Appliance Shopping Addicts Anonymous

I’m Dave B. and I’m addicted to shopping for appliances.
It all started when I had to rescue our poor washer from the brink of destruction. Initially, I tentatively removed the back panel, with the help of the customer sales rep on the phone, spotted the problem and removed it. After I finished, I cleaned up, and set the washer to a fast cycle. Then, I sat down in front of it, and watched it for the next thirty minutes to make sure that the crisis was really averted.
Over the next few years, and a move from the old house to our current one, I had to fix it several more times. Sometimes I would find that it was blocked with a new fangled washer sheet, (the kind that could ride through both washer and dryer,) sometimes it was pens, pencils or guitar picks. Always, I pulled coins from the drain mechanism, totaling $16.23 American, several English shillings, and one Canadian quarter. Each time, I repeated my first action: cleanup, set a quick cycle and observe.
But the last time, it became very obvious to me that the problem was not solved. After a daunting time finding a washer repairman, and a very long wait on the phone for an actual human sales rep, I enquired about the part I needed.
“All together with shipping, you’re looking at $250.00,” he said. “That doesn’t include the service charge of $70 just for coming out, plus an hourly rate of $50, and he may have to come back out once or twice more to continue to tune it.” Wow! What a racket!
In the meantime, we were having to use Micki’s moms machine, and with our many laundry needs, we didn’t want to keep inconveniencing her. It was obvious that we needed to shop for a new washer.
“I’ll do some research,” I said.
A week and many hours of study later, I came up with the perfect washer for our family’s needs in our price range, with fantastic warranties and on special at our local hardware superstore.
The process of weeding through the myriad products that were inappropriate, junky, too expensive or just too fancy for our humble albeit heavy-duty laundry requirements was thrilling for me. I savored each review, read online manual downloads and physically checked the floor models at the store. Finally, when I was completely satisfied that I knew the exact model for our family, I waved down a sales associate, and made the purchase.
An interminable week later, our new washer arrived, and it has served our family well.
Then the vacuum cleaner broke.
I try to get a whole house cleaning in once a week. However, our schedules don’t always provide for it, and once the weather warms and the grass starts growing it becomes necessary to focus on outdoor maintenance too. So, with a broken vacuum, and the prospect of a rapidly growing lawn, we began to borrow Micki’s moms Dyson ‘Ball’.
It’s a nice vacuum, to be sure, but the more I used it, the more I was sure, when the time came, I didn’t want one.
With the house filled with soon-to-be summering teenagers, and lots of foot traffic from our dogs, it was time to buy our own. Knowing my fondness for the process of shopping, Micki sent me to the store to pick out a new vacuum.
Our youngest joined me. It would be good for him to see the process and he has always been a great shopping assistant.
The vacuum aisle was thick with floor models. Heavy duty ‘pet home’ versions, slight and sleek ‘micro sweepers’ (these the fourteen-year-old loved,) and the Dysons.
We didn’t want to spend more than $300 for a vacuum, which left out all of the Dyson products, but as I looked at each cleaner I began to fear that there would be no choice but to give in and purchase one.
Every product was now copying certain aspects of the Dyson technology, and yet, each seemed shabby and thin. All were made of light, cheap plastic or didn’t have enough attachments, or too many.
Much later, we had gone down the entire line twice, carefully avoiding the fancy Dysons and trying to come up with something decent that would last us more than a year.
While we waited for a sales associate, I looked at the forbidden and expensive Dyson vacuums. Even these seems to be made of chintzy plastic. And, though I had racked up many hours on a borrowed one, the available models were either too big, or not big enough for our needs not to mention exorbitantly priced.
My shoulders felt tetchy and tight, as though they were ready for me to throw my arms up in frustration and surrender.
I looked toward our boy, who was clearly enjoying the super sleek ‘vacuumatic’ with laser air ionizer and built in universal tv remote, when my eye fell upon a model I had completely overlooked.
Glimmering in silver and green, the Electrolux models were expensive, certainly, but wow! The green machine was lightweight and had: agile maneuverability, an eighteen-foot extension tube ‘for those hard to reach areas,’ several very handy attachments, including a special accessory designed to remove pet hair and dander from couches and chairs and it was in stock!
I was sold. It was right at the limit of our price range, but there was nothing for it. My rationality was simple: we could buy the cheap-o-matic with pet odor controlling tube suctioning device and use it happily for six to eight months before it broke or burned out or we could spend a bit more on a heavy-duty model, and with some forethought and care, have it around for the next ten years.
When the disheveled sales associate finally managed to break away from the other customers to check on us, I pointed at the model I wanted, and he brought it down for me.
All told, we spent nearly an hour shopping for a vacuum, but it works beautifully and will be helping clean the house for the next decade or longer.
In the meantime, I can’t help wondering when the dryer will break.

