February 03 '07

                                                    

Volume 557

                   


Clean House Helping Jason

Shining Like NewIt sounded like a simple enough request, but its one Jason seldom makes. It came about because Jason was expecting a female-friend to visit him last Saturday. He knew he would be at work all day, and while his house (our guesthouse) was at best unkempt, he figured it would survive his friend’s visit with a little help from Mom.

"If you can get my clothes washed," he stated to his mom, "I won’t worry about the rest of the house."

Jason is not much of a housekeeper, so I was a little apprehensive about his having a visitor, especially a visitor he might rather impress than depress. Knowing how I have difficulty walking into his house without stepping on something he’s left on the floor of his main living area, I could only imagine the stack of dirty clothes in his bedroom, and that he considered the dirty clothes more unsightly than all the rest left me with no little angst.

Shortly after breakfast, Barbara, who already had her work cut-out in having kept our three granddaughters Friday night and was expecting to have them around for much of Saturday, made her way to Jason’s and returned with a load of towels and went back for more.

Our oldest granddaughter, Anna, volunteered to "straighten up" and vacuum at Jason’s. It was a daunting task that I would not have wished on anyone, let alone my granddaughter, but it was likely the fruit of her labors that inspired me to pitch in and help with the cleaning effort. She had cleared a path from the front door to the kitchen, neatly stacking the clutter in corners and against the walls. For me, the sight of dishes piled high in the sink with glasses and tumblers littering the countertops, to say nothing of electrical components from recent projects, over-the-counter medicines, and several month’s worth of mail adding to the clutter, was all a bit overwhelming.

I am told there is yet hope for Jason. Others site a family member or someone they know, who became a neat-freak well into his or her adulthood, whose cluttered environs once drove parents to despair. In my case, I’m not sure I’ll live that long.

I made considerable headway with the dirty dishes and managed to pack most of them into the dishwasher before discovering the dishwasher would not start. It just sat there and hummed, no sounds of water running into it, just a hum. I poked push-buttons on the panel, twisted the power knob round and round, worked the latch on the door back and forth, all to no avail. It only hummed the same monotone pitch as before.

I phoned Jason at work and asked him about the dishwasher. He responded that it worked the last time he tired, but that it had on occasion failed to operate immediately. He suggested I continue trying as he had, for it eventually started working for him. I told Barbara about the dishwasher’s troubles before leaving to make a couple of visits.

I have a visitation routine on Saturday mornings and am sometimes accompanied by my wife, but last week, Barbara washed clothes as I made my morning rounds.

Since I had visited Miss Cubell Young the prior week, I stopped by her son Derwood’s appliance business to ask how she was doing. In the past year, I don’t think there’s been a week Miss Cubell has missed seeing one or more doctors. The folks at the wound center can’t seem to get her leg infections healed, and late last year she had to have a cancerous growth on her neck removed. The surgery and subsequent radiation have left her weak, but her will to live is as strong as ever. She insists on returning to her work at the Laundromat as soon as she is able. Derwood shared that Miss Cubell had suffered a setback, having noticed a second growth on her neck near the one previously removed.

While at the appliance store, I asked Derwood about Jason’s dishwasher. There may be a type of washer, dryer, refrigerator, stove, or air conditioner sold in North Mississippi whose inner works Derwood doesn’t have intimate knowledge of, but I’ve not found it. When I told him the dishwasher was a G.E., he diagnosed the problem, quickly.

"It’s got a small motor, about a tenth horsepower," he replied. "If the unit doesn’t get used regularly, that little motor doesn’t have enough power to turn over. If you can get the kick-plate off and reach up under there and turn the shaft a few turns, with the power off, of course, I’ll bet you it’ll start when you turn it on."

In checking Barbara’s progress with the washing, upon my return, I learned she had washed three loads of towels, dried one load, and had a second load in the dryer. I helped her bring the rest of Jason’s laundry to our house, but only after asking her to wash some of his things in his washer. His is a standard heavy-duty washer, but seldom uses it, probably because the dryer isn’t up to his requirements. The dryer is a small capacity, 110-volt appliance that ended up at our house after we moved Barbara’s mother from Walnut to Pontotoc.

I rounded up a few tools and went back to Jason’s to tackle the dishwasher. There, I noticed the dishwasher was in the drying cycle. However, when I opened the door the bottom of the unit was full of water. I tried to force it into the drain cycle before asking Barbara if she had turned it on while I was gone. I had no luck, and after learning that Barbara had indeed gotten the unit to start, I removed the kick-plate. The one tool I needed and didn’t have at hand was a flashlight. I could hear the hum as before and now a click as though something was trying to engage. I flipped the latch on the door a few more times, and the unit started in wash cycle. I decided to let well enough alone and refastened the kick-plate, before returning to the task I had delegated myself, which was cleaning up the kitchen area.

