- The cold water shutoff valve leading to the washing machine was calcified, ossified, petrified like a geologic cave formation. This is a chicken/egg problem. Did the shutoff become frozen when the washer cycle control went crackerdog and would only fill with hot water? Or did the cycle control go flopbot because the shutoff valve was frozen? Now mind you, the washing machine is about twenty years old, and the shutoff valve is probably forty. If I bought a new washer, I would still have to replace the shutoff valves. Plus, I had a walrus/washer problem. Were all my clothes shrinking because the washer always filled with hot water? Or was it that I was, ahem, outgrowing my clothes?So now I have very cute new matador shutoff valves. They look just like the matador in The Story of Ferdinand. I may rig my laundry room to play the overture to "Carmen" whenever I open the door, just like the restrooms at "La Madeleine" play French 101 lessons while you sit on the potty. [See visual aids A and B]
|A. Matador shutoff valves|
- All my drinking glasses come out of the dishwasher all spotty. There's not enough water pressure for the kitchen sink or the dishwasher. Sure, the dishwasher may have lingering issues from the Big Meltdown, but now everything under the sink is all pretty and the hoses don't look like macrame.
|B. Matador illustration, Lawson c1936|
- Then there's the darn rusty bathtub/air conditioner problem Of Which We Do Not Speak, except that if the plumber is already at my condo he might as well deal with EVERYTHING! Let's just say the plumber has fixed the problem and the air conditioner should not drain rusty water into my bathtub. I've cleaned the tub with Super Iron Out Rust Stain Remover. We will see...
So Wednesday was a day of $$$$ condo ownership fun. Friends took me to supper and a play last evening to cheer me up. Now I get why geezers go out to dinner at 4:45. If I am the youngest person at the table, none of us in the candlelit booth will have long enough arms to read the little print on the check to figure out the tip. And the play? A dripping blood-red very dark musical comedy written and performed by Matthew Posey in his home/theatre, Ochre House. The Dallas Observer reviewer called it "Sweeney Todd sandwiched between elements of Greek tragedy and the Muppets". [See C].
|C. "The Butcher" playbill|
As dark maroon as Wednesday was, Thursday was a cinnabar delight. Meet us at 10:30 the email suggested. Short notice. Long day of fun. Three old friends. My opera buddy. My blogging muse. My amazing, funny, stressed, generous, thoughtful muse! A tolerant La Madeleine restaurant staff wondering if/when we would ever leave. Shaky after many American coffee refills. [See strawberry rhubarb jam and Chinese chop, D-H visual aids].
|D. Chop and strawberry rhubarb jam.|
|E. Dad will love this jam!|
|F. A sense of honor and validation.|
|G. The gift of my chosen name.|
|H. It feels magical!|
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder