dianaschnuth

I’m fighting the urge to embark on too many projects at once. This is normal.

Would you believe that I still haven’t finished scrapbooking our honeymoon? From 2003? Or that I have 8mm videocamera footage from back in April 2000 that I never managed to edit together into a final montage? IKEA kitchen accessories purchased a year and a half ago, and never installed? Photos and art moved from our apartment back in 2004 that I still haven’t hung on the walls? Art that I’ve purchased, and photos that I’ve gotten enlarged, and haven’t yet framed?

I’m trying to make a concerted effort to finish these orphaned projects before I start on anything new. I’m also coming to terms with the fact that some things, like my three unfinished novels, may never be done.

I’m on Day Two of a new initiative to prioritize and get things done, and it’s going well. One chunk at a time, and nothing too overwhelming — that’s how everything will get done.

Maybe, someday, my desk will even be clean and organized.

Pshaw.

You may recall that my oven had a breakdown last week. Well, the part arrived in no time, and Aaron and I installed it yesterday.

Although most of the breakers in our box of electrical magic and wonder are not labeled, it just so happens that the one for the range happens to be one of two that are. So, Aaron took charge, flipped said breaker, grabbed a couple of Phillips-head screwdrivers, and went to town on the oven. It took maybe five minutes, if that, to unscrew the mounting plate, pull out and unclip the old, broken element, clip in the new one, and screw it back in.

Nothing burned down, although the factory dust did burn off of the element for a minute or so, and I baked some VERY tasty No-Pudge Fudge Brownies later that day.

No worries. Our oven should be good to go for many more years to come.

I bought some No-Pudge Fudge Brownies at Claudia’s a couple weeks ago, and decided to make them for our trip to Canada this weekend. All they needed was a container of vanilla yogurt, mix ’em up, and throw ’em in the oven for a half hour. That I can do, no problem. Preheated the oven, stirred the powdered mix together with 6 ounces of vanilla yogurt, put it into a lubed-up pan, and opened the oven—

Why is only one little bit of the heating element glowing red? How odd.

I turned the oven off — I’m kind of skitchy with appliances that don’t do exactly what’s expected of them, especially when it involves electricity and lots of heat — and waited for the oven to cool again. I figured that maybe something funky had been spilled onto the heating element, and I could just clean it off and be on my brownie way.

So, once the oven was cool enough, I got a sponge (for lack of anything more abrasive) and got to work on cleaning the heating element. Carefully.

But apparently not carefully enough. Where the element looked like something had spilled on it and simply needed cleaned off, the element easily snapped in two like chalk.

Um… I think I broke it? Maybe it was already almost broken. At any rate, now we need a $35 – $40 part for our oven before I can a.) make brownies, which are now sitting raw in the refrigerator; or b.) test out any luau recipes. Oh, or c.) make any more tropical-scented candles.

So, why do I say “crisis averted,” when my oven doesn’t work now? If I hadn’t noticed the weirdness with the heating element, I could have set the oven on fire with my brownie-baking. As it is, we’ll just have to buy a part and either try installing it ourselves or pay someone to do it for us. We won’t have to buy a whole new oven, or a whole new kitchen.

Crisis averted.

Aaron was assembling his lunch this afternoon/evening (since he works nights) when we heard two quick rings of the doorbell and two quick knocks on the front door. That’s usually the UPS man’s MO, so Aaron went over to the door and peeked through the peephole.

“I don’t know who that is,” he said, turning back toward the kitchen, “so I’m not answering it. Some lady with a clipboard.”

Not ten seconds later, the person rang and knocked again, and I saw Aaron’s eyes flare before he turned to stride back toward the door. I stayed in the kitchen, unseen, while I listened to the exchange:

Aaron: Can I help you?
Woman: Good afternoon! How are you today?
Aaron: Can you read?
(I assumed he was pointing at our prominently displayed “No Soliciting” sign.)
Woman: Yes.
Aaron: Thank you.
Woman (just before door closes): Piece of shit.
Aaron (yanking the door back open): Fuck you, too!

According to Aaron, the woman flipped him off from the driveway as she walked off, and her clipboard read American something-or-other. I’m guessing she was a political pollster of some kind, and I’m hoping she wasn’t working on behalf of a charitable organization, considering her reactions.

As for me, I prefer to go the more passive-aggressive route of not answering the door at all, even after the second knock, but it’s easier to go that route when the car isn’t in the driveway and I can feign not being home. Aaron’s OK with being a little more confrontational than I am, generally speaking.

Still, though, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect to be left alone by pollsters and solicitors and proselytors when you post a No Soliciting sign right next to your doorbell.