So, moving to Canada seemed a good idea for many reasons, some large, some small. One of the seemingly less weighty was Big Laundry: the possibility of doing in one load the washing which in England would require three. This sounds trivial until you have a family of five and are responsible for everyone's clean clothes, all the time. The U of T rental house provided us large though old machines, and I got used to the efficiency-- albeit not to the dank and creepy back basement where they were situated.
Our new house came complete with a used but heavy-duty Maytag washing machine, the signature brand of Sears, itself a Norman Rockwell-like signifier of American tradition. Great. But no tumble dryer. So I shopped around and found one that seemed fine and could be ordered online; relatively cheap, basic, not too many settings and features-- Amana, another good old tried-and-true American brand. I checked the size; the machine was big, but would fit easily into its designated space. I negotiated well with the company (or so I thought) to get both a low price and free delivery. Clever me.
Alas, not so clever. Our new house is in fact quite old, dating from 1899, and the upstairs hallways are very narrow: ours had a bottleneck of 26.5". Lifting, twisting, turning, and shoving failed to get the dryer, whose narrowest dimension, depth, measured 28.5" with the back panel removed, beyond that point to its intended destination. Everyone, from the deliverers, to Jan the Man (who is in charge of coordinating and managing our inadvertently major overhaul of the new house), to husband, to an engineering friend, said 'Nope, it can't be done. Send it back. Get a smaller one.' But Big Laundry was part of the dream. Again, trivial, but not to me. I couldn't let go. After two weeks without laundry (and a lot of me saying 'Careful! Don't spill! You'll get that dirty!'), importuning friends, even contemplating an evening at the laundromat, I was ready to give in and Go Small. Then Jan said, 'Wait! We have a crazy idea.' Greg, an ex-gaffer who is one of Jan's band of merry minstrels, said he felt confident that they could wrap the dryer securely, haul it up the side of the house with ropes and a ladder, onto the roof of the extension (husband's study), up again and over the rail of the third-floor sundeck, then downstairs to the second floor and into the back room intended for laundry.
It sounded mad. It was mad. I asked whether they had insurance. They laughed. I worried about whether the dryer would survive. I also worried about accidental death, both out of sincere concern for the Merry Minstrels, and for our future lives in a home marred by tragedy. A friend to whom I described the plan said that the crime scene tape would be in the shape of a rectangle with two feet sticking out. Husband worried about damage to the roof of his study.
But they did it! And it all went swimmingly. Everyone lived. Up, over, and down in under half an hour, and later in the afternoon they had the dryer connected and running (though the washing machine had sprung a leak-- I think the gods are telling me to stop doing laundry). Jan and the minstrels are miracle workers. We will miss them when they go. Jordi the dog will be especially sad; he anticipates the men's arrival every morning, yapping with excitement when he hears them at the door: Adam, Adam, Ben, Chris, Greg and of course Jan, plus a few who come and go before I learn their names. It's sort of like our family has suddenly grown.
So, yes, it will be a bit lonely when they are done and gone. But I think we might get used to it (except for Jordi). In any case, we are ready to find out.
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