It's a great word that, "thwart." It even sounds like a slap upside the head that would stop you dead in your tracks. And dead in my tracks was where I was yesterday until I finally limped my way along. It being somewhat cooler, there was a spark of ambition fanned by a guest arriving in the afternoon. Every time Bessie Anne comes in the house she brings in an assortment of leaves and stickers to deposit on the rug, so vacuuming was at the top of the list. Vroom! Down the hall and in front of the door, and then nothing. The vacuum cleaner quit. Click, click. Nope. Nothing. I changed the plug to a different outlet. Nothing. The motor felt really warm, so I took parts off to help it cool and let it sit. Put it back together and ta da! Another four feet of carpet swept and then nothing. Again. I took the canister off, sat in my chair, and figured out how to dismantle it so as to clean an inaccessible filter. However, in doing so I dumped a huge mound of dust on the already littered floor and, of course, Bess wanted to be by my feet and so tromped through the mess to add her footprints on the rug. The vacuum wouldn't vacuum and now the problem had compounded one-hundredfold. Not enough time to run to town to get a new vacuum. Thwarted at every turn. Alternately cussing and saying, "Please, please, please," I put the machine back together, crossed my fingers, and hit the switch. It roared to life and I raced around the living room like a madwoman and got the last corner swept before, you guessed it, the vacuum died again. My inclination was to beat the thing beyond recognition but with remnants of sanity, I put it in the dark closet and shut the door to give it a time-out to think about its sins. In the meantime, I dusted.
Harold arrived soon thereafter, bearing an ice-cold watermelon that we took out to the deck to enjoy.
All's well that ends well.