Jody and I bought a vacuum about twenty years ago and it’s served us well. A couple of weeks ago, however, I didn’t serve it well. There was lots of construction dust in the house and some tiny wood chips. Not so tiny as it turned out – I plugged the machine really well. Finally, with the help of a broom handle and my industrious neighbor Borot, the obstruction was destructed. “Clear at last, clear at last” (with a nod to Martin Luther King).
Unfortunately subsequent vacuuming sessions were fraught with disappointment, and tiny objects remaining scattered on the carpet. Virtually no suction. So off to McHardy Vacuum I trundled.
A helpful young gentleman replaced an interior filter and I was good to go. Almost. I mentioned to the fellow that I had another problem. I couldn’t detach the long wand from the beater bar so I could use the hardwood floor attachment.
“Here, I’ll show you how. You press this button, turn the wand and wiggle it past the little knob inside.” Which he proceeded to demonstrate. “You try it.” I did. The wand didn’t. His turn again … easy as pie. My turn … depress that button for all I’m worth, grunt a lot, twist like hell – nothing.
The rhythm of watch and learn repeated itself several more times. The wand wasn’t feeling detached in my hands and neither was I. I was thoroughly absorbed and obliterated emotionally. “Breathe, Bruce. Think nice Buddhist thoughts.”
Finally, in a pause that refreshes, I thought this stuff:
1. I have arthritis in my hand. I can’t press like I used to.
2. He’s 21. I’m 67. Easy for him. Impossible for me.
3. Let the vacuum go. Donate it to Bibles For Missions. Buy a new one.
So … I’m now the proud owner of a Panasonic jobbie. Lime green and black. Goes with my bathroom, although I’m likely to use it elsewhere as well.
Gosh, I am what I am. My body is what is. And I like the whole thing.