A Basket Case

"So I got that going for me."

- Bill Murray in Caddyshack.

We bought a house that is literally too big for upkeep. Yes, it is a gorgeous model home on a grand enough scale to receive our share of wide-eyed compliments. The untold story is that we have made ourselves too house poor to contract out repairs. I am forced to learn how to fix what I would gladly pay others to do if I had the money. I can do a lot on my own but everyday there is something to fix. Gasp. I am getting too old to do the more physical stuff and my disease robs my body of energy and endurance.

Which takes me to a principle governing this house that stipulates anytime I fix or upgrade something, something else must break in its place. Jerry Seinfeld calls this the Law of Even Steven. I call it Amtyville Horror. Take just this weekend for an example. I made the honest mistake of buying my wife a new laundry basket. I jinxed myself by announcing to my wife that I was all caught up on my chores: I finished food shopping, the meals were planned for the weekend, I reconciled two weeks worth of bills, and completed grunt work in the backyard in my beekeeper's suit. I allayed to my wife that I wanted to relax for the day.

That is when she walked downstairs carrying another load of laundry in her brand spanking new laundry basket and announced shortly thereafter, "Joe, the washing machine is leaking."

Further investigation proved it was not a loose hose or something simple...the Speed Queen broke her drum, aborted her liquids, and had to be decommissioned. It was all hands on laundry room deck with stringy mops. Before I could even unhook the old machine for delivery of a new one, the stereo I am playing goes down, the buckle of my son's boot rips the vinyl off an upholstered kitchen chair, and the computer goes on the blink. Gasp. I was a basket case.

So there I am monkeying a pipe wrench to undo the washer's water lines as my computer keeps making an annoying beeping sound while I run Norton's Utilities repair, and the stereo is skipping every CD I throw in from Abba to ZZ Top. I walk away from the cursed washer, the faulty stereo, and the flunky computer to check on the dryness of the vinyl patch on the refurbished chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at something odd moving out the bay window. Three squirrels and a chipmunk have conspired to tip over our bird feeder which I just put outside before everything went haywire with the washer. Gasp. If I get one stinking free minute, I am going to rig the old laundry basket to catch the villainous varmints. Now that would be the Law of Even Steven, Bill Murray style.