I just started my first load of clothes in my new washer and dryer. Nothing exciting about that, I know, laundry is laundry. But I've worked with my old one for twenty years, ever since my first washer was shot. Let me explain.
We had just put in new carpet leading down to the basement through our office and family room, and on into the laundry room. I was thrilled. My feet were cushioned and the kids would enjoy the family room so much more with this new luxury of comfort. I started the wash, whites, hot with bleach. We had three athletes and grimy socks were a constant issue at our house. With that done, I went back up my newly carpeted stairs and started supper.
An unusual banging and knocking came from downstairs and I rushed down to find steaming bleach water spreading across the laundry room floor, turning my light beige carpet to soapy white. By the time I turned everything off, gallons had spilled out. I didn't know which was hotter, my temper, my tears or the wash water.
One of my kids had gone for Dad and he barged down the stairs and stood cursing, repeating what I had already muttered. But I appreciated his enthusiasm to describe the nasty scene. We mopped the water, knowing the carpet was ruined, and upon further inspection a gasket or some such mechanical part had puked spraying motor fluid in a dozen directions after it was through with the water.
Being a farmer has many advantages and having a cart on wheels in the tool shed came in handy that day. My husband stopped the leaky oil stuff as best he could and I draped the stairs with towels which didn't work too well when hauling a heavy washer up from the depths of the basement, but it caught most of the drips. The kids cheerd when Daddy wheeled the ungangly beast out the door and pushed it out by the garage. I returned to the laundry room trying to make the best of a horrible day. My husband came stomping back down the stairs and went behind the laundry room where he stored seasonal stuff and came out with his 12 gauge shotgun.
Now my husband is well known for his Boy Scout tactics and overall great guy standing. But I followed him out the door. The kids stared at him and voluntarily stepped back as he approached the garage. He stood a moment, took aim, and ... Boom. Boom! Boom! He shot my washer.
For a week, folks from church, friends and family came to see the washer with the three bullet holes through it. So you see, I had grave concerns when this washer started galloping about, grinding and growling like an old dog woke from sleep. I'd learned to listen to these unsavory noises and recognized approaching death when I heard it. I visited Sears in a timely fashion.
I also made sure they would take away my old machines. No sense tempting fate. We just had the kitchen ceiling painted from when the washer had its first heart attack and water leaked through to our kitchen light.
So as my new washer and dryer say, Life is Good! The first load is finished with no fuss, no grinding either. I tip-toed up to my laundry room just to make sure everything was working. Yep! All is well! Clean clothes are ready and waiting for the dryer. This transformation is almost too easy. No tempers flaring, no ruined carpets, no hot water to hop through. No bullet holes, either.
Guess I'll go wash the whites. Hot, with bleach!
Til next time ~