Personal essays
On living many years beyond the warranty
The gift
My parents gave us a washer and dryer as a wedding present.
Maybe not the flashiest of presents, but one that we used week in and week out throughout our marriage and beyond.
Appliances these days seem to last five to ten years.
The washer moved with us from our house on 128th Street in Cleveland to this one.
It washed clothes, and sheets, and towels for thirty-two years.
This past week Maggie was home and did a wash and complained that there was some grease on one of her items after using the washer.
She asked if I’d noticed this.
I hadn’t. Well I had, but I hadn’t.
I saw something wrong with one of our old sheets a couple of weeks ago and assumed the sheet had just worn out somehow. It sits folded on top of the waste basket in my bedroom so we could compare the two items.
In retrospect, I’m an idiot. It was the same stain pattern that Maggie saw.
Shopping
So I did a web search and asked a couple of friends.
There were articles that recommended running the washer with bleach, or running it with baking soda followed by vinegar, or scrubbing down the insides.
Maggie ran the washer empty with baking soda and hot water. When it was done she felt the inside and said it felt greasy.
I then went down with a sponge and some Dawn. I figured it cleaned up oil spills in the Gulf of Mexico, it would work on our little problem. I ran the washer and it didn’t feel greasy.
So Maggie ran it with a test item and there was the grease again.
She reached under the agitator and felt grease there - we figured it was hopeless but she scrubbed at it, ran the washer with vinegar, and then tried again. There was the grease again.
We need a new washer.
Top-loader, front-loader, washer drier combo, … they’re all expensive and none of them will last thirty-two years.
Perspective
I suppose I’m only going to be in this house another five or ten years. I can leave the washer behind when I leave.
It won’t have any emotional attachment. It wasn’t a wedding present.
It’s just a washing machine.
It doesn’t need to be that big. I’m only washing for one these days.
The smaller washers seemed to cost more. They’re meant to be stacked with a dryer.
There’s some sort of a deal if I buy the matching dryer at the same time. But I don’t need a dryer. Not at the moment.
I’m sure that as soon as I get the new washer installed and the old one carted out of here, the dryer will glance at me and decide not to work again.
I’m not in the mood to replace the washing machine today. It’s the ninth anniversary of the accident that ended Kim’s life.
I probably shouldn’t be bothered by the washing machine coming to the end of its life.
It’s just a washing machine.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 282. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe