Sweet Things

Recently, something transpired in our household that reminded me of the old days, when our daughters were smaller.

Our washer broke--started leaking water onto the floor--but that's not the "sweet thing" referenced in the title.

My husband announced that our girls, 22 and 24, were going to take the machine apart and fix it. Now, over the years, thanks to my husband's announcements, one or both of the girls have learned some skills I never acquired, or didn't until much later: driving a manual ATV, changing a tire, cleaning a plugged drain. Even shooting a gun and hunting. But the washing machine was the biggest project yet, and the task was to be done in my husband's absence. This idea for sisterly bonding was from a guy born with a screwdriver in his hand, and the girls didn't think they'd be quite as effective at ripping into a machine and comprehending how it worked just by peering into its bowels, but they would give it a go. We all need clean clothes.

I enjoyed witnessing the action without having to participate. Just like the old days, I came out to survey their progress occasionally and laugh at them. There's something about these young people wielding tools, wandering around, discussing possibilities, and being forced into serious industry for long stretches of time that I find amusing. It brought to mind an old scene of me standing on the back deck as they bent to the task of picking up rocks in the yard while I snickered all too loudly from my comfortable vantage point.

First, the girls and their dad had to wrestle the washer out into the garage. Then, when left to themselves, our daughters worked on dismantling it so they could get to the tub. The problem, so the theory went, was a broken seal, and one of the girls had already found the product booklet and ordered the part. Often when I cracked the garage door to check in on them, I'd see my younger daughter bent down and occupied with something, while my older daughter leaned against the machine to hold something up, presumably. "Annika's doing most of the work and doesn't seem to mind," my eldest said. Other times, the girls were rummaging for a tool. "Nothing's going to get the back of this thing off, and we've looked and looked. Dad has metric mixed up with standard, and we can't find the part."

It was one of those projects where you don't really know what you're getting into when you elect to start it. Prying off the back, which my husband managed to do later with a crowbar, was just the beginning. It turned out that sixteen years of hard use can make a washing machine gunky inside. Whatever else went into taking the machine apart, I can't describe, as I was blissfully working at the computer upstairs. And there was the diagnosis: after testing with water, a crack in the tub was discovered. Then an exciting few minutes when Annika thought we were making a trip to Lowe's to pick out a new machine, and they would be able to skip the step of cleaning the buildup both around and in the tub. Alas, after some thought, my husband decided he could patch the thing. So getting rid of the gunk had to commence.

Just when you think you're seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is when you have the most serious work to do. The longest part of the process was putting the machine back together after my husband got the tub patched and let it dry. The girls were sequestered in the garage for hours one afternoon. It was quiet, so of course I had to go inspect their work and see how they were getting along. My older daughter, as usual, was the gopher and brace, while Annika did the re-assembly, if you could call it that. The process for them was more like putting together a puzzle, seeing what fit where and how it went together. Then finally, they finished and I hoped to get a load of towels washed soon.

But first, my husband had to look over their work. "Hmm," he said. "They're not really technical. That's okay, not everyone is." Then, "This is going to have to be done a different way, and this" (indicating an item in a box with several leftover parts) "is going to have to be put back in."

Eventually, with more fiddling and all three of them together in the garage, the machine was ready. They hauled it back into place and tested it by washing the rag towels and clothes they had used to sop up the water that had spilled on the garage floor during their efforts. And today, after removing the clean rags and wiping off the garage dirt from the inside of the tub, I enjoyed the privilege of washing my load of towels and washcloths. It worked just fine. I don't know about the washing machine, but I'm ready for another sixteen years.