My wife came in with two dish towels. “Look at this. These towels have stains that just won’t come out.” Exasperation was etched into her face. “How can we get these out?”
“Have you tried Mom’s stain remover?”
She brightened. “I didn’t think of that.”
I got out the ‘recipe’. Mom didn’t come up with it but passed it on to us. Mom got it from Hints from Heloise when it was published in the Pittsburgh Press, the evening paper Mom used to get.
Collecting and mixing the ingredients, I used a toothbrush, as directed, and scrubs the spots for about five minutes each. Then I let the stain remover soak a bit and scrubbed more. Presto. After rinsing and drying in the sun, the stains were gone.
I have routines. Mostly moored in sanity and routine, they help me navigate days and night and months, seasons, and years.
The regular recurring four dominate: dressing, eating, exercising writing. Dressing is actually showering, shaving, brushing my teeth, all that. We just call it dressing in our household. Why get bogged down in details? Same with eating. I’m talking about three meals, snacks, etc. All aimed in a healthy direction, based on medical limitations and bodily needs. Cooking or procuring food is part of ‘eating’.
Writing, ditto, is just something burned into every day’s DNA. I passed on it while vacationing recently, a grueling time for me. I kept writing in my head. That’s an activity that takes me out of the moment. So I made fast notes, lopped off the process, and pressed myself back into local, ‘real-world’ events, like going for a walk at sunset and admiring the waves.
But I also have a habit of deciding what three things I will do besides those things. It’s a mental list I assign myself as I talk to my wife and walk around the house each morning. Weather and other plans are taken into account. Like yesterday’s three things was hanging this new hook we purchased to drape a towel on in the bathroom, then dusting and polishing all the wood cabinets and furniture in the kitchen, dining room, foyer, and living room, and tidying paperwork. Today is a lazier day. Wash and shine the car, gas up my wife’s car, yardwork. A bonus offering is clean off some pint containers and drop them off at a friend’s place.
I’ll also read. Surf the net for news and read some fiction. That, too, is just part of my current DNA. Do both of those every day. Pet the cat, of course. Clean up after him. Also DNA-driven. He enforces it, though. Oh, and take a walk. Do that daily as well. Just who I am.
Rain took its drops and went elsewhere. Though clouds stayed, sunshine rushed in. A swirly, restless day was had. Hot in direct sun, chilly in shadow when the wind played. We did see 66 F at our house. Now it’s dropping, expecting to stoop to the 40s overnight. Tomorrow, we’ll do it again.
For the record, this is Sunda, Mai 18, 2025.
I’ve been busy all day. This was the culmination of a cleaning project. Ashlandia and Recology were taking in trash and electronics free of charge this weekend at the transfer station. This inspired my wife and I to declare we’ll do some cleanup and rid ourselves of unused and broken old items. Beginning Twosda, I pulled, cleaned, inspected, and decided on what to do with stuff which we’d accumulated and didn’t seem to be using. I consulted with my wife as necessary. Like, we have three big boxes of china. It’s a formal dinnerware setting for twelve, acquired in Germany over a period fro 1988 to 1991. We’ve probably used them a half dozen times, and not any time in the last decade. Much of it was awarded to me as prizes in monthly, quarterly, and annual competitions at a base or specific units. Mikasa was one of the sponsors and would often give gift certificates. My wife used ones I won to buy china. No, we didn’t pitch the china. We put it aside to give to a friend who will take it to a charity boutique. A few times a year they have a big sale and include things like china. Proceeds help offset people’s cost for hospice.
My wife’s health kept her sidelined during Operation Cleanup. But I enjoyed the solitary work. While I put in a couple hours every day after writing, today was the load up and drop off. The SUV was backed up and configured. Loading began at 10:15. By 11:30, I was ready for the dump trip. I hit the line at 11:45 and inched the vehicle to the gate at 12:30. They directed me to trash and electronics, which covered my contributions. By 1 PM, I was back home.
Then I cleaned clean the car and reconfigured its seating and all that, and cleaned the garage and rearranged things to be more organized and take advantage of the cleared space. I just finished that at 6 PM. I sweated a few buckets today, and my feet are singing about their unhappiness like a bunch of hounds with the blues. I’m taking advantage of this time to post before I make my dinner.
Today’s song turned out to be “On A Carousel” by the Hollies. They released it in the 1960s. It’s a song about love and the up and down ride you’re on when you’re in love. I was using it to think about Trump. We’re going around and around with him as he whines about the judicial system and courts, ignores the Constitution, threatens anyone who disagrees with him, and then acts like an idiot who mated a jackass. Guess that would be a idioass or a jackiot. Did you hear about him and his video where he’s supposed to be playing “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey in concert? His connections with reality frays more every hour. His supporters don’s seem much better. Guess they’re holding on to their dreams.
My wife doesn’t want me to mop the hardwood floors. I asked for feedback: “Why?”
“You don’t do a good job.”
I was insulted. But, the craftiness in me decided, well, that means that she will always mop the floor.
On the other hand, she admits that I do a much better job cleaning the stainless steel kitchen appliances. Although, she notes, she thinks that I’m “a little obsessive” about having it streak free.
It all works out. I do those items, and she does the floor, and we’re both happy.
Mood: Persistfee (a sense of persistence fueled by coffee)
It’s a day of indifferent clouds and sunshine, this Monday, June 3, 2024. Rain spits and dries. Temperatures fall and bounce. 76 F, thermometers declare, but a chiller feel hangs in the air. Today’s high temperature is at hand.
