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’.
Seems like Indian Summer is on its way here in Ashlandia, where the peaches were sweet and juices this year, and the cherries were no-shows. 64 F now, 82 is today’s high, but get ready; we’re heading into the upper nineties this week.
It’s Sunday, September 10, 2023
Technically, if one can say such a thing for an expression like Indian Summer, it can’t be Indian Summer now, as it’s September, and it’s still summer. According to the sages, Indian Summer happens in October or November, and at least after autumn commences. But they’re not sure about the phrase’s origins, and can only make educated guesses about it. Then, they applied those rules about when it is and isn’t.
Horrific news out of Morocco as the death count after the quake rose and rose. At least 2,000, were killed by the ‘strongest quake in 100 years’, and more were injured and displaced. In other news, someone is killing trees in a wealthy enclave around Sidney, Australia. Locals theorize that someone is doing it to improve their view of the water. Sadly, as one person mentions, property values are all about things like views. It seems totally possibly in this age, doesn’t it? And as another interviewee said, they’ll probably get away with it. Another grrr moment in life.
Playing with Whichbook.net, a tool designed to help you find your next read. I’ve never had a problem finding my next book to read. So many books at there waiting to be read, my problem is that I need to make more time to read them. But that then takes away time from other things. Terrible, ugly circle of time and things to do. But I checked out the tool because I was curious. Twenty-four attributes you can look for in a novel are listed. Things like, “Short, Long”, “Happy, Sad”, “Optimistic, Bleak”. You can select four. A slider feature lets you put greater emphasis on one side of the scale over the other. I suppose it can be useful if you’re really in a muddle about to read or at a lost because you’ve tired of a genre and you’re trying to find something different. It’s interesting that it doesn’t address genre or era.
Once again, The Neurons pried a song out of the vault and tossed it into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fishy) without giving any clues about their logic. In this case, the song began while doing various tasks at home under the general umbrella of housekeeping. Then the song started: “When I think of those East End lights, muggy nights, pink curtains drawn in the room downstairs.” Yes, it’s the 1975 Elton John song, “Someone Saved My Life Tonight”. Although other songs came and went for a while as I cleaned, this song arose in the MMMS this morning. It could just be that The Neurons started roaming through my mind as I worked, bored with what I was doing, and brought up this and those other old songs to alleviate the tedium. But why’d they put it back in the MMMS? Another question which I can’t answer.
Time to commence things, like drinking coffee. Stay pos, be cool, be strong. Here’s the music. Cheers
He did another little DIY project, replacing the diverter on a bathtub spout. Not difficult, and yet it solved a minor problem, and that felt satisfying.
After that, he wandered around the house, searching for other things to fix. Finding nothing (although some caulking could be in order), he instead culled their financial files, taking out and shredding years of information. It, too, was satisfying, but in a different way.
My wife and I were once again young and were living in a home with an enormous kitchen. Filled with hyper-modern stainless-steel appliances, it had blonde wood cabinets and a dark, brick red tile floor. I didn’t think that combo worked in the dream but shrugged it off. Besides those aspects and the appliances, I don’t think the room had any windows, but it did have two sinks, which impressed me although I wondered if two sinks were necessary, and a huge work island with a redwood top.
I actually spent the first dream segment admiring where I was, the newness of the appliances, the size of the kitchen, how modern everything was. The refrigerator especially impressed me. About eight feet tall, the combo refrigerator-freezer unit featured an interesting, complex set of controls on the side to control different interior sections to store different foods at different temperatures. Beyond that, I drifted to looking at the range and stove, microwave, and dish washer. Looking at the microwave led me to exclaim, “Look at all the things it can do,” but in the immediate aftermath of that, my wife said, “The refrigerator isn’t working.”
She said that with angry intensity and stormed around the kitchen, complaining about it, talking about shutting it off, calling repair people, etc. I returned, “Hold on, it has this complex control. There’s probably a self-diagnosis aspect to this.” As I began thumbing through the electronic menus, she then announced, “Now the microwave is broken.”
Going to her, I asked, “How is the microwave broken?” Instead of answering me, she began furiously cleaning the floor with a mop and rag. I tried talking with her, but she brooded and focused on cleaning. She surprised me by sliding the large island to one side to clean the floor beneath it. As the island had covered the floor, it looked spotless, which I pointed out. Answering, “It still needs cleaned,” she stormed away to get more cleaning supplies. Figuring that I wasn’t going to dissuade her from cleaning, I cleaned that floor section, and then moved the island again and cleaned the floor there.
In several ways, I deem this one of the strangest dreams I’ve recently experienced. It was literally like I was at work. My team were all there, working for me as in the early days of this century. Like that time, I was explaining some of the things I did and how it was done, instructing others to reduce mystery and increase illumination.
Nothing special. Then I was at home with my wife. I found three areas which were partially repaired. That is, the initial repairs were done, but they needed to be finished. All were regarding the walls where some damages had been inflicted. I called it out to her, asking, “What are we going to do about this? We can’t just leave this like this.”
Next, she and I were cleaning. She vacuumed the carpet with our Hoover upgright while I vacuumed the furniture with the central vac’s brush.
Then, I’d returned to work. It was a new location and I’d forgotten my coffee cup. Oh, no, I didn’t have a coffee cup! What shall I do? It was a joke with me and all my co-workers. I said, “Well, I’ll just use a foam cup (gasp, shudder), or paper, or borrow a cup, or buy a new one.” I set about doing that as a side project while greeting co-workers.
The biggest shock arrived. Lt/Capt Z, who I’d worked with for four years in the military in Germany arrived. He was completely as he was then, in his flight suit, sleeves rolled up. We each asked the other, “What’re you doing here?” We laughed and shook hands, happy to see one another.
Dream end.
I think this dream germinated with nostalgia, a sort of look back by my subconscious to more pleasant and predictable times. The wall repairs section with my wife was interesting. Looks like something is repaired but not finished. Although, the idea next that we’re, ‘cleaning up’ but going about it differently, was striking.
Michael Seidel, writer 