“Remoted” – Day 510 (Sunday)

Sunday, and June Cleaver visited again. The house was tidied up for a visit from Mom and StepDad and two loads of laundry were washed and dried done by 9:30 a.m. There is nothing as effective as company to motivate straightening of the house.

StepDad was checking out the toilet that keeps doing weird stuff like the tank not filling and/or running for what sounds like forever after a flush. It's an ongoing situation with recently increased frequency. In case a new toilet is needed soon, attention is being paid to Facebook ads for bathroom remodeling because a total remodel is the correct response to broken toilet, correct? It ended up needing only a minor adjustment to the blah blah blah not sure what the thing is.

There was coffee and conversation on the deck before the toilet check, and a phone call with an update to tug us back to grief and bereavement. There was lunch and another call, but overall it was nice for me to have company and for Mom to be out of her own house for a while, and especially, to have something else to focus on. 

After the visit, there was Prime Video screen time / quality time with Winston on the couch. At the general hour for dinner thoughts, the contents of the refrigerator were assessed which led to a pre-trash day cleanout. As the tub of soggy salad greens in my hand was poised to land in the trash can, there was a change of heart. No, not to eat the soggy greens. In an attempt to be a responsible trash patron, they were put into the garbage disposal instead.  

Whatever this is, it seems important.

There were a lot of greens, as the container had been tapped for only a couple pocket sandwiches before being forgotten about and beginning the transformation to a science experiment. The disposal ran and made a grinding noise reminiscent of the time the glass stopper fell in, got chewed, and jammed the unit. The soggy greens had not fully disappeared, so it was run again. The noise repeated and then it stopped working. Ceased operations. Done. But quiet.

A light was fetched to look into the abyss, and a weird metal pin that looked like an important piece of something was retrieved. While getting paper towels from under the sink to wipe the piece and the icky water on my hand, it was discovered there was water leaking from the disposal unit. Items from the cabinet were pulled out – dishwasher soap, watering can, and a plastic basket containing emergency candle, sponges and cleaning supplies – most of which were wet, including the glit (glue and s*hit) manufactured board that serves as the bottom of the cabinet.

The wipe up began. A call was made to Mom’s for guidance. Luckily, the leak only happens when the water is run from the faucet. And the cabinet is now wiped down, which is counting as a June Cleaver achievement, although it was likely a scheduled event in her perfect home. The temporary solution is a large bowl under the unit and not using the faucet until the cavalry arrives. The kitchen table, which was cleaned off and tidy for a whopping half-day, is now covered with all the under the sink stuff.

After supper, the lawn was tackled. It was known that the mower likely needed gas, but the task was begun anyway. After a crazy number of pulls the mower started, along with reminder of why my right shoulder hurts every 10 to 14 days. After three passes on too-tall grass that was dry on top and oddly wet closer to the ground, the mower stopped. Ceased operations. Knowing that a gas purchase was inevitable, Winston and I took a ride around the corner for mower power juice and to cool my heels so I didn’t kick it and risk breaking my foot.

The third time it stopped. So close.

After receiving more gas, the mower died twice more, the third time with just a small patch left in the back yard. So close. Once it was restarted, it was kept running for the trip down the driveway to the front yard. Each restart took double the number of usual pulls. It was frustrating. It was annoying. It was refreshing to have something else to focus on, a tangible thing to be pissed at, and good to feel a level of control. Disposal stopped and leaked? Make a call for advice and mop up the water. Grass too tall? Cut it. Mower out of gas? Get more. Mower stopped? Clean the fifty pounds of fresh wet grass from underneath and restart the thing.

In the same way that life delivered a couple kicks to the coochie, it also served up the blessing of distractions for a temporary reprieve from the sadness and despair. Silver linings happen.