The Battle of Grease and Sticks: A Tale of True Friction

Kindness makes any road easier to travel. Margaret M. Painter

I was emptying the dryer the other day, finishing my laundry for the week, and noticed a few black spots on my socks and tee shirts. They looked like grease marks and I hadn’t, to my knowledge, done any work in or around grease recently, so I made a mental note to investigate (which “note” lasted about 22.3 seconds).

After folding, hanging, and putting away the laundry, I went to clean the lint-trap out of the dryer, and as I removed that little screen I saw the cause of the aforementioned spotting – a silly little grease marker I’d used earlier on a project and had apparently left and forgotten in a pocket of the shirt I’d worn. It was smaller than a standard pencil or pen, so it lay nicely in the pocket until the agitation of the washer brought it out to do its dirty work.

               The Valley of the Shadow of Death

That would have been fine. I’m usually pretty careful about checking pockets for loose change (normally finding only lint, instead), but accidents happen. Nonetheless, in the nanosecond it took to remove the screen and see the black marker, it immediately rolled into the now-vacant slot the screen usually occupies. I let out a mighty Viking war cry: (Uff Da!), as if that would stop the tiny implement from rolling into the space destined to become its Valhalla. I moved as quick as lightning to intercept (assuming said lightning has mated with a turtle or snail), but all to no avail. Greased lightning is apparently faster than its Swedish counterpart.

                        The Offending Marker

Well, as tempting as it would be to let sleeping markers lie, I knew I couldn’t leave it down the slot to risk it clogging the dryer’s exhaust and possibly resulting in a fire, but my hands were too thick to slip through to retrieve it. That meant I needed to remove the lint screen housing. I did some quick research and discerned the housing was only held fast by three tiny screws. That was the good news. One screw was quite visible. The other two, of course, were only accessible by taking apart the dryer’s door and front panel (converting a fifteen minute rescue operation into a two-hour project).

I’m always up for a challenge, but not if it requires dismantling an appliance that costs the equivalent of a month’s wages working at a local big-box store! So I decided to put my superior intellect to work, instead. I grabbed a folding pruning saw and snagged a handful of lint that had collected over the years, thus taking it out of the equation for the solution my gray matter was whipping up. Then I located a small, skinny dowel that was about a foot or so long and attached some reverse-rolled scotch tape to it (using blue painter’s tape). Holding a flashlight with one hand while keeping a spring-loaded hatch down with a finger, I poked the pole down the hole with my right hand, stuck the grease marker with the tape, pulled it up, and managed to nab it with the swift and deft movement of what became my now-free left hand… Success!

   The first effort used only blue tape (and only captured lint)

The Successful End of the Stick: Invisible Scotch Tape

Is there some great wisdom to be gained from the telling of this tale? Probably not. While I would like to think life hands us teachable moments (and life tends to resemble the multi-limbed Durga or Kali of East Indian lore with which to toss detritus our way), sometimes a tale has a sufficient raison d’etre to stand on its own.

Life happens. It is how we respond to those happenings that tells us who we are. Sometimes I think I would like to be Thor, the Norse god of thunder. But really, I find it more in keeping with my temperament to be Freyr – a god connected to peace and good harvest. As most people are aware, I am (glad to admit) certainly no god.

In any case, I’m pleased to be able to share these stories, and pray they will continue to delight and inform all of you. Until next time: be sure to check your pockets when doing laundry here in this, our valley!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of newly released: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available exclusively through Amazon in Print and e-book)

The Heart of the Matter

 

The door to the mind should only open from the heart. An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend. Joy Harjo (U.S. Poet Laureate)

Each morning I go outside and raise the blind so that the sunlight (or cloud-light) may make its way into the living room. I also step over to the birdbath that sits near the corner of the house and fill it with fresh water for the day from a handy, nearby spigot. If the bluebells or shrubs look a bit dry, I’ll give them a drink while I’m there, for I’ve got a nozzle that ensures they’re all within reach. Once I’m finished with the front, I head out back and repeat the process for the birdbath and variety of flowering bushes and plants that are quite pleasant to behold.

