Sometimes, that's the extent of the similarity between our efforts to fix things: its natural for both of us to try. He regularly succeeds. I regularly have sore stomach muscles from wheezing with laughter as I attempt to act like I know what I'm doing.
Two days ago, the vacuum was being used by the 26-year-old, who was industriously cleaning her room. There was the normal irritating screaming of the vacuum which was suddenly punctuated by a sound resembling a jackhammer on concrete, and then deafening silence broken only by an undeleted expletive. Doors opened everywhere and family members converged on the scene. "What happened?" was the idiotic chorus that rose as we surveyed Karen through the swirling clouds of settling dust.
"I dunno," was the enlightening reply. Possible culprits were located on the floor as vision became more of a possibility.....a random screw, the knob to adjust the heighth of the vacuum, clods of dirt......nothing very telling.
"Yay" Laurie said, as she disappeared....."now I don't have to vacuum my room!" (She's got that "get over it and move on!" thing nailed.....I could take lessons from her. Instead, I vow to fix it.)
I took poor Mr. Blue Vacuum downstairs and he sat in the holding area (the den) awaiting diagnosis. The holding area is where all the "happening" events in this house take place. Why, Sadie gave birth to her second hair bunny in the holding area yesterday. After I finished typing today, I decided to operate. I gathered my tools (screwdriver,
I removed the drape, and proceeded with a bimanual examination........yep, any first year resident could see we had a possible strangulation of a vital organ.....the beater bar was encased in a huge amount of foreign objects and debris.........
I removed the cover and dissected away the foreign bodies and other crud....I was feeling pretty smug when I got all this out.....I have no idea what some of this is.....I wasn't even sure when I got it off the beater bar and could take a better look....
But as I say, I was feeling pretty smug. I put the bottom plate back on, sat Mr. Blue Vacuum upright and turned on the power. Jackhammer noise! The Pure Bred Big Yellow Dog nearly wet himself, Le Tigre (the Pitbull) buried her nose in my left elbow, and I turned it off, waited for the air to clear, and contemplated my next brilliant move......
I decided to take off the top cover of the vacuum and see what there was to see.
Okay, that would be a wad of dog hair and crud, right over a seemingly important perforated little vent like area.....Perhaps removing that major obstruction will shed some light on things.....
Why look....speaking of light....hidden with in the disgusting stuff is the light for the front of the vacuum which has mysteriously not worked for months.....I'm sure I have a diagnosis: the light is shaking inside and making the death rattle noise. Voila! Yep, I started feeling smug again! I placed the light bulb in the appropriate location.
Hesitantly, after warning the Pure Bred Big Yellow Dog, I turned Mr. Vacuum back on. Without the benefit of the cover, the death rattle was deafening. All four dogs joined the fray in protest. I turned it off, and then I did the smartest thing I've done all day.
I solomnly intoned "Time of Death 17:55."
Mr. Blue Vacuum is now in the
morgue garage awaiting trash day. Sorry, I called it the morgue by accident you see, because Little Bunny FooFoo, the Cat Who Used Up Her Nine Lives, and Spike the Bearded Dragon lie in state in the freezer in the garage, awaiting a proper burial. Don't ask. Really. Don't.
Now I'll turn my attention to trying to improve the performance of the dishwasher. (Max just ran upstairs to hide!) And Mr. B is picking up a new vacuum on the way home. (Note to Laurie: Honey, you can vacuum your room now!)