Hoovie's Dead

Good ole Hoovie died today. He's been with us almost twelve years and seen us through six moves, four of them major cross-country affairs that tested his stamina. He's battled rocks, a megajar of chocolate sprinkles, hair chopped legitimately and sneakily from child heads, filthy basements, porches, and garages. He's been a dear friend to me, one that I never parted with except once, when a friend in need begged for him. Even then, I knew the friend wasn't worthy of Hoovie--it turns out, in the end, he wasn't--but despite possible abandonment issues, Hoovie stayed faithful and true, battered, blue, old and always ready to clean up a big mess. He never electrocuted me or the children; since his arrival at our wedding so long ago, ushered in by my own dear Granddad, he's done the job with a stiff upper lip and a companionable hum.

Yesterday I noticed Hoovie wasn't doing too well; as he helped me clean the fan tines and under beds, his hum broke into a deafening roar. But he kept going and so did I. Despite his age, I thought he could do anything, even though he'd let loose a puff of dust and began to complain so loudly my ears began to hurt. I almost said something but I thought I might be imagining things--after all, Hoovie's had a little trouble but never anything serious.

He had a good rest overnight in the front hallway, poised to conquer the main floor this morning before church. As the girls finished their cereal, I plugged in Hoovie, turned him on and
BANG!
He exploded. Parts flew from his front; a cloud of dust rose into the air! His death roar ended in a burning smell that brought the family running into the front hallway.

Sadly, I wheeled him onto the porch and went about cleaning the old-school way: broom and dustpan, rug-beating. It was okay, but it wasn't the job old Hoovie would have done.

He's still on the porch, standing there dejected against the post, his bag dirty and streaked. Still, there's some pride to him, the aura of a life well-lived, dirt and endless unmentionables well sucked, the repair shop avoided his long life. He's seen the country, Hoovie has, from the east to the west coast. A summer day in Pennsylvania was not a bad time to go. And he went in style. It's what Hoovie would have wanted.