Even More Unrelated Thoughts.

Once again, I’m actually aswarm with ideas for the blog, but cannot think of one that seems more important than the others. So here they all are. Enjoy!

Art: I have started to paint. Something about the mindset that I can get into when drawing or painting at some level seems recuperative. I find that I can deal with stress better, sleep better and in general, feel at peace with things after I’ve finished. I’m not exactly sure what my style is, though. I’m still trying to identify that.
While practicing for her presentation for work, Micki mentioned that she expected me to be painting ‘pretty’ things, and not just doing weird swirlies. I, too, want to paint pretty things, but at that moment, I was really trying to get a feel for the different colors and trying to get acquainted with the media. However, while I was fiddling, and she was reciting, I found that I actually took in most of what she was saying, and it made perfect sense. Kudos to her for a really great presentation, but I also think that the painting, even if it was just ‘playing’ helped me to concentrate and remember what she presented. I guess that explains why many of my school notebooks are chock full of doodles.
In the meantime, check out my friend’s art, and purchase a print. He’s quite the artist. http://www.redbubble.com/people/modonnellart

Faith: I was always taught, and have always believed that your faith is between you and your god. I’ve always hoped that any activity that I undertook as a service to my own faith would not be misinterpreted as an assumption that others didn’t have faith. I also do not uphold  the flawed concept that another’s faith isn’t as good as mine. God is revealed in many ways, and its small-minded of me to assume that it would be the same revealing for me as for someone else. It would be even more incredibly small-minded to assume that my experience is better or more correct.
I’m deeply offended by other people’s need to evangelize to me. I really cannot bring myself to care what anyone thinks about me, or my faith. I know that this may sound equally offensive, but it’s not anyone’s business. In our family, we discuss faith, but we never condemn it. If you believe in Odin and Thor, I’m happy that you have found something that works for you. If Buddhism is your foundation, then I am very glad and hope you are on the path to enlightenment. If you are an atheist, I commend you for having a philosophy that works for you. If you’re Muslim, I hope that Allah will bless you.
Accepting another’s faith  doesn’t mean that I believe in all of these different gods, mind you. It simply means that I realize that my experience is no more or less valid than yours, and I can feel joy in knowing that you are searching for your fulfillment within your faith as am I.

Tiny Ears:  Yes, I have incredibly small ears. And I spend a great deal of time with earbuds in them. When my favorite pair of very expensive skullcandy went on the fritz, I tried to replace them. Unfortunately no store in our area carried that brand anymore. So, I had to embark on the scary thrill ride of starting again.
Let me be clear. Regular earbuds that come with an iPod or other mp3 player, actually cause me physical pain. I cannot wear them in my head for long, because they hurt.  Since I cannot maintain a snug fit, due to discomfort, they pop out continuously. Not to mention the poor sound from being improperly placed.
My previous pair were perfect, because they had little rubber bushings which fit seamlessly into my ears, and which created a lovely sound. They also stayed in.
My latest set, when I found them, were about one-third the price and had not one set but three sets of different sized bushings. This excited me! Of course the medium sized ones fit, and so I left those on, and once again enjoyed the enclosed world of earbuds.
Then tragedy struck. While mowing the grass the cord got hung in the mower’s handle and the buds were ripped out of my ears. I was worried that I had destroyed my precious skullcandy. What I found was that one of the bushings had fallen into the grass and was gone forever.
So, I went and switched to the larger set. I should have known. They popped out continuously. If I was chewing gum; forget it. So I tried the small sized ones. What a fit! What sound! And they don’t fall out. Ever.
Yes, there is hope for the tiny-eared people of this world who enjoy music and audiobooks via earbuds. And I have found it.

