“Son,” he said, “you’re fighting the hose. You need to let the hose fight itself.”
It started with a sound every homeowner dreads. The high-pitched, healthy whine of the vacuum cleaner suddenly dropped into a strained, asthmatic gargle. You know the one. It’s the sound of a swallowed sock, a Lego man’s last stand, or—in my case—a small, but beloved, earring back.
My wife’s gold earring back. The tiny, irreplaceable one.
After three compression walks and a gentle foot roll, I heard a tiny click in the bucket. Not a thud. A click.
