Waiting for the Dishwasher Man

We've lived here at Chez WoolGathering for a long time. A really long time. We bought the unit back in the day when we were DINKS. One of the first things we did was replace the dishwasher. We did good. It's held up through three refrigerators and two stoves. The time had come, however, to say goodbye. It didn't work as it used to. It had become a tad, shall we say, temperamental ( more of that anon). Not only that, many of the non-motor and -water related pieces had broken. Half the little axles that held the little wheels that kept the bottom rack rolling smoothly in and out are cracked or broken. The cap for the rinse-aid dispenser is long gone. The kick plate on the bottom had been kicked too many times. The tines had had started to snap.

Worst, though, was the way it had started to decline to start if I didn't remember to hit the cancel button right after the final dry cycle had supposedly ended. Right after. We figured out that it (the drying cycle) wasn't (finished, that is) and that if the dishwasher thought it was still supposed to be drying dishes there was no way it was going to start washing unless we engaged in some pretty heavy duty persuasion. This persuasion took the form of pushing random buttons followed by the cancel button, slamming the door hard, latching and unlatching the latch (it's an old dishwasher; it had a latch) with varying degrees of force, creative language, more buttons, more slamming, hitting the inside of the door, more creative language, until finally it would consent to give up those last few clicks that signaled the real end of the cycle.

Perhaps I should mention how firmly I seem believe in inertia. This routine has been going on for months. I meant to have a new dishwasher in time for the graduations. Yet there I was, hitting the cancel button until it almost became second nature, going through the dishwasher dance when I forgot, for months and months.

Today, however, is the day. The new one was delivered yesterday. Today the plumber came by to install it. Okay, after some initial inspection accompanied by sundry thumps and mutterings, he left and has been gone for a really long time. I'm not nervous. I know he's not finished because the dishwasher is laying on its side in the middle of my kitchen floor. I suspect something about a 25 year old dishwasher-hook-up not meshing with a 21st century dishwasher.

To keep myself engaged (and patient, patient, PATIENT), did I choose something pleasant to work on? Something that was a delight to the eye? Something I actually like? In a word - no. I've picked up the Autumn's Delight Blanket, the one that I'm working on for Afghans for Afghans, a.k.a. the World's Loudest Blanket. I've been rather studiously avoiding it of late. I haven't kept you informed, because, well, look at this. Does this look attractive to you?

Ignore the yarn. Consider it solely from a technical perspective. Does it look like something you would want to send off to anyone? Does it even look right? I think not.

So here I sit, unraveling, dampening the yarn with Soak to relax it, checking it periodically to see if it's dry (not yet).

In the meantime, maybe I'll go read my dishwasher manual.