Two wise men arrived in a vehicle that was roughly the size of a Mail Order Fulfillment Center. How it managed the lane I am not really certain. Where the lane turns, a rear wheel spun a little upon grass that was wet from last night's nasty storms, which in the dark hours had produced fanfare with radar indicated tornado to our west, and an eighth inch of rain for us here. To the south there were trees downed, I was told. "A big mess in parts of town," I was told. And one of the wise men hadn't heard a thing, he'd slept peacefully through it all.
When they were gone I maintained calm while performing the leveling, water
hookup, venting and electrical duties. None of which the wise men were permitted
to do owing to constraints upon them by a mid level region of the Angelic Host
called the Legal Department. For a good while I thought last night's storm
might have robbed us of a single electric circuit, because that's been known to
cause confusion and a great deal of anxiety. But the cause of my inability to
turn the device on was nothing so ordinary. Somewhere in the past fourteen or
fifteen years the Almighty in his wisdom has re-conceptualized the "On Switch"
for machines that wash clothes.