Writing Short Stories: I was offered a chance to write a short ‘scary’ story for the fall edition of our local newspaper’s magazine. Believe me, I said yes. I knew exactly what I would write about, and I even managed to get a local photographer to agree to let me use one of his photos for it.
I mean, how cool is this? My heroes, Lovecraft, Poe and Bradbury all started out this way.
I set about writing my first draft. Checking the word count, I noticed that I was way over my 800-1000 word limit. I hadn’t even really finished the story yet.
So I began a rewrite. This version had less exposition and focused more on the events that I knew were scary. I read it to my wife the published author and syndicated columnist. I trust her opinion implicitly, and after all, she’s had much more experience at this sort of thing than me.
‘It’s got no plot, honey,’ she said, lovingly. ‘Nothing happens.’
I stammered out an excuse, but upon rereading it, knew she was right.
No plot. Good grief!
How exactly could I have left out a key ingredient such as the plot? Okay, if the setting was vague, or if the characters weren’t believable, I could understand. But how did I leave out the single most important part of a good scary short story?
Now, I must rewrite the story, and this time focus on the plot. It must be developed and include a climax and revelation. And I have to do it in 800-1000 words. And it’s due in June.
Well, at least I don’t have a word limit in this blog!

My History with Dogs Makes Me a Big Softy.

