Down the Drain.

Reflections on fixing my washing machine.

Hi friends,

Happy New Year and welcome to Monday, and apparently a world of productivity? I guess we are supposed to seamlessly transition from pajamas all day, white wine all day, binging (and critiquing) Stranger Things all day, and doom-scrolling Trump’s insane hijacking of our democracy, human decency, and the world order, to writing and filing stories and meeting deadlines? Well, I’m not sure how that’s supposed to happen, but I’m here to say the struggle is real.

I became a human sloth over the two weeks that passed — eating and drinking at home, and occasionally leaving the house to do more eating and drinking — and while I could never tell you what day it was, quite frankly, it was wonderful. But, I did accomplish one amazing thing over the break. I feel so immensely satisfied and proud of myself that I must share.

Photo by Linus Belanger on Unsplash

The day before Christmas, my washing machine decided to die. It is very old, but was still hanging on, and I imagined that it would continue plugging along for years to come, sort of like me. Not in its prime, but carrying on. But then, one cold morning, it started beeping and blinking and not doing the things it was supposed to do like wash the clothes.

Now, when this happens with electronics or major home appliances, I generally use the tried and true “turn it off, wait ten seconds, turn it back on” method. This is a classic – you just reboot and pray to the tech gods (who often ignore my calls). Sometimes I also add a small kick, a gentle prodding, you know, just to let the appliance know who’s boss. So, I followed my trusted routine, once without the kick, once with, and sadly, the beeping and blinking continued and the clothes remained unwashed.

I was troubled by this. I don’t like calling repair folks because they tend to come in with their $250 price tag for walking in the door and then the hourly fees and whatnot, and before you know it, you’ve spent what it would cost to buy a new machine on getting it fixed. So I decided, I am a capable woman, right? Right! I can do this myself! I mean how hard can it be to fix a washing machine? I birthed two children! Granted no appliances involved there, but still! And also, this is why god invented YouTube. (Well that and also Marcoplier, who is apparently my son’s best friend at this point.)

I googled Electrolux Washing Machine drain filter error, which was the message blinking insistently on the front screen and found a lovely woman who explained how to remove and clean the drain, demonstrating on her own machine, where she discovered an old diamond that belonged to her grandmother. Bonus. At my house, I did what she told me, followed her instructions to the T. I got down on my hands and knees and opened the lower right front panel door on the machine, pulled the drain cap off, and then immediately got run over with swampy grimy gray water; it smelled like something small and furry with a long tail might have died inside the machine. It was not pleasant. But lots of it was pouring out of the machine so I closed the drain cap back up and ran to get a big bucket and started to bail out the washing machine, filling the bucket with bowl after bowl of swamp water. Fun.

Once the machine was drained, I attempted step two: turning the drain counter clockwise to remove and clean it. I turned and turned and tried and tried but I could not get a grip on the drain for the life of me. It kept slipping through. I used a towel. Nope. It was not turning. I was very upset. I didn’t want to call someone. I wanted to do this! My YouTube lady said it was easy! I could not disappoint her.

I thought maybe I could use some sort of a tool, maybe something made for turning things that are tough to turn. Is that a wrench? Pliers? I did not have either of those. The hardware store seemed so very far from my house. And it was so cold outside and snowy, and I was in my pajamas which are flannel and fine for a trip to the wine shop next door (they are used to it), but not all the way to Mazzone on Court Street. I just didn’t have it in me.

But I wanted to fix the damn thing. So, I texted a neighbor. “Do you have a pair of pliers I can borrow to try to fix my washing machine?” He did, but strongly questioned my attempt to fix it myself. I thanked him for the pliers and told him I was confident I could do it. Men.

Photo by Stavan Macwan on Unsplash

Armed with his pliers, I got back on my hands and knees, secured the talons of the tool around the drain filter, and twisted. At first it didn’t budge. I tried not to be deterred and drained myself. I took a deep breath, shared some positive affirmations with myself, and twisted the pliers harder, putting all my Logan Aldridge Peloton-earned strength into it, until, low and behold, the drain started to move. I nearly cried. I screamed to the kids: “Mommy is doing it! The drain is moving! I am going to fix this machine!” They did not even look up from their devices. (Screentime limits are still a challenge for me.) Anyway, I kept turning, feeling the drain loosen with every counter-clockwise revolution, until I was able to pull that stubborn sucker out of the machine.

What came out on the drain — some grotesque combination of wet lint, goopy grime, random hair clips and press on nails (none of my grandmother’s diamonds sadly) — is not to be described in a newsletter where people come to be inspired to eat, but I will say if you are looking to never eat again, perhaps cleaning drain filters is your next profession.

I pulled the drain thing completely out, took it over to the trash, pulled off all the stinky lint-soaked gunk, then took it over to the sink where I lovingly washed it in warm soapy water as my YouTuber explained. (She left out the lovingly part, but it felt right after I had kicked it.) After a few moments, it was shiny and clean, a drain filter on its second life.

Back on my hands and knees, I screwed it back in; no pliers needed. I cheered for myself. I turned on the machine and waited. Thirty-seven minutes later I heard the cycle end with a satisfying beep. No error message. The clothes were clean, rinsed and spun to damp. I had done it! I fixed it! All by myself (well with my nice YouTube lady).

I cannot tell you the immense satisfaction I felt fixing my machine. Look, I get it. It’s not a big thing. It’s not solving any of the issues plaguing our society, it’s small and ridiculous, and really such a first world problem, but I figured it out. And somehow that felt so good, so genuinely satisfying, to accomplish a task, particularly when even the smallest items on my to-do list always seem so much more difficult than they should be. I mean making doctors appointments is an all-morning affair. Pressing the right button, being transferred, waiting on hold, offering your insurance information which inevitably they don’t accept and if they do, it will be 6-7 years until their first available visit. Honestly, I just want to be able to take care of my own mess. I want to feel competent and capable. Sometimes that’s enough.

In any case, I think you will agree that I have now accomplished all there is to accomplish in 2026. So I’m back to my all-day pajamas and all-day wine. I may be here for a while. Call me for all your plumbing needs. (Oh, and yes, this week we will be back to our regularly scheduled programming! I promise.)