I declared the dryer kaput on Thursday when I extracted a t-shirt that was scorched and chewed off at the bottom. Along with a towel that was also partially eaten by the machine.

This was no great surprise, as it had been making horrible noises for several loads already. The bearings are clearly gone, since the drum now rumbles free inside. Still, not bad for a 23 year-old appliance (Sears Kenmore, if you care). The wonder is that it didn't catch fire and burn the whole house down, since we are quite literally living in a firetrap.

I finished drying the last load of whites using hangers in the shower and a fan. Yes, we have an outside clothesline, but since it is immediately downwind of our neighbors' fireplace, and they appear to burn primarily paper and plastic trash in their fireplace when it is cold, and it's been below freezing for several days already, the outside line is not an option. Unless you like smelling like burned garbage.

Now, replacing a dryer wouldn't normally be a great chore. You haul out the old one, order a new one, put it in and bingo, you're wearing clean, dry clothes again. However, in our cluttered home, you cannot find a path from the dryer to any outside door that is wide enough for the dryer.

So, the wife spent the day sorting, moving, and restacking about a third of the clutter and camping gear that fills our basement.

And yes, I barely helped. Since she rejected my idea of simply moving things aside to clear a path wide enough for an appliance and then putting everything right back once the dryer was replaced, she was on her own.

Midway through this project of hers, which is just now nearing partial completion, she came up bearing a heavy load in her shirt, like a mother kangaroo. Seems she could barely lift youngest son's packpack, which hasn't been used since he last went to camp what, four summers ago? And inside she found what a young teenaged male apparently considers to be a week's supply of essential camping equipment.

Batteries.

Lots and lots of batteries. To be exact,

1 nine-volt,

8 D-cell,

and 25 AAs.

Either he was extremely well prepared for whatever emergency might arise...

Or he was the camp black market for batteries.