Pandemic 2020: Birthdays and broken dishwashers
Wed, May 6, was my birthday. My first present was waking up to a dishwasher running its pump (which started intermittently on Tues, but then continuously in the middle of the night). I turned off the circuit breaker and left it for later. I had a busy day at work and no time for a new project.
Later on Wed, the kitchen flooded. Turns out there was a leak somewhere in the diswasher, and the basin was full. After my birthday dinner of bratwurst (and National Treasure 2), I started working on the dishwasher again until the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, this meant I missed all my meetings on Thursday morning.
By now dishes were stacking up in the sink. Big time.
Friday, I used the shop vac to vacuum out all the water—maybe two gallons worth. This was right before the military flyby over many Seattle area hospitals with two C-17 Globemasters. It wasn’t too exciting, however, since the planes were a mile away. (I guess we always expect the Blue Angels.)
Saturday--like all Saturdays during the pandemic--I rested. Late in the afternoon, Brenda and I washed every dish by hand. Then we watched Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker. This was my third time, and somehow I didn’t hate it--as much as the second time, anyway. Later, I did some stargazing with Drew.
Sunday, I tore apart the dishwasher even more—and eventually lacerated my finger on a sharp edge. No stitches, but a lot of blood. Time for a new dishwasher, even if we are in lockdown. No Swedish Asko, a specialty brand with very little support. (The store that sold it to us went out of business long ago.)
Oh, and it was Mother’s Day. Of course, I failed with that, too, on multiple levels.
Later on Wed, the kitchen flooded. Turns out there was a leak somewhere in the diswasher, and the basin was full. After my birthday dinner of bratwurst (and National Treasure 2), I started working on the dishwasher again until the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, this meant I missed all my meetings on Thursday morning.
By now dishes were stacking up in the sink. Big time.
Friday, I used the shop vac to vacuum out all the water—maybe two gallons worth. This was right before the military flyby over many Seattle area hospitals with two C-17 Globemasters. It wasn’t too exciting, however, since the planes were a mile away. (I guess we always expect the Blue Angels.)
Saturday--like all Saturdays during the pandemic--I rested. Late in the afternoon, Brenda and I washed every dish by hand. Then we watched Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker. This was my third time, and somehow I didn’t hate it--as much as the second time, anyway. Later, I did some stargazing with Drew.
Sunday, I tore apart the dishwasher even more—and eventually lacerated my finger on a sharp edge. No stitches, but a lot of blood. Time for a new dishwasher, even if we are in lockdown. No Swedish Asko, a specialty brand with very little support. (The store that sold it to us went out of business long ago.)
Oh, and it was Mother’s Day. Of course, I failed with that, too, on multiple levels.
Labels: covid-19
