Saturday’s Alright for Shelving

Father and daughter days are so great.  They go way back too.  Before I was in first grade and able to attend PSR, my dad and I spend Saturday mornings together when Mom and Molly were at PSR, as teacher and student, respectively.

There was this coffee shop in Mayfield Hts/Lyndhurst that was in a plaza behind another plaza, and it has a huge front window that looked onto the stage that they had against the back wall.  There was once, and one time only, a magician on that stage, but I think that sealed in my little 5 year old mind that the coffee shop was magical.  Real or magic or not, it was magical because of the memories it created.  Dad and I would play card games, mostly War or Go Fish!, because again, I was about 5.  I remember winning War against him on a couple occasions and feeling like a rock star.

The best thing about those mornings was radio’s predictability.  Every one of them “Saturday’s Alright for Fighting” would come on the radio, and dad would turn it up and lip sync animatedly to the lyrics.  To this day I think of those mornings when I hear that song.  Riding in a red Thunderbird with my awesome dad, blasting some Elton John gold.

The song wasn’t played this morning, but dad and I were up and at em bright and early this morning.  The most important part of any day is of course breakfast, which is another shared love of ours.  We arrived at Nick’s Diner on Lorain with bells on, and ordered specialties of the place, like breakfast champs.  After cleaning our plates with lip-smacking delight, we were fueled up and ready to go pick out some lumber.

Arriving at Cleveland Lumber was a bit of a dream come true for me.  I’ve passed it on multiple occasions, and I’ve been curious of what wonders it contains.  Going with my father, who is the reason I even think about lumber stores (let alone fantasize about them) is where the dream really takes flight.

Once we told the man behind the counter our shelving plans, my dad did some really impressive on the spot math, and we were pointed in the direction of the lumber garage.  Entering this area was a sight to behold, because it was eye to eye lumber, and two dozen some ginormous saws.  Two guys came in and asked what we needed, and in maybe 25 minutes we had everything cut and loaded into the car.

On the drive home my dad said, “they must have thought we were cute,” because that lumber store mostly sees big projects that take upwards or hours to cut and load.  Arriving back at my apartment, we got right to fitting the pieces together, which put my dad in the bedroom with a drill and sander and myself in the living room with a somewhat archaic hacksaw contraption called a Miter Saw.  I had to whittle down the tips of 3/8” dowel rods, then hack them into 1 ¼ pieces on the Miter Saw.  I wasn’t very good at it, and dad kept saying “by the time you’re done you’ll be an expert.”  That wasn’t untrue, except I do not think I will ever be a whittling expert, which held me back.

We finished the day off around 1:20 PM with some pretty damn perfect looking shelves.  We will live to fight another day, because we know how to keep killing it.

Optional information:

Playlist: Jamie N. Commons (download everything he has, we have to get that guy more famous ASAP in order for him to tour ASAP).

Runaway washing machine

I’ve had a pretty eventful morning for a quite Saturday.  I was able to read about 20 pages of my book before getting out of bed.  I made a quick grocery store run before the parking lot was mobbed.  I even ran to the bank to get deposit a check and get a roll of quarters so I could go back to my apartment to do laundry.

Upon return, I made myself breakfast and hard boiled eggs for the week, subsequently setting off the fire alarm for now a second time while living here.  That was mildly inconvenient, mostly due to it’s unnecessarily shrill note, and that I started fanning the wrong detector before realizing my mistake.

Finally I got around to sorting some laundry, deciding I would get to towels first.  I went into the basement where the apartment’s two washers and two dryers are kept, and I threw in my towels to return upstairs and eat my breakfast.  After eating and sorting another set of laundry, clothes this time, I ventured back down to the basement.

To get to the basement, I have to go outside and then down into a separate door.  Right inside the door is one of those timer switches that you turn and the light goes on, but it sort of clicks the entire time since it’s counting down from wherever you set the thing to.  I usually just turn it just about halfway, since I’m never down there very long.

As soon as I had entered and turned the light on, I was immediately aware that the washing machine was on a rocket mode, and desperately trying to free itself from its hookups and the wall.  I ran inside and threw my laundry basket down, now realizing the machine was dangling off of the pallet platform it sits on.  After sort of just staring at it in disbelief for how fast and loud it is, I try pushing will all my might against the front of the thing, to no avail.  The only victory with doing that was that pressing my body against it muffled the ungodly loudness of the thing.

Briefly it started slowing down, and the light reading “Last spin and tumble” lit up on the display.  Mind you, these are bare bones machines we have down there.  There are options for water temperature and normal/delicate settings, and there’s an Start button.  The doors lock after you insert your quarters and press start, so there are few options other than waiting for your laundry to be done.

The spin starts going haywire again, and it’s trying to run away once again.  I get on the side that’s really dangling off the platform, and I press against the back of it with my right hand and keep my left at the front, and I shove as hard as I can.  This gets it at least back on the platform, but precariously since it is moving forward with every cycle.  I get on the other side and do the same thing, rotating back and forth until it’s as far back as it can go.  At this point I was hoping it’d slow down again since that light had turned on, but it had no indication of slowing down or staying up.

I took a look behind me at the door, paranoid someone was going to come in and see the weird new tenant hugging the washing machine.  Concerned that the person who lives above this part of the basement would hear the racket, I pressed all my weight on it, again muffling the sound.  Minutes went by in this style, me looking over my shoulder at the door every so often, and ultimately even yelling for the damn thing to stop (which I could barely hear over the grumble and swish).

What must have been five minutes went by and my bones felt entirely rearranged in my body by the time the spinning turned into a low pulse.  I leaned down and looked into the front window and watched in relief as it flipped my towels over a few more times and came to a halt.  I started clapping my hands in glee, and then it started spinning again in the opposite direction.  I slammed my palms on the window and nearly yelled again, in what would have been a very dramatic reaction, but thankfully it came to a full stop.

I stood up, shaky from feeling like I’m a Christmas tree in those shakers to remove the dead needles, and opening the door hauled my laundry out of there as fast as I could.  Although then I filled it up again with clothes, but I’m hoping since those won’t be as heavy the machine will feel comfortable staying put for this load.

We’ll see when I go and check on the dryer….

 

4:40 and counting

Boy I love my sleep habits.  I love waking up when it’s technically still night and deciding it’s better to cut my losses and putter around making myself breakfast.  The killer part is the diner around the corner isn’t even open yet, so I truly have to fend for myself.

Cream cheese and cucumber toast later, I’m still pretty grumpy.  I think I’ll probably still get an omelet from the Big Egg when the open at 6, which is a timestamp I had anticipated waiting for in my sleep.

I was at Dave’s Market yesterday and deliberately passed up buying eggs because I thought they would go bad before I had a chance to eat them.  Great job Shannon.

In other news, I can’t even keep a battery operated fish alive.

In twenty more minutes I’m going to be ordering the most feta-rific omelet the west side of Cleveland has to offer.  If you are jealous right now, I’d like you to remind yourself you were probably fast asleep at 4:40 am.