Most of the dirty dishes and silverware were Jason’s, but some things belonged at my house, so I gathered them up and took them home. Everything on the countertops that wasn’t flatware or dishware was boxed up for Jason to sort through later. I was quite pleased that once the countertops were washed down and the stainless sink polished, that the kitchen looked as good as new.

By this time, Barbara was exasperated with her washing chores. She had washed several loads of clothes and she was still knee deep in dirty laundry.

"It may be too late to take them to Young’s Laundry," I offered. "Miss Frances doesn’t stay open as late as Mrs. Young did, but it’s worth a shot. Let’s load up the ones that need drying and take them down there."

As I suspected, Miss Frances wanted to close early.

"I’m hoping to get out of here by one o’clock," she stated, turning to check the time on the wall clock. "It won’t take more than thirty minutes to dry yours."

At most, we had forty-five minutes to go to the grocery store and get back to the laundry before 1:00 p.m. I left a few extra quarters with Miss Frances and told her I’d reimburse her if she needed more to dry our clothes. Somehow, we managed to grab forty dollar’s worth of groceries and get back to the laundry before one o’clock. Miss Frances had part of our clothes folded, and we helped her finish the rest. One other customer continued to wait on her dryer of clothes, but we left assured we’d not detained Miss Frances from her afternoon plans.

On our way home, Barbara wished for a commercial dryer that only takes thirty-minutes to dry a pile of clothes while ours at home takes an hour and a half. The last of Jason’s laundry was not finished until nine-thirty Saturday night, roughly thirteen hours from when the job was begun.

Barbara concluded that Jason simply has too many clothes and confronted him that evening with, "Jason, you need to get rid of some of your clothes."

"Which ones should I get rid of?" he asked. "I wear all of them, but it takes me about two months to go through them."

Three of us worked hard last weekend to make Jason’s house presentable. Yet, it was all for naught.

"Lauren’s not coming over tonight," Jason shared, "She changed her mind."

I might have cussed upon hearing the news, but it wouldn’t have changed the situation. Anyway, Lauren didn’t see the house before our cleaning efforts, so I doubt she’d have appreciated it nearly so much as the rest of us, even Jason.

"Thanks for cleaning up;" he told his mother, "It looks good!"


Electro Cops Tupelo Wants Them

The city of Tupelo appears to be on the fast track to install surveillance systems at many of its major intersections, following a favorable ruling by Mississippi’s Attorney General. RRN does not view such a move to be in the best interest of motorists.

Excerpts from a Daily Journal editorial 02/01/2007:

"The proposed system - manufactured, installed and maintained by American Traffic Systems - has a proven record in other cities and offers Tupelo an opportunity to increase traffic safety citywide, especially at the most dangerous signaled intersections."

"Paying for the signals - The city has two choices, at least, for financing the system without direct cost: Agree on a percentage payment of red light fines to ATS, or negotiate a monthly fee paid from traffic citation revenue."

"We discount the "big brother" criticism of the system. Surveillance cameras routinely watch people in malls, many retail stores, banks, airports, convenience markets, courthouses, and public schools. Nothing sinister resides in motivation to improve traffic safety."

RRN’s response:

It is true that surveillance cameras monitor people in malls, retail stores, etc., but that alone does not give local authorities the right to install cameras at traffic signals for the alleged purpose of improved traffic safety. As Americans we have already sold our rights to personal privacy to the gods of technology, and while we may not yet find our every movement monitored by "big brother," one may rightly conclude that surveillance today will only make it easier for a "big brother" of tomorrow.

Americans continue to allow the erosion of freedom of speech, while appeasing the police of the politically correct. It reasonably follows that personal privacy will follow a similar path, perhaps a path from which we’ve already reached the point of no return.

The fact that a third party stands to profit from traffic citations does not equate to "sinister," and neither do increased revenues for local government mean the motives of the of local authorities are "sinister." However, greed may be a more suitable description, as might "the opportunity to make a quick buck" using costly technology.

If the city of Tupelo is seriously concerned about traffic safety at its intersections, authorities should first address the need to bring the duration of the yellow light at all the city’s traffic lights to standards suggested by the state of Mississippi. An electronic policeman, like "big brother," is an idea whose time will have a stench about it whenever and where ever it comes.


Bodock Beau Word Of Caution

While rummaging through her attic, my friend Kathryn found an old shotgun. Unsure about how to dispose of it, she called her parents.

"Take it to the police station," her mother suggested.

My friend was about to hang up when her mother added, "And Kathryn?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"Call first."

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