I wrote awhile ago about fixing my dryer.  I have to admit that I felt pretty good about that and when my washer quit spinning, I figured “no problem.  I’ll have this one licked by sundown.”

I tore the machine apart and determined what the problem was: a broken plastic part that coupled the motor and the transmission.  One trip to Sears and twelve bucks later it was back in business, spinning and agitating away.

One thing I did notice after replacing that part was a loud squeal and the occasional smell of burnt electrical wiring.  Being the extremely capable handyman that I am, I figured that was bad.

Tore it apart again and found out the motor was toast, and had now seized up completely.

I admitted defeat, and after I was sure the washer had heard the lamentation of the women, I went back to Sears and bought a new one.  The old one was recycled out of respect for its years of service to two families.

I still haven’t gotten that frivolous thing I talked about last time.  Barnacles.