Spoke with Mom this morning. She related bureaucratic issues keeping her hospital bed from coming on. I depend on her for the info so I can only accept her explanation. According to the PCP’s nurse, aka John, everything has been forwarded to the company who will deliver the bed. But they claim something is missing and hold that the bed can’t be delivered until this unknown element is delivered. It all has Mom and I swearing and wondering.
She sounds good, spirited and energetic. She’s been cleaning, she said. So what will the hired help clean when she comes this Thursday? Mom declares, “I’m not going to pay her to come if there’s nothing here to clean.”
My sisters and I predicted this as a real possibility. Mom prides herself in a clean house. It’s a large part of her persona. Once the cleaner began coming, Mom rose up and began cleaning in anticipation of the cleaner’s arrival. She’d already said the cleaner wasn’t allowed to clean the kitchen because that’s Mom’s territory. Nor could the cleaner help with the laundry; Mom is very particular about how her clothes are washed and dried.
I think Mom is taking a narrow view of having a cleaner come in every week or two. Mom has rallied now but is that sustainable? When will she overdo her poor stenosis-plagued back and cause herself a new injection of pain and immobility? What if she falls – again – and hurts herself? Those are what-ifs, and pieces of logic. Mom’s issues with cleaning are emotional and psychological. Just one son’s opinion. I hope that these worries never see light.
Today’s song is “Green Tambourine” by The Lemon Pipers. The 1967 psychedelic pop hit is playing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried), and I don’t know why. Following the usual course, I interrogated The Neurons, but they closed ranks and shut down. Couldn’t even get a word out of them after plying them with coffee. Stupid little boogerheads.
Off to the coffee shop to let the muses play with words. Be strong, stay pos, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
We’ll discuss (almost) everything at Mom’s house (the off-limit topics are known by all even though they’ve never been discussed). So it was that we talked about toilet paper. Somehow I ended up telling Mom about the toilet paper caddy that hangs on the cistern’s side at my house so we always have another roll available.
“Doesn’t it get wet when you flush?” Mom asked.
“No.” I was puzzled.
She continued, “When you flush, water, particles, and germs go all over the place.”
“I know,” I answered. “Don’t you close the lid before you flush?”
“No,” she replied.
“Anyway,” I asked, “what’s that have to do with the toilet paper getting wet? With all that stuff flying around, I’d be more worried about what’s going into my mouth and nostrils or coating my skin.” I told her about an article I read about flushing toilets a few months ago and the plume effect. (I was researching, and one thing just led to another.) Those researchers concluded,
The particles primarily traveled upward and backward toward the wall behind the toilet, but some also moved chaotically in other directions. Once airborne, some particles traveled up to the ceiling, then spread out along the wall and into the room, the researchers noted.
Mood: weathebunctious (rambunctious because of the weather)
Greeting, fellow prisoners of Earth.
It’s Wednesday, the last day of January, 2024. Another sprinter day. Light sprinkles mist the window’s view. Temperature is holding at 54 F. Aiming for a high of 56 F, expecting a low of 42 F. It’s the wind which will have you talking.
Strong wind advisories are out. I mocked them a little when I heard the warnings, but these winds are striving to make me believe. A muted growl started above us just after midnight, descending as night fled before dawn’s pursuit. Now it sounds like we’re standing by a crowded Interstate where the continuous roar of semis and cars eat pavement at sixty plus MPH. Sometimes a wolfish howl leaps over the deeper octaves, or ghostly shrieks rise up to call for attention.
Papi wanted back out in this. He’s my ginger-furred feline adventurer. He must suffer from a short memory, because he doesn’t seem to recall bolting in with legs frantically churning to escape the wind noise just a few hours ago. Tucker, for comparison, stayed five feet back from the doors when I went out to check things.
Haven’t completed my taxes. Have only received SSA’s forms and my 1099R. All other 1099 type documents are just being released. Ridiculous. I used to have all that stuff by mid-month, have the taxes filled and done before January’s end. Bureaucratic crept is pushing it out further and further, a funny development when technology to import, export, add and subtract and exchange information is available, isn’t it?
Today’s theme music came as I walked through the garage last night to deposit the kitty litter findings into the trash can. “Need to clean and organize this place again,” I muttered to myself. “Again. Get rid of some of this. Make some changes.”
Click. The Neurons began “Changes” by Yes from 1984 in my head and it’s still in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today. “Changes” was part of the 1984 Yes album, 90125. I was stationed on Okinawa at the time, and my friends and I loved this album from the start. “Owner of a Lonely Heart” was the album’s number one song, and we so admired that beginning section of fuzzy rock guitars, drums, and a heavy bass note.
Pause to reflect, 1984 was forty years ago. Lots of memories and changes built into that period.
Also, there are a lot of songs named changes or about changes, The Neurons began reminding me.
Papi just knocked at the door for re-entry. He’s wearing a fresh coat of soaked fur. Wind has dropped, rain stopped, sun is drenching us in sunshine, but sullen inky clouds are lurking.
Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote. There’s my coffee (well, more coffee, TBH), and here’s the music. Oh, look, it’s raining again. No, wait, sunshine is back. No, no, it’s raining. And the wind is back.
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:
lights come on; program selected; door closed; WASHING displayed
pump runs to empty dishwasher
time passes, and the machine is quiet
WASHING display goes off; all lights go out
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’.
Michael Seidel, writer 