If you have been keeping up with Micki’s newest blog, Navigating Hectivity you know that we rescued a dog last week. I was not thrilled about it, because we already have three dogs in our family, two cats, one college student home for the summer and regular visits from our friends or friends of our boys as well. Also, we typically get light-headed looking at our current vet and pet medicine bills. One more dog would only add to that expense. I was very much against it. Going out to the porch to await the delivery of this creature, I was mad as a hornet in a hail storm.  
When they opened the cage, and I saw the poor thing, I must admit that just carrying that pitiful, shaking, starving little dog into our house, I also knew that we would be keeping her. My defenses were gone. I wasn’t angry at all anymore and I even checked on her throughout the night.
I have to admit that, regardless of what front I try to put up, I’m a bit of a softy when it comes to our four legged friends.
Well, when it comes to any animal, really.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve swerved to miss a squirrel, or slowed for a crow partaking of a meal care of the previous driver who didn’t swerve to miss a squirrel.
In fact, we have a bit of a reputation among the stray animals in our neighborhood, since our latest feline friend actually followed Micki and our son home after Trick-or-Treating at Halloween. (That’s why we named him Hal.)
I suspect that the squirrels tell the crows who broadcast it around the local community that any stray dogs or cats can find some human friends at our address willing to feed and provide shelter and a much needed snuggle. I’m just grateful that most dogs and cats don’t speak crow.
Since I was a very little person, dogs have been in my life. Honeygirl, my brother’s wire-hair terrier, was on the scene when they brought me home from the hospital. Ginger, my uncle’s Collie and German Shepherd mix, was our guide and safety when he brought us on our first hikes into the woods.
When we moved to my step-father’s house when I was five, he had three dogs. Heike (pronounced hikuh), Gretel and Schatzie. Heike and Gretel were Doberman Pinschers and were mother and daughter. Somewhat vicious, they seemed to get a mutual laugh out of plowing into a human pup at high speeds, knocking my feet out from under me, or circling me in opposite directions and waiting for me to try to make a break for it. Then, if I could get away, they would make chase, tackle me and lay on me.
Schatzie was a tiny dachshund who was blind, deaf and slightly mad. Honeygirl, who was as much a newcomer to that house as I was, seemed to like the company of that little crazy dog.
I still remember how crushed I was when Honeygirl, an old lady of fifteen had to be put to sleep. Ginger, my uncle’s dog, didn’t last much longer. Heike and Gretel were around but Heike was old too, and was gone by the time I was seven or eight. Gretel was hit by a car. Schatzie died in her sleep after a long stint barking at an old boot.
Head spinning and heartbroken, their losses made a big impression on me, and I will never forget them.
Not long after that, in an attempt to assuage everyone’s grief at the sudden doglessness of our house, mom and step-dad came home with Heike 2. She was the best Doberman there ever was. Loyal, steadfast and constantly on guard, she followed me everywhere.
Let it be known that Dobermans aren’t very sharp. I once read a description of their temperament which suggested that they were fiercely loyal and terrific guardians, but little else was to be expected beyond that. They have a slightly ‘dippy’ personality. Nevertheless, we got on like best friends, and she and I spent long years playing, running and barking at cows. (It’s a guilty pleasure. You should try it.)
As the years went on we rotated through pets. When Heike 2 got sick, we never replaced her, but my uncle’s dog and that of my step-brothers, were always there. Later, when I was forced to move in with my dad and stepmother, my step-sister’s dogs and cats were my companions.
When I moved out into the world, my landlady’s dogs became my friends.
Only a short time after we got married, we found a tiny puppy who clung to Micki’s arm at the pet store. She was hooked, and so was I. Jack came home with us. Our long stint as dog-people (and multiple pet people), was just beginning.
Unfortunately, Jack had some issues. We are not sure exactly what happened, but he would become suddenly violent. He snapped at our oldest boy, who was minding his own business on the livingroom floor, drinking chocolate milk. A moment later, the chocolate milk was in the dog box, and a fierce low growl made everyone’s hackles stand up. He began biting, snapping and attacking us. One moment he was fine, lovable and playful. The next he was snarling and growling. He was not well, poor chap, and we were not able to help him. My boys will probably never forgive me for taking him to someone who we hoped could help, and coming home without him. I’ll never forgive myself either.
Soon enough, however, we had the most amazing dog ever. Our pain over Jack was quickly healed when Trixie came into our lives. Micki met her at a fundraising walk, and we were soon making room for our new girl.
Trained, well mannered and smart, Trixie taught the cats to ‘ring the bell’ hung on the door when they wanted to go out. She would guard the boys as they played ball in the cul-de-sac, and would even ‘go deep’ for the occasional fly balls. Whereas Jack had been a constant escape threat, Trixie accidentally got out of our back yard one day, and stayed right by the gate until we got home from work.
Ever since then, she’s been training and monitoring our cats, keeping tabs on our boys and their friends, and training (or trying to train) our more recent dogs. She knows at least sixty verbal commands, several non-verbal, and quite a few hand signals. She is loyal, trustworthy, affectionate, protective and too smart for her own good sometimes.
Kobe, our pug, who is a rather big handful, has been her biggest challenge and also our biggest hint at her intelligence. She actually figured out that the best way to train the young pug was to set a good example for him. He actually caught on. He can sit, lay down and is a good guardian too.
Annie, our newest girl is still recovering from her homelessness. She likes to keep a low profile, and spends a lot of time snoozing close to one or the other of us. The cats like her (and by this time are used to us rescuing pitiful creatures) and Trixie is glad for a companion a little less youthful than Kobe, to lounge around with. Annie fits right in.
I guess when it comes to dogs, (cats, crows, birds, squirrels, mice, chipmunks, rabbits, etc.) we are all big softies.