I’m very much a minimalist when it comes to yardwork. I clear away the dead stuff, of course, and tidy up the grounds every little bit, but I’m not a fanatic about it. I have no interest in trimming bushes and plants to create some artificial balance or artful topiarial effect. I’m content to let the plants get scraggly, if that’s how nature has made them. 

There are a few varieties that need to be hacked back, of course. The blackberries will absolutely run roughshod all over the place if one doesn’t take a whip and chair to them. You can’t kill them with weed killer, of course. Blackberries just laugh at such puny and paltry efforts. All you can do is dig down deep and remove as much of the roots as you possibly can. They’ll still come back, though, because nature always wins. But one can keep them under some semblance of control, and that’s all I want. 

There’s a healthy strain of blackberry that holds up the fence between us and our neighbor, so we get all the blackberries we ever want from that one group of bushes. Aside from that, though, the rest must be rooted out and disposed of. It doesn’t take too much time, and that’s fine with me. I think nature should be enjoyed and isn’t something to be conquered or beaten into submission. 

One of my great joys is watching birds fly down to the birdbaths to bathe. I never know if they’re trying to tidy up before flying off to work, or if there is some other purpose. I suspect they may simply be playing in the water because it’s something fun to do. I never see that “I’m late for work” look on their faces, While beaks tend to look pretty hard to the untrained eye, I’d swear I can see smiles on those little avian faces. 

Not only do the birds smile, but they often invite their little buddies to come join them, and I’d swear I’ve seen them get into little water fights and splash-fests. It’s no wonder I have to fill those bowls each morning; the water doesn’t evaporate: it gets splish-splashed all the way to tarnation and back!

We could learn a lot if we would take time to observe the natural order more thoughtfully. Oh sure, there are carnivores and herbivores and not a small amount of violence taking place out there – survival of the fittest and all that guff. But I am talking about watching the ways animals and birds and plants go about tending to what they do, and ignoring all the rest. I’ve never seen a squirrel criticize a bear for eating fish, or a tulip critique a rose. Each does what nature has made it to do, and the rest let God be the judge.

I’ve gotten to appreciate nature more and more in my old age. It makes sense. It won’t be too long down the road before I’ll be filling the earth with my remains, and I’d rather have the planet welcome me home than hold resentments against me for things done or left undone.

The earth is a friend, and the least I can do is love and embrace that from which all humans sprang. It’s the berry/bury least I can do. At least that’s my gravest perspective here in this, our valley. 

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of newly released: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available exclusively through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Economics 101

People seem perplexed by the increased prices on homes, steel, lumber, and fuel, so let me help put some perspective on it and, no, it isn't the current President's doing (or Congress).

During the Pandemic (most of 2020 and into the current year) there was a major disruption on life in general. Construction, travel, manufacturing, etc. People didn't go places, so supplies dwindled. Remember the Toilet Paper Shortage?

As we roll out of the Pandemic (with vaccinations making a return to normalcy possible, while resistance to vaccinations by 30+ percent of the population means we'll probably never get past the disease or its variants and mutations like we did for Smallpox or Polio), life is returning to normal, and demand for lumber and steel has outstripped the current supply and desire to travel means demand for fuel has increased. When demand outstrips supply, prices go up. That's not politics; that's Capitalism.

As a side-note, regarding employment: Congress (i.e. Democrats) believe people should make a Living Wage, which is closer to $15/hr than $8/hr. The public has heard that and the majority of Americans are in favor of raising the Minimum Wage to $15/hr (or that neighborhood). I suspect people don't embrace unemployment benefits, as such, as much as they now believe many current "Now Hiring" businesses aren't willing to voluntarily pay a Living Wage. So, if businesses need workers to survive, they ought to consider offering decent wages and see if things don't turn around.

Ironically, when businesses pay increasingly good wages, income tax receipts increase, and the National Debt goes down. The Rich will continue to get rich, and the people, as a whole, will find their lives improved significantly.