The year's final blow came in the form of an exploding washing machine in the only part of the basement that hadn't already experienced some sort of outrageously messy water issue during the past several months.
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- There was less than 48 hours left in 2012 when the year managed to sneak in one last little jab. A sneaky little sucker punch.
Ha! Fuller let her guard down. Get her!
The year's final blow came in the form of an exploding washing machine in the only part of the basement that hadn't already experienced some sort of outrageously messy water issue during the past several months.
I couldn't really get mad about it because, well, this is going to sound stupid, but I kind of view the situation as divine intervention. It's hard to explain without potentially offending someone, but I have this odd relationship with God.
Basically, my God has a sense of humor and never fails to ensure that I'm provided with just enough adventure in my life to keep me flush with material to write about. At the same time, I see Him as something of a frustrated parent, one who glances down at my basement, sees that the mess has gotten thoroughly out of control, recognizes that I'm a little too comfortable with that mess, and takes gentle action to spur me forward.
I deserved the exploding washer. Nothing less would've gotten me to tackle that long neglected part of the basement.
Eighteen soggy 50-gallon trash bags later, I reached a state of giddiness that compelled me to take on the fruit cellar, even though it had stayed dry. I've never heard of anyone huffing Clorox, but the fumes I'd been breathing were clearly affecting my brain. From there I took on a wall of cabinets that hadn't been emptied (or likely even opened) for years.
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- There was less than 48 hours left in 2012 when the year managed to sneak in one last little jab. A sneaky little sucker punch.
Ha! Fuller let her guard down. Get her!
The year's final blow came in the form of an exploding washing machine in the only part of the basement that hadn't already experienced some sort of outrageously messy water issue during the past several months.
I couldn't really get mad about it because, well, this is going to sound stupid, but I kind of view the situation as divine intervention. It's hard to explain without potentially offending someone, but I have this odd relationship with God.
Basically, my God has a sense of humor and never fails to ensure that I'm provided with just enough adventure in my life to keep me flush with material to write about. At the same time, I see Him as something of a frustrated parent, one who glances down at my basement, sees that the mess has gotten thoroughly out of control, recognizes that I'm a little too comfortable with that mess, and takes gentle action to spur me forward.
I deserved the exploding washer. Nothing less would've gotten me to tackle that long neglected part of the basement.
Eighteen soggy 50-gallon trash bags later, I reached a state of giddiness that compelled me to take on the fruit cellar, even though it had stayed dry. I've never heard of anyone huffing Clorox, but the fumes I'd been breathing were clearly affecting my brain. From there I took on a wall of cabinets that hadn't been emptied (or likely even opened) for years.
By the time I was finished, the basement was looking almost sparse and the trash men were likely wishing I'd put a for-sale sign in the yard. But I was elated. The basement was clean!
The happiness lasted only until it occurred to me that I now had no way to wash clothes. Holding hands with that thought was the realization that in order to get a new washing machine in, I'd have to be able to get the old one out.
And the only way for that to happen was through the garage. Which was worlds messier than the basement had been.
A bit more divine intervention.
And a few dozen more trash bags.
I was lucky enough to have some wonderful friends, Cat and Dan Pleska, who not only gave me an extra washer they had, but delivered and installed it, so I'm back in business again.
Able to start off the new year unhampered by the final blow from the last.
Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@gmail.com.
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