My Shameful Addictions

Three years ago, I had to admit I had a problem with power washers.

To me it had seemed so harmless.   I promised my children I'd limit myself to weekend cleaning of walkways and decks and house foundations.  I was practically mainlining ibuprofen for the ache in my forearms.  I felt lightheaded from the vibrations, but kept finding more moss and old paint to blast.

Finally I had to go cold turkey.  The next summer I spent mostly in New York City where recreational power washing is just not on.   The next summer my sons sent the power washer to a friend's house in Montana and somehow forgot to bring it home until fall.

The portable gas cans were full, and stayed that way for months.  We all relaxed. 

Then this winter, windstorms brought down thousands of trees. Free firewood aplenty to cut, split and stack.

Here you see the newest embodiment of my Furies,  the log splitter.  My sons rented one and towed it to one of their houses, and spent a peaceful few hours splitting and stacking wood there.   Then they towed it to the house where I was innocently making oatmeal cookies, performing arranged marriages on various reluctant socks, and listening to the blues. 

We worked until dark.   I did stop once to go inside for a sandwich and coffee.  (My daughter-in-law said if I didn't eat she'd consider me too weak to hold the baby safely for at least a day.  Blackmail.)   I also went inside once for at least 90 seconds to use the bathroom. 

I did not check my email.  I did not read the news at PajamasMedia.  I did not return calls.  I did not bite my daughter-in-law's father when he tried to take my place at the switch of the log splitter; I didn't even snarl at him very loudly.

We've cut and split and stacked every tree that was down in our neighborhood.  The boys took the splitter back to the rental place.  They say they gave my name and description to the manager and told him not to rent me any big power tools.

They reminded me that this is a small town, and people do talk.   They told me if I make trouble I'll lose my motorcycle privileges, and that my tractor-driving license for next summer at the family apple orchards is on the line. 

Sometimes I hate my own children.

Comments

[Webutante]

Here in the south where unsavory things fall on your roof, it's amazing what a power wash can do to spiff it up. I had the good sense to let someone else do the roof and then we did the little rental house--the whole thing.

It's magic what happens when a little Middle Eastern oil becomes electricity becomes hurricane force water/wind for power washing roofs, foundations, siding, patios and oh dear, I'm getting addicted just talking about it!

I must admit,however, I wouldn't want to be on your bad side while you are wielding one of "them thangs" or one of them log splitting machines or a chain saw. I know when to make a hasty retreat and let the chips fall where they may!

[Vanderleun]

I once did an eight page magazine spread involving fifteen power tools and two Penthouse pets. The less said about that the better, except that sales of power tools went up the month it was published.

[Fausta]

It's been warm enough for the power washer here in NJ. Maybe I'll take it out and wash the deck tomorrow.

[Obi's Sister]

I CAN-NOT wait for spring and cleaning the walks again. Every year they get covered with that wierd greenish-black mold-goo that's only culturable in the schizophrenic winters of South. But they don't stand a chance against a woman with a power washer! Then I AM the most powerful woman in the world!

Ahem...on a more personal note... I'm glad you had the courage to step up and admit your "issue". Welcome to the club.

[stubby]

I can relate, although my power tool addiction is much smaller and more portable (a portable Dremel. I loooooove my Dremel. Need something drilled? Polished? I'm your girl).