Fix It Yourself

Don't I look so ecologically minded?

Don't be fooled. The dryer stopped working.

I called The Guy, as Robb and I called him. He's done lots of repair work for us in the past - the garbage disposal, the freezer, and some cable lines. Pretty genius guy.

The best thing about him: if he thinks it can be fixed over the phone, he'll simply tell you how and save us both the service call.

"Hi, Jon, it's Tricia calling. I've got some issues with my dryer."

"Can you tell me the make and model?"

"Um, no." I really can't.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, it turns and gets hot, but the clothes aren't drying."

"There's probably an obstruction somewhere in the air duct. Easy to fix. Check to see if the hoses are secure in the back, and then call me back if there's a problem. Just have your husband pull the dryer out for you, and take a peek back there."

I would if I could, Jon. Believe me. And if he could, I wouldn't be on the phone with you. He would have fixed it three weeks ago.

I wrote down Jon's advice, just in case there was anything to forget in the list of "pull out the dryer and check the hoses."

Memories have good hiding places. They are quiet and still in the places I don't expect, and they jump right out at me like a benign halloween ghost with a sheet on his head: not necessarily threatening, but still unsettling if I didn't see it coming.

Turns out, some were hiding behind the dryer, simply because Robb is the only one who has ever climbed back there.

I also found a Marriott Hotel room key, lost and forgotten in the corner. It probably fell out of his pocket after a business trip.

He brought his room keys home to the boys as souvenirs. (Little boys love little souvenirs.)

I worked swiftly in his space, checking the hoses, cleaning out lint, giving everything a general once-over, and feeling like he was close enough to touch.

And it worked. I've washed and dried two loads.

So, the dryer broke. Don't worry, though.

I fixed it.