, and he agreed, these needed to be replaced. I found an open window. Showing him, I asked, “Is this always left open?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, that’s what’s damaging the inside. That needs to be closed.”

Dream end.

Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

She entered with a confident stride, scoped the coffee shop and selected a seat. Little was special about her: about five two or three, slender build, upper twenties for age, disheveled crown of golden curls, average clothing. But those shoes, those bright mango-colored running shoes.

You can write a lot of stories about a woman in mango shoes.

Dishwasher DIY

Came home yesterday after my writing session with a few grocery purchases, including a sandwich for lunch. When I entered the kitchen, my wife said, “The dishwasher isn’t working.”

The dishwasher is a GE Profile. I think we bought it about six years ago. “Okay let me eat and research and I’ll get on it.”

So I did those things and then ran the dishwasher on my own, studying the symptoms. Which were:

  1. lights come on; program selected; door closed; WASHING displayed
  2. pump runs to empty dishwasher
  3. time passes, and the machine is quiet
  4. WASHING display goes off; all lights go out
  5. I opened the dishwasher; bone dry; no water was entering

I pull and clean the fine and macro filters. That’s an easy first step and one I’ve done several times before. Neither are blocked or very dirty because I just cleaned them at the first of the month. They’re usually the culprits because unhindered water circulation and solid water pressure is needed for the dishwasher to properly operate and clean.

The manual is read. Nothing useful emerges. To the net!

The net suggests the overflow valve might be stuck. Just lightly tapping it with a wooden spoon might free it. Or it might be the recirculating pump.

I spend time looking for the overflow valve and can’t find it. I search for more information on the net but nothing helpful is found. I finally reverse my thinking and search, “Do all dishwashers have overflow valves?” No, more modern dishwashers don’t have ’em. Great; that was a lot of wasted time.

I put the machine into its diagnostic mode and run through those, confirming the dw isn’t filling with water.

More searching leads me to the inlet valve and how to reach, remove, and test it. The water feed to the dishwasher is turned off, as is the power via the circuit breaker. The pieces I need to access are behind the kick panel. It comes off easy enough but tight clearances and sharp edges make removing the inlet valve a tedious and time-consuming process. Some bleeding is involved but I get it off. The valve coil is tested for continuity and is good. They don’t recommend cleaning the inlet valve because of seals and tolerances. I resign myself to ordering a new one but on a whim, I gently shake the valve, thinking the valve is stuck and maybe shaking it will release it. Why not, right?

After replacing the inlet valve, turning on the water and powering up, I now have trickle of water. WTAF? I listen. The dishwasher stops and tells me on the panel, H2O.

Well, heck, it wasn’t showing that before. I confirm the water is on and no lines got kinked while I was messing around in the underside and try again. Same-oh.

Following nebulous thoughts, return to the net to search for other problems and find a video which suggests, pressure sensor. Attached to the recirculating pump, it’s easily accessible since I already have the kick panel removed. I pull the sensor, follow the cleaning instructions and re-install it, power back up, etc.

Works like a charm.

I’m astonished. I’m not mechanical, so I’m always pleased when I can find the instructions and guidance from wherever I can and repair something. It’s like a small victory in a big universe when I can declare something ‘fixed’.

Especially when I’m the one who did the fixin’.

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