Tuesday, February 26, 2008


Twenty-three years ago, this month, I married my husband. He owned a home, but not a washer and dryer. Jerry thought his mother enjoyed doing his laundry. When we became engaged, she said, "Thank goodness, I'm so tired of doing Jerry's shirts!"

A month before we wed, I bought a washer and dryer and joked that it was my dowry.

Last week the washer broke. As he does with every purchase, Jerry researched washers to exhaustion, consulting Consumer Reports at night and questioning appliance salesmen on his lunch break. Where was I during this process? Writing.(Blissfully, I might add.)

Jerry decided to forgo all the bells and whistles after learning computer boards are very expensive when they break. However, he thought we should invest in a new dryer, too. "That way they'll match."

Since the laundry room is the only room that we haven't redone extensively, I could care less if we had an attractive washer and dryer. Our laundry room is no showplace. I actually discovered my vinyl flooring on the Home and Garden channel. It was a before shot. Frankly I spend as little time as possible in that room. I'd rather be writing.

Last night Jerry dragged me to the store to see the models he thought we should get. The salesman ran down all the pros--bleach and water softener dispensers, hot-cold wash options, etc.

I said, "Sounds great. Lets get them."

Apparently in February new models come in and old models are marked down. We couldn't believe our luck. Who would have thought our washing machine would go ker-plunk in the right month?

Today two men delivered the washing machine and dryer. I wondered how long that was going to take. Didn't they know I had a manuscript to work on? This would have been a day of rejoicing for my mom or grandmas. They would have been so happy when those brand new appliances were hooked up. They would have thrown in a load before the delivery truck pulled out of the driveway. They would have marveled at the heat sensor in the dryer.

After the men checked the vent in the wall, one said, "You might tell your husband to take a look at the vent from the roof. I think a bird might have built a nest up there."


"Yeah, there are some cracked eggs in the vent down here. Sometimes birds build nests up in the vent because it's nice and warm."

That was fascinating.

The men left. And I did, too, heading to the coffee shop with a new story weaving in my mind. It hasn't come together yet, something about a mother bird building a nest in an unlikely place. That's about all I know except that it doesn't have a bit to do with laundry.

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