In the little bubble that is my life and observations of same, there is something very weird. Some may say, my take on it is skewed, it’s anecdotal and could not be proved in science. Frankly, I don’t care what others may think, for as my friend Mike would say “there is a truth”. And the truth in this instance is my believe that machinery and events conspire around me. And they do so largely when the more mechanically minded of the two of us (and usually the purchaser) is away. I think the machines and events converse in some dimension we never thought existed and they say “Let’s have some fun today. Let’s break down or do something weird to make Barb think we are conspiring against her.” And you know what, it works. I’ve written some about this before and here we are three years later and it’s still a truth. The thing is, the conspiracy is usually centred around something I have no understanding of or ability to fix. Hey, I am happy when I figure out how to change batteries in the thermostat. And if duct tape, a coat hanger and a hammer don’t work (and I’ve used them all), then I’m sunk. I have found forcing it, though, is not always a successful plan.
My husband travels for his work on occasion. Things happen when he is gone, all the time. Well, maybe not all the time. Not all that long ago when he was away I noticed a new droning sound in the house. I tromped around the place putting an ear to the fridge, downstairs to the furnace and into the laundry area thinking the washer might have decided to do a load on its own. Nothing. Then I opened up the door into the garage. Attached to the ceiling is some sort of woodworking accoutrement designed, I think, to clean the air when woodworking. It was purring away-on its own. There is NO switch on the wall to turn this device on, it’s never turned on by itself before and there was no reason for it to turn on this time. Guess who called to some far off place to ask said husband what was up. As you might expect I was met with a “what do you expect me to do from here”. Well, for one thing, tell me why this thing can be attached and assembled and sit there for 10 years before deciding to self-turn-on (when you are away). Turning it off meant climbing up high on a step ladder and swatting the plug out of an outlet in the ceiling.
Why does this come to mind now? Well, probably because of the for-no-reason eternally spinning wheel on the computer when I try to turn it on. I didn’t do anything, honestly. And I don’t plan to call to him to ask what to do. Now, where is that hammer.
Barb's True Stories 