STUCK

I pulled a pair of undies out of my washing machine the other night. Not so unusual, except that these had been stuck in there for oh, eight, maybe ten weeks.

If its true that things tend to be simpler than they seem, I, apparently, am not yet convinced. I tend to tackle things from the most complicated angle first, then work my way back to simple. I'm considering a swap, but hey, give me time, we'll see.

A few months back, I'd done a load of laundry and realized that the clothes weren't ringing out as they should. I had a soggy mess of towels at the bottom of the washer tub. I rung things out the best I could (not an easy task, a big tip of the hat to washer-women everywhere), tossed things in the dryer that weren't too soaked, counted to make sure I had enough undies to get me through for awhile, and walked away.

My washer and dryer are in the basement, the least inviting part of my funky little 1928 bungalow. I've always been a bit afraid of it, being a "ranch-house" girl most of my life. There are the usual suspects, shadowy corners, torn insulation, cobwebs that go unseen til they are in my mouth (arrgh), and I am in a position to know the location of a bumble bee cemetery (I was there when they were laid to rest). So yea, I make myself get down there once a week to do some laundry, but that's the extent of my basement visits. So when I discovered the washer problem, part of me felt relief. Sweet! No more trips to the basement. Well, you know, until I run out of undies or get a new washer, whichever comes first.

I set out on my somewhat complicated path to a solution. I went to Home Depot and Sears and window-shopped for a new washer. I put it on my "to-do" list to clean out the entry-way to the basement stairs and remove the handrail (its a narrow passage with a turn and no delivery man can get down there with a washer in tow.) I checked the checkbook to see if I could afford such a thing in the middle of this downturn. And I visited the pal I go to whenever I run into a household fix-it problem, my pal Google. He told me to check for leaks, check for kinks, check the fuses, and check for anything that may be clogging the pipes and hoses. You know, like a neighborhood kitty cat. I felt overwhelmed by all of those possibilities, so I bought some more undies, did my washer woman routine every other week and walked away. This went on for weeks.

The other morning, a little voice told me to quit avoiding it and just go take a look. You know, square one. I promised the voice I would, since I can't keep putting undies on the grocery list. So before I gave myself a chance to renege, I marched into my room the moment I got home and put on my "fix-something" sweats. I took a deep breath and headed downstairs. I positioned the clamp light just so, and started inspecting. I unplugged every possible connection to my possible electrocution, and tipped and tilted and pushed and pulled. Nothin'. Then I took a closer look, and there, just where the top of the tub and the drum meet, I saw a little something. My first thought was "mouse". My second thought was "grow up", and I dug in. About 5 minutes later, after a good deal of pulling with all I had in me, I freed my washer from the culprit: a pair of undies that had gotten themselves jammed into the works and prevented a good rinse and spin for the last few months. Those poor undies. A successful spin-cycle test-drive and I was back in business.

I'm an over-stuffer. That applies to a couple of topics, but lets keep it to the washer for now. I've never been a lights and darks sorter, my piles are "clean" and "dirty". And I figure if I can get the door shut, we're in and we're ready to go. My mama taught me different, but I'm a pretty low maintenance, casual girl when it comes to clothes, so sorting them into a couple of reasonably sized loads never really figured in to my laundry routine. Lesson learned.

When I look back at the last several weeks and how I fumbled around with this problem, I recognize the girl that's been following me around all my life, you know, me. A little afraid the problem will be too much to manage, a little afraid I won't know what to do. A little too willing to be overwhelmed and hope it will go away or be transformed by some sort of magic. But, I also recognize another side of that girl (a side that's popping up a little more often these days). A girl who is willing to respond. I've learned that every time I say "ok, I'll try", to that little voice (the voice of hope, the voice that says "I know you need some help"), that a solution finds me.

Its ok to be overwhelmed, its ok to work my way back to square one.

Its ok to get stuck. But it turns out, unstuck is better. Just ask those poor undies.