It was a day,unlike any other
Waking to the sound of water
Anticipating fresh coffee
But, alas, a flood of water on the kitchen floor
Dripping into the basement
Concentrating on my sewing machine area
Yesterday’s work on stitched cardstock, a soggy ruin
Water drips on my backside, comprehension stalls
Autopilot through navigation with insurance
Our efforts are futile and elementary with shop vac
My husband, forty pounds lighter from cancer’s toll
Determined to haul buckets up from a drain-free basement
My pleading, this is a drop in the bucket, stop
ServPro arrives to assess the landscape
Equipment hauled in, nothing remains in its former place
Hours later the house vibrates with the squadron of air movers
Deep blue zigzags of painters tape over cords and wires
Sinks transformed into new drains from makeshift mitigation
Where is the adjuster through this – manpower shortage
A vacation week, no less, “our phones will not be answered”
A friend says to submit your electric bill for this period
House hums from the machinery, earplugs are useless
My heartbeat registers in my ears, is my throat really sore
A checklist is running ragged,
What about the cardboard box with machine embroidery parts
Did the water cruise towards the wooden box of threads
Why couldn’t I understand the physics
Water is turned off under the sink, why is it dripping still
The kitchen floor will likely be ripped up tomorrow
Feeling short on gratitude but ripe with wonder
How much was tossed out and will the basement look cleaner
The Throwaway Society
by Ruth Ollson
My watch stopped. They do that once in awhile. It obviously needed a new battery–or something. It was a Timex that could also light up. Handy at concerts or in the middle of the night when you don’t feel like rolling over to look at the clock. I loved it.
I tried and tried to open the back. Used my nails–no go. Used a knife–nearly slit my finger open. What a puzzle–no notch to hook onto. Why do they make this so difficult! I had this problem once before. Finally threw the darn thing away and got a new
Aha! The light dawned. This is what they wanted!!! They WANT ME TO GET A NEW WATCH! You are not supposed to change the battery or take it to be fixed in any way. What you are meant to do is take it off your wrist and toss it in the trash!! It’s planned obsolescence, no question about it! Are our oceans not yet full enough of junk? Or our landfills? Are they hungry for old computers, old toasters, old anything?
We all have the experience of owning a piece of equipment passed down from another generation, a piece that still works. In my case it’s a toaster belonging to my grandmother and bought in the forties. It still works. Once in awhile we take it out to marvel at that fact and produce a decent piece of toast. Of course we don’t use it regularly because it simply uses too much electricity. However the fact that it works well is impressive and proves that it can be done! How many toasters have you replaced in the last thirty years? I dread to think.
Really, is this okay? Is this what we want? A society that fills up landfills and oceans with junk instead of making things that last? I think it’s sad. There must be another way.
Horner’s Corner
by Kathy Wagenknecht
My mother’s parents lived on the outskirts of Kansas City, Kansas, at the far end of one of the main streets in town, Strong Ave, just past 47th Street. There were three small 2-bedroom houses side by side, across from an area of undeveloped woods, and then nothing but empty 2-lane road on the way out of town. But at the corner of 47th and Strong was a little grocery store, Horner’s Corner.
We never visited our grandparent for a meal without someone being sent up to Horner’s for something necessary for the meal. “Kathy, walk up to Horner’s and get a ‘something‘ (can of soup, a dozen eggs, a loaf a bread, a pack of cigarettes, always different.) And here’s dime for you and Karen to get something for yourselves.”
What a treat! All the way to the store we talked about what we’d buy: I was particularly fond of the sour cherry candy — red, round and jelley-filled. Or sunflower seeds — they lasted longer. I don’t remember what Karen got, but she made sure it wasn’t something I really liked because she liked to save and savor her treat but I ate mine as fast as I could. And if she had any left, I’d find a way to eat it too.
Of course, if it were summer, we’d instead opt for the ice cream cones sold at the dairy window next to the grocery store: a dime size for me and a nickel size for Karen so she could get both candy and ice cream. And then we’d dawdle on the way back to the house, making sure our cones were totally eaten before we got into the house or someone, my Granddad most likely, would pretend to be mad that we ate everything without leaving some for him.
The same scene played out from the time I was about 7 (old enough to walk to the store) until I was 14 and my Granddad died. Then my aunt and uncle moved in with my grandmother and going to the grocery store every time we visited was no longer required. My aunt, who had been sent to the store every day of her childhood, to hear her tell it, shopped every week. And she never seemed to require either additional ingredients or to get rid of spare change the way my grandmother had.
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