What can’t the Internet provide? Somehow one of these crab picks had fallen into my garbage disposal and had landed under the flywheel and jammed in there but good.
The only reason I know it’s called the flywheel is because the Internet is invincible. I just fixed my own jammed garbage disposal!
Out of all the different ways to do it, this was the way I did it:
Restrained myself from reaching in to try to unjam it with my fingers
Flipped the power off at the breaker panel
Used a wooden spoon handle to turn the teeth of the flywheel counterclockwise, which freed the damn pick
Used pliers to reach in and pull it out
Flipped the power back on at the breaker
Reached under the disposal and pressed the reset button
And I now have a working disposal. Such a great feeling to do it yourself and avoid paying someone the big bucks.
This is one of my favorite movie endings of all time. From “No Country for Old Men.” It doesn’t directly relate to the plot of the film, but it uses a reflection on the past as a way to imply hope for a hopeless future. The end of The Road (the novel, by the same author) carries a similar message, I think…
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
Sadly beautiful endings… And I wish I could use words like, “wimpled,” “torsional,” and “vermiculate,” like McCarthy does—effortlessly.
One of the best of all time.
If you’re missing someone who’s gone, watch the video at this link. It’s so very comforting.
I'm not much of a blogger, obviously, but I do like having a little catch-all for stuff.
I live in Seattle and I'm actually a Pacific Northwest native. When I was growing up here, that was pretty rare.
You can email me at suitep at the big gmail house.