ANOTHER (NEARLY) DEAD APPLIANCE

The above photo is an elephant made of dryer lint. I could have had a herd. 

My dryer was filled with dryer lint. Today I explored the dark interiors of my clothes dryer. About three weeks ago, just before the grand baby made her appearance, the dryer let out a squall like a hell-spawn beast. Scared the dogs. It hasn't made that noise again, but it has continued to make a rhythmic clacking sound that I think is in sync with the rotation of the dryer drum. 

As I know nothing about the anatomy of a dryer, it is as good an assessment as any other. Better than most.  And so, just as I was beginning to have a productive day, I was sidetracked by this friendly repairman (obviously being paid by the hour) who sadly let me know that the blanket of dryer lint on the bottom of my dryer was a fire hazard. No doubt he was right. But how would anyone know it was there?

As gray as that elephant up there. About two inches think. Fluffy. And there was a dime and a penny and a toothpick. And every other surface inside the dryer had a layer of lint. When it was all over, the repairman's cap also was linty. 

A vacuum cleaner works wonders, and this is a particularly satisfying kind of cleaning because it requires no scrubbing. Just sucking and instant results. The experience was only marred by this repairman muttering again and again..."fire hazard..." Yeah, I know.

Now to the heart of the problem. My rollers are not rolling properly. And they were linty. Sad, that. I suppose I could have predicted that my rollers were no longer what they might be, what they were when the dryer was new. 

My friends of a more ecological bent will say something about missing the days when sheets were hung outside on the line to dry. Might I point out...always by the woman of the house. Always a tedious job, the slapping in your face by the wet laundry. Shut up with the nostalgia. I do not miss sun-dried sheets. I always thought they smelled funny, and I still do. 

My new best friend, the linty repairman, will be back next week with new rollers for my drum. I am relieved. 

Upon Being A Grandmother

Upon Being A Grandmother

           

I am now three weeks into this, and I have discovered a new talent. I am a superb grandmother. I can capture her attention. I can feed her and burp her and calm her. I can make her quilts and go shopping. And then go shopping some more.

And take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

Kingsley Ella is a darling. She really is. Even by objective standards. Certainly the fact that she is my grandchild makes my opinion somewhat suspect, but you can rank this baby up against lots and lots of other babies and she’ll still place at the top. I am very proud of this.

I have big plans for Kingsley. Think of that last scene of “Auntie Mame” starring Rosalind Russell. I intend to be her Auntie Mame grandma. Oh yes, I will teach her “What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor” and “Do Your Ears Hang Low”…both of my sons loved those songs.

We will go to museums and look at art. We will go to historical houses and costume exhibits. And zoos…even though to me they still look like animal prisons I will try to overlook that because all children love animals and should see them.

I will get over my aversion to aquariums (aquaria?) and go anyway…even to Sea World if I must. And we will go to all things Disney, but I insist on it being December or January.

And road trips. My boys loved road trips and so did/do I. Nothing better…except for that stretch between Tyler and Austin, Texas, which I swear is the longest four hours in the world. Four hours doing anything else is easier. That drive is dreadful and gets worse each time…but I see many, many trips to Austin in my future.

All for Kingsley.

Over the weekend, we continued to discover that this girl loves music. We have already discovered she loves Mozart. Now we learn (because of her smitten grandpa, Kenny) that she loves Leon Redbone. This opens up a new world. Willie Nelson “Stardust” is next, for sure. I am also thinking George Gershwin. We may need to wait on my favorite, “Sing, Sing, Sing” by Benny Goodman (which everyone knows may be a perfect composition).

I am looking forward to watching “Rio Bravo” with her. How early is too early for John Wayne?

Ah, Kingsley, we have such mountains to climb!

THE BLOG YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING Upon Becoming a Grandmother, part deux

THE BLOG YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING

Upon Becoming a Grandmother, part deux

Oh dear, you will say, ME…a GRANDMOTHER?  This is impossible at 27. Yes, I know. I find it hard to fathom, myself. Every woman will say this same thing.

I look in the mirror and am surprised to see who looks back at me. Who is this? Where did she come from? I’m not sure I like her. She looks grumpy. She seems to have unfinished business.

Ah…that’s it! That’s what is wrong with this grandmother thing. I have things left undone that are inconsistent with being a grandmother.

I still plan to be an international woman of mystery. Sleek, feral, able to wear pointed shoes, gliding through the darkness doing questionable things. This woman will crush your nuts to make a topping for her perfectly cooked snails, eaten with a tiny fork. Never without her sunglasses, she never squints, nor does she ever need a laxative.

Her eggs are eternally fresh. Society can tell when a female has young eggs. There is something in our wiring that craves female youth. As you get older, you get less desirable. Sorry, but that’s the truth. No creams or surgery will make up for the fact that your eggs are getting old. And when they pass the ‘use by’ date, well, that’s it for you.

The point is that grandmother-hood officially crosses you over that great divide into The Land Of Females With Really Old Eggs.

Ah, but this is a land of freedom, my friends.

That thousand pound rock you’ve had over your head for the past forty years disappears. You can do whatever you want.

You can paint watercolors and keep the ones you like and throw the rest away.

You can volunteer to help animals. You can appear in court to help children who find themselves without many friends.

You can talk to your neighbors and reestablish friendships you dropped because you got busy thirty years ago.

And you can be a grandmother. Even if you are an international woman of mystery who is only 27. Who will crush your nuts.