Dryer Repairwoman

Tonight I fixed my dryer, all by myself. With a bona fide part that I had to order online for $78, and I had to use screwdrivers and disassemble and reassemble stuff and everything.  I accomplished this amazing feat by having done some research online (“dryer not heating”) and watching a YouTube video. 

Here is the part that I replaced:

If my charred carcass should be discovered in the smoldering remains of our house following a fire that is determined to have begun in an improperly serviced clothes dryer, do not let that fact detract from the triumph of this moment.

A Virus for Christmas

Last week, I could feel a little bit of a bug nipping at my heels. I managed to outrun it for most of the week, but when I woke up Friday morning, I knew it had finally caught me.  There is nothing spectacular about this virus, just the same gluck that is going around.  I decided that spending 24 hours resting and binge-watching made-for-t.v. Christmas movies would take care of it.

After 24 hours, I was no better than before.  Okay, I could give it 24 more hours of Christmas movies, but that was my final offer.  As for every preacher, Sunday loomed.  Those sermons wouldn’t preach themselves, and I needed a voice. I breathed in humidified air and drank as much hot tea and honey as I could stomach.

Meanwhile, I think that I watched every formulaic Christmas movie ever made for t.v.  Each one was titled some variation of “A _____ for Christmas.”  (Insert “Nanny,” “Cupid,” Caper,” “Wife,” etc.) The plotlines were variations of either “A Christmas Carol” or “Groundhog Day.” I could nap or read through most of a movie and still follow the plot. Best of all, each movie had a happy ending, no matter how insoluble the presenting problem had been.  

All that was lacking was the Christmas episode of “The Brady Bunch.”  (I couldn’t find it, but I did watch “A Very Brady Christmas.”)  If you are anywhere near my age, you remember the episode.  Mrs. Brady has lost her voice, and she is supposed to sing the Christmas Eve solo. All seems lost, until little Cindy Brady tells Santa that all she wants for Christmas is for her mom to be able to sing for Christmas Eve. 

I needed that miracle for myself, although I was speaking, not singing, and it was only the 2^nd Sunday of Advent, not Christmas Eve.

Even without Cindy Brady and Santa to intervene, I did indeed have just enough voice to make it through three sermons Sunday morning and an additional sermon Sunday afternoon at Kingswood Manor. Whew!  

Now it is Monday morning, and all I’ve got left is a raspy whisper. That’s okay, though. I’m meeting with 4 different groups today, and all I have to do is be a very good listener from a respectful, non-infectious distance. And if binge-watching Christmas movies wasn’t enough to drive this virus away, then maybe a day of ministry will do the trick.