One Thing After Another

Late in the afternoon, the house filled with a terrible burning smell, like electrical wires were melting. You know, that acid, metal smell. Our first thought was that it was the open fire, it had been burning since I got up. We sniffed at it like two dogs may sniff at each other’s arses. I used to throw electrical wire into the open fire one when we were off our faces because it burnt as pretty colours, orange and blue, so I kind of knew what that smelt like. (Sorry planet) No, it wasn’t the fire. What could it be? We sniffed around the house like a customs Beagle might sniff at you and give you a fright at the airport, as if it was accusing you of being a drug mule, when in fact it was sniffing you for contraband fruit. We wandered the house with our noses in the air. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff. Eventually, all noses lead to the kitchen and, on our knees, to the dishwasher. It was switched off but it was definitely secreting an awful smell. It had been on, but it had stopped working. We were soon to find that it had tripped the circuit board and the power points in the kitchen had all been turned off. Not only that, it had stopped mid cycle and was still half full of water. Shit! We tried turning it on again and the circuit board tripped instantly.


It is going to be a long clean up in the kitchen this morning, I thought, as I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, as the coffee brewed. I was going to have to wash everything by hand. Boo hoo. Everything. By hand. I pride (well, pride isn’t exactly the right word, I don’t really give a shit. It is just nice to get through it) myself on being able to clean away the night before’s dishes in the time that it takes for my morning coffee to brew. Not this morning though.


It was cold and quiet. Pots and pans lay higgdly-piggdly on the sink and in it. Cold, congealed fat formed circles on the surface of the varying sized ponds, receptacles, of water. Plates were jammed in between the pots, scrapes of chicken skin and red chicken fat hung from the white porcelain like scabs. Ants covered the dishes like chocolate sprinkles, moving in lines, removing the skerricks of waste, packed in their backpacks, marching away. Tea stained cups were jammed in between the saucepans. Milky glasses were jammed in between them. Cutlery was scattered around the lot like pick up sticks. Food waste littered the chopping boards, falling off the edges onto the bench. A puddle of gravy sat next to the lettuce spinner. A squashed tomato skin slid under my foot on the floor.


I built a fire, but as it was only 9am, so I didn’t feel like I could chop kindling, so I gathered scrap pieces of wood from the back yard and improvised. I went out into the back yard a number of times and the only recognition I got from Buddy was his eyes moving as his head lay still on his pillow. 

The new delivery of wood was coming between 12 and 1pm, so there was absolutely no reason why I couldn’t have a fire (other than the early morning issue). There were only a few logs left as it stood it is true, but before they would have finish burning I’d have a lovely new ton to pick from.

I might as well be warm. There can’t be too many fires left for the year.



Sam came down some time later. I said, “Good morning honey.”

He pursed his lips and made the Buddy call sucking sound.

“Oh lovely," I said. "Buddy gets a hello before me.”

“Where is he?” was Sam’s only response.

“Oh charming, he’s not even apologetic about it.”

I guess he’s still cross (he wasn't cross... this is my mock outrage) about all the time I spent on my computer transferring my photos from my Mac Hard drive to my iPhotos, when he wanted to clean up in preparation of the carpet coming, next weekend. When I was finished, and all the photos had been transferred to iPhotos and I had deleted them from my hard drive and my trash bin, iPhotos somehow glitched and I lost half of them. I wasn’t happy. Sam wasn’t happy about my moaning about losing my photos. He got them back from back up and then he wasn’t happy all over again when I spent more time transferring them all over again.

“But it wasn’t my fault.”

Lovely isn’t it. I’m under no illusions who is more important in his life, me or the dog. 

I'm kidding, of course. It's not personal. Buddy is precious, as Sam says. He's Sam's first dog, we must remember  The first thing he does every morning is let Buddy in. Then he kisses me. This morning was no different.

I went out to the car to move it in preparation of the wood being delivered. I turned the key and nothing. No sound, no lights, nothing. Lovely, I thought. It all happens at once, now doesn’t it? One thing after another. How many replacement requirements can stack up one after the other, I ask? I guess I was foolish to ask, but I did. The carpet next Saturday, the dishwasher as of yesterday, surely it can’t be the car as of today. No, not fair. 

“Grrrr, I hate your world!”

I whipped open the bonnet, I whizzed the cover off the battery and I twiddled both connections. I got back in the car and it started first turn of the key. Just as fucking well.

I always think of that greeting card from my childhood at moments like these, with the elephants pissing on the cover and the caption, “It never rains but it pours.”

Muesli, coffee, crumpets, coffee.

I finished off my photos over breakfast, after Sam showed me how to retrieve the images from back up. How good is he, he didn’t really want me to do it, but he still showed me how to do it. He’s lovely, really. Still lovely, definitely.

Sam was still so pleased with the clean windows, and I don’t think he could sit with me and watch me continuing with my photos, so he decided to clean the windows again this morning. Apparently, I was to help.

However, the hunt for the new dishwasher had to proceed. It has to be done, sooner rather than later, otherwise it will be next July and people will be saying, “Is your dishwasher still not working?”

And the old one is sitting there half full of water. Yay.

We’ve been researching them this morning. I’ve always had Askos, my parents always had Askos. Mum and dad had one for 25 years with nothing ever going wrong with it. I had one for 17 years trouble free. The one I have now was probably a rather foolish purchase, as it was a reconditioned unit that the service guy talked me into buying, at half the price of a new one at the time. It has lasted for 6 years. But there is Bosch and Miele too. The forums and reviews say the pick is between these three makes. The Miele is too expensive, twice as much as the other two. So, the choice is between Bosch and Asko.

We headed off to Warrigul Road to the combination of The Good Guys, Harvey Norman and Bamboe Indonesian restaurant for food. Everything should be covered by that arrangement, and it was. The food was great and Harvey Norman is, quite possibly, Sam’s favourite shop.
   
I bought a new Asko, it is to be delivered on Tuesday.

There goes my new SLR camera. I wanted a Cannon 700D, but I am getting an Asko. I harrumphed to Sam on the way home.

“I am spending all of this money and all I am getting is replacement goods, just maintenance. I’m not getting anything new. I'm not getting anything nice for me.”

“Shut up and stop complaining, there are people on the planet who don’t have access to fresh water.” Don’t you hate it when people quote you back at you? I know I do.