Spring Cleaning

(sort of)

I attempted some random version of spring cleaning, forcing myself to tackle one mildew-scented drawer in my bedroom. I’ve tried so many tricks for getting rid of the smell, and nothing seems to work. Today I emptied the drawer of sweaters, vowing to take them all to the dry cleaners. I pulled the drawer out of the dresser and put it on the back deck, wiping it multiple times with various cleaning products, hoping the sun would bake it clean. I realize that this is a desperate attempt to turn my attention and energy toward something I can control. The world is burning, and I don’t know what I can possibly to do to make things better.

Meanwhile, I abbreviated my swim to make it back to the house in time for the possible arrival of the repair guys. 8 am to 12 pm. The window. I hate how they do that, and sure enough, they didn’t get here until 8:45, which would have allowed me plenty of time to swim. But at least they got here. “David and Gary” conducted elaborate conversations in a language I couldn’t understand. I asked if they would mind telling me what they were speaking? Armenian, said the one named Gary. “I was guessing Turkish,” I said, and then quickly apologized, saying I knew that Turks and Armenians weren’t such great friends. I felt embarrassed and wanted to say much more, that I am all on the side of the Armenians, always, that I spent two miserable months traveling in Turkey many years ago with my then-husband and hated every minute of it. I swore I’d never return. I wanted to tell them I know all about the Turkish genocide against the Armenians, but I just let them do their work.

The washing machine has been a problem ever since I had it installed by the guys who remodeled my bathroom. When I started to use the machine, it vibrated so loudly and violently I thought the walls would come down. It sounded and acted like a jet about to take off from a battleship. The repair guy who studied it later told me that the installers had “forgotten” to remove the bolts that were only used for transporting the machines. “Very dangerous to do that,” he said, in a heavy Russian-accented English.

The thing is, the machine continued to vibrate even after it was repaired. And when it broke down two weeks ago, and smoke came out of the back of the washer, I had to wait yet again for the repair team. A new company, first the guy who came to diagnose the problem and the ones who came this morning to replace the shredded belt. David told me that he also removed the bolts that should have been removed during installation. They had been unscrewed but not removed. Apparently the Russian guy who found them still there didn’t take them off completely, and I have no idea why.

After Gary and David left, I loaded the machine to do the long-delayed laundry. I was so thrilled to be able to catch up on everything that had been piled up, waiting. And the machine wouldn’t turn on. The dryer worked fine, as usual, but not the washer. I was about to lose my mind, and in fact I did fire off multiple texts to the number I’d been given, demanding that the repair guys return immediately. And then I looked way deep into the dark back corners and found the dangling plug, unplugged. “Sorry,” said David, when he called in response to my urgent texts. “Sorry about that.”

My laundry is done, but it’s never really done. And the world is still burning.