Lessons in Preparation and Face Painting

My wife had a very cool idea a few weeks ago. For the upcoming art festival in the park downtown, we would set up a table for her to sign and sell her books, and I would have a separate table where I would keep the lemonade and butter cookies flowing and paint faces.
I was excited.
Her books draw quite a crowd, and since parents would no doubt be bringing their children to enjoy the free bouncy castles nearby, I knew our little ‘booth’ would have some good traffic.
Initially, our plan was to go to the store for everything we would need,  the Friday evening before. That way, all we had to do was load and go on Saturday morning.
Friday, midday, we were informed by a friend that he had made reservations for a small group of us for ‘First Friday’, a local tradition where artists and artisans show their wares each month. We would have dinner, and then roam the streets enjoying the art.
Our evening was fun, but we had both agreed that we would have to truncate it, since we still needed to get all the supplies and get plenty of rest for the next day.
As usual, we both lost track of the time as we laughed and strolled and looked longingly at art that we would never be able to afford, but which we tried to imagine in our living room. Soon, it was past midnight, and we were enjoying an appetizer at one of our favorite pubs.
When we were finally able to pull ourselves away from the conversation, the laughter and the company, it was quite late.
On the way home, neither of us had the energy to shop for what we needed. So, we promised ourselves we would rise early, load up and head to the store for all our supplies.
Stumbling groggily through our local super store, at seven in the morning, with much less than eight hours of sleep, looking for face paints, one does not typically make good decisions.
I have never painted faces before. I had asked some artist friends what kind of paint they would use for face painting, and so on their advice, I looked for tempera or acrylic paints.
The super store had several different kinds of paints in their craft aisle, but the tempera paints were in giant jugs, at four dollars each, and there was no acrylic.
So I went with the package that said ‘Face Painting Kit’. Included in it were a series of primary and secondary colors, a few brushes, some glitter, self sticking jewels and some stencils. I was very relieved. I got a pack of extra brushes, and went off to meet up at the checkout lane.
When we finally arrived,  we were quite pleased with where our booth would be located.
Our neighbors on either side were busy setting up, and so we hauled tent and tables, cooler and cookies and began to set up as well.
The tent proved to be a challenge,  because tent raising with little sleep and no coffee proves to be a bit more problem solving than I’m able to muster. A potter friend of ours from across the way, and one of our booth neighbors helped me to figure it out quickly, though.
Next, we set up the tables, set out the cookies and the lemonade and painting supplies on my table, and the books and signing gear on her table. Finally,  we were all set to begin. With some time left before the event was set to begin I headed over to the nearby cafe’ to get some breakfast and much needed coffee.
Slowly sipping the coffee, and munching away at my breakfast, I began to examine my new paints.
Nervousness set in when I opened the first jar to see that it was more the consistency of pudding than paint. Panicking, I tried mixing the colors with a little bit of water, to loosen them up a bit, as our first customer of the day came by.
She wanted a butterfly. A monarch butterfly. Using the lids of these so-called face paints, I mixed a little water and paint pudding together, and tried to make the best of it.
Everyone oohed and ahhed when I was through, but they were being polite for the little girl’s sake. Butterflies aren’t difficult, of course, but the paint wasn’t cooperating. It was not covering right, not seeming to dry, but going on in clumps and globs, and I was fearing the rest of the day with my bad choice sitting squarely on the cheeks of children throughout that sunny park.
A few moments later the older sister of the first little girl came over and asked for a pig. I did the best pig face I could do, and added a green bow.
The ridiculous paint didn’t go on well, but the outline was enough to get the jist of ‘pigness’.
Micki told me to draw up two or three pictures and to tell folks that they could choose from those.
I did do a few requests for some of the boys that came by, namely a Batman symbol, a Spiderman spider and a bow and arrow. Otherwise I kept to the butterfly (which was really just a black outline and a series of multicolored dots) and a likeness of Thurston T. Turtle that I copied from the books.
Many hours and many butterflies and turtles later, it seemed that I had painted the face of every single child in town. But, news was spreading rapidly, and as I painted, parents perused the booth, looked at and purchased the books, snacked on butter cookies and lemonade, and apparently had a great time.
When it was evident that the weather was not going cooperate anymore, we packed up and headed home. Exhausted from our outing the night before, and a full day, we unpacked the van, and collapsed on the bed to fall deep into much needed sleep.
All in all it was a great day, and I had fun, once I was able to get over my poor media choice. In the meantime, I have had several people ask me to do some face painting for their booths as well. Right now, I think painting in conjunction with lemonade and cookies and books about Mr. Turtle is all I will agree to.
And next year, we will go shopping much earlier, and not stay out so late the night before.

