Clothes dryer, cont’d

The dryer was declared dead on this Friday past. The children had their music lessons on Monday. I don’t know why we didn’t go dryer shopping on Saturday or Sunday. On Tuesday, we went to Appliance Mart–scratch and dent–and Sears. Both our current washer and current dryer have a dimension of 25 1/2 inches on one side. The tape measure indicates that we have 26 1/2 inches at the top of the basement stairs. I trust the appliance dimensions more than I trust my measuring.
The repair person recommended Kenmore or Whirlpool (they are the same now, I guess.) And, lo and behold, at Sears is a 25 1/2 dryer with the same, slightly updated, features of our now dead 1979 model. All told, it will be $500.
I thought about doing the gas detachment and hookup myself. Until just a few minutes ago, when I tried unsuccessfully to close the gasline shutoff value to the dryer. Stuck. Thirty years stuck. Going to call my Realtor sister-in-law about her current handiman.

Everything is golden

I brought may laptop along to Madeline’s piano lesson, thinking I would just jump on their wireless. But oops, no, of course their network is secured. So I’ll just write in the blogging client on my PC, sans network.
It takes care of the distraction of reading other blogs and otherwise idly surfing. Off goes Madeline on her piece. I lobbied to come here to the piano lesson instead of taking Liam to his guitar lesson. Sitting in the guitar teacher’s attic just isn’t as pleasant as sitting in the piano teacher’s basement. I am sitting in the same room with Madeline and the teacher, tapping away on the laptop keyboard and wondering if that is distracting, but sitting in here is so much more comfortable compared to sitting in the entryway room.
The drive here was gorgeous, everything golden–the sky, the leaves on the trees and on the ground, the waters of Lake Calhoun, the sun. All color was super-saturated on account of the sun’s low angle. Another instance of the beauty of life.
It’s a duet. The time of piano recital is approaching. This will be the first time in a couple of years that Madeline will be giving a recital for Kerri, but Liam will not. He is on the guitar track now. Though so it seems like Madeline and I are enjoying the guitar more that he is. For me, it is just nice to have a guitar out and within easy reach, as it is now, since we got a guitar stand from Dorothea’s guitar-fanatic co-worker, who, having twenty guitar stands or so, was gracious in lending one to us. It is a nice stand, too.
The other big news of the day on the domestic front is that the repairman came to look at our dryer and washer (again) and declared the dryer dead, which was quite unexpected. I thought that he would just replace some gizmo or other. But, as he pointed out, the darn thing is 27 years old. So we would be at Sears tonight looking at dryers, except that it is music lesson night. Yuna volunteered that her family doesn’t even have a dryer.
Okay, time for some random thoughts. I need to write about the book Under the Banner of Heaven. Dorothea had checked it out of the library and it was at home when we returned from Salt Lake City after Labor Day. So I started reading it. (She was most gracious about my budging in on her book.) The book portrays many Mormons as being quite accepting of the idea of direct communication with a personable God, as, after all, Joseph Smith did in getting the text of the Book of Mormon. And the polygamy. (Joseph seems to have had quite the libido.) So there was an ad in the New York Times magazine for a book about George Bush, about how he says that he is in direction communication with God, that God tells him things. And the ad had a quip from the author about how accepting we are in the United States to people saying that they are in direct communication with God. (The Mormons aren’t the only ones.) But, he says, would we be as accepting if George said that he was hear God, and talking to God, through a air blower? And, removing the air blower–why is it now not crazy? And my thought is that even the Pope, who might actually be able to make a claim, doesn’t claim that God speaks directly to him in a personal manner. Really, the Pope is sort of as much in the dark and trying to figure it out as the rest of us, compared to the Mormons and George, anyway.

Shall We Gather at the River

Liam and I watched the folks in the Metrodome watching the game in Detroit. Just like Madeline’s two-page essay “Is the American Dream Alive or Dead?” (alive), anything can happen.
In yesterday’s post, I didn’t get to the Quaker meeting. I went. Often I don’t go on the day of the Twin Cities Marathon simply because it is too hard to get around. But yesterday, I went. A friend talked about support systems, running the marathon (he had–ten times). He wanted to qualify for the Boston Marathon. His knees and shoulders hurt. That was all he could think about, plus he knew his time wasn’t going to be good enough. But then someone came up and started talking to him. Because of the conversation, he forgot about his aches and pains, and came around the corner to the finally, downhill, stretch ot the Finish line. (It is the talking while running part that I have trouble with. But you’re supposed to be able to talk while running.) To me, the Buhdist part is the experience but not winning part.
That led another friend to talk about the death of his mother ten years ago. He was at her bedside, she apparently saw some other people in the room, and then said that he should leave, go home. Which he did. Well, that was a near death experience, because she died that night.
Then he recounted how he visited the country grave of his grandmother. The car radio began to the song Shall We Gather at the River, which he had picked to be sung at his mother’s funeral ten years before. And, recounting the near-death visions of his mother, he was certain that what she saw in her hospital room was her mother. Some in the Quaker meeting, a man with a good voice, broke into Shall We Gather at the River.

Marathon Sunday

Madeline is making banana bread, using the Grandma Sally recipe. She overcame her first hurdle–she found some sour cream. The radio is on in the kitchen, and the door between the kitchen and the livingroom is closed. I am at the diningroom table. The shades to the windows are open. The big air conditioner is out of the north window and sitting on the floor. So step one has been accomplished, but still needs get to its winter home on the front porch. Removing the the AC from the window makes a dramatic difference in the light into the room. An now I have a view of our little garden and the tomato plants in the backyard.
Last year on Marathon Sunday, I tried to ride my bike along the route, early, or approximately, though that proved to be difficult. I did get to downtown Minneapolis and saw the beginning by the Metrodome, though. It is  neat to be able to walk a few blocks from my house to Summit Avenue and watch the race. This year I walked over with Yuna and stayed until the first woman came through at about 10:20. (I think that we were at Mile 21.)
It is easy to blowoff going anywhere, especially church, on days like this. But I got up and rode my bike over to the Quaker’s 8:30.