North Carolina Seasons

One of my favorite things about living here in North Carolina is the weather. A colleague was telling me lately that it was difficult to get used to the seasons here, since they didn’t seem to obey the same rules as in other places, namely up North. A few days ago, the temperature struggled to get out of the sixties. The next day, it was warm and toasty outside, nearing the mid-eighties.
To be sure, spring has sprung in our neck of the woods. For the most part all the flowers have bloomed and the leaves are darkening to a rich deep green. The smell of freshly cut grass is all around. I have to admit that the weather has been exquisite, even for a North Carolina Spring.
Typically, over the last few years we have had more pronounced heat-ups come the Spring months. Certainly, over the past few years we’ve had some strangely potent winters, so the contrast seemed more pronounced.
This past winter however, was calm and unproductive. We had one snow late in the season, and it didn’t last much more than a few days.
Those of us who pull for snow and wintry weather kept warning others threateningly “We will still see a good cold snap”. I hoped, anyway.
Soon enough it was time to get working on the garden and so, we planted our green treasures in the reddish compost infused earth. To our continuing surprise and delight, we had vegetables sprouting in just a few short weeks.
Of course, we were probably premature. A few wintry blasts of frosty weather came on after we were through planting, and so we were required to prepare for the onset of frost as we crossed our fingers and hoped that our precious garden would go unscathed.
Read Micki’s article on our preparation here: http://arkansasnews.com/2012/04/14/no-jack-your-not-welcome-to-visit-in-april/
Now, it seems fairly clear, as we enter into May that we have seen the end of extreme chilly weather, and we will continue to heat up to the intense Southern Summer we have all got to get used to, if we do not exactly prefer it.
Summer is coming. This last weekend, I found myself sweating just trimming around some trees and corners with a little garden scissors. Beads of perspiration glistened on my forehead as I brought in this week’s groceries. A tinge of burning on my neck and face prompted me to put on my straw hat, while I weeded in the garden.
I have no problem with summer. It’s beautiful here during that season. But soon, unavoidably, we will be doused with thick humid days and breezeless nights. A storm everyday around 3 O’clock will just make everything that much hotter and stickier. Sidewalks and driveways will burn right through thin summer footwear and a haze will hang over everything.
As we enter July, the days will be so long that the instant we wake up, the heat will be noticeable. The house utility bills will note the sharp increase in electric and water, as we try to keep the inside of the house cool enough for comfort, and the plants outside (including the grass) moist and green.
We will no doubt see several weeks with no rain and this has been a common occurrence over the last decade. We will be discouraged from excess water usage as we have in the past years, and finally, when we have had as much of the burn and bake of summer as we can stand, It will get really hot.
Nighttime temps will not drop out of the eighties. Daytime temps will bottom out at the one-hundred mark. Vast droves of vacationers will perform their exodus from sun-blistered suburbia to the baking sands of our coasts. Public swimming pools will be so filled with bathers that an individual with good balance could walk from one side of the pool to the other on the heads and shoulders of swimmers, just like Michael J. “Crocodile” Dundee in the New York Subway.
Sometime in mid-September, though, we will begin to feel a change.
I’ve tried very hard to locate the exact time that it happens every year, and although it mostly never meets up with the calendar beginning of Autumn, it does happen within a four-week envelope of time.
One afternoon, the sun will be low in the sky, and the shadows will seem longer. The bright pristine-white blaze of the summer sun will give over to a golden glow. Twilight will last just a whisper longer, and the evening air will fill and thrill to the sounds of crickets chorusing.
The tiny spiders who have made the front door home, will be huge and fat with flies and mosquitoes.
Noticeably cooler evenings and nights, with temps plummeting back into the low sixties will make sitting out late on the patio or porch a supreme delight.
A few storms will come back then, and the rain gauges will fill, either with the tempest brought on by cold fronts coming across the land, or from the rain bands from a tropical storm that wandered too close to the coasts.
Soon, in that golden light, you’ll notice a tinge of color in the trees, the sky will return to its crystal blue color, and the afternoon will deliver twilight sooner and sooner, until the night sky is blanketing us with the star woven darkness. Leaves will fall, gardens will give up their last harvest, and children will go to school with a coat and a hat and a scarf.
Winter will almost imperceptibly lay her icy hand on the land, and we will once again be laden with cold and the silvery light of the short days, and the holiday cheer and cozy fires of the long nights.
Oddly, I find myself nostalgic for those cool temperatures now, as we warm up to delve wholeheartedly into Summer’s heat. I will deal with the heat, stay inside during the burning parts of the day, and endeavor to keep our plants watered. Just like every other year, time will slide by quickly, and it will be Christmas again before I get my bearings. I don’t want to rush those months by too fast.
Certainly the North Carolina Seasons will help to distract me from the speed at which time flies, with their beauty and gorgeous displays. And maybe, just maybe we will have a mild Summer too? Well, I can hope can’t I?