Catastrophe followed by good times

 

Isn't that a great cover?
Read on to see why it's at the head of my blog post

This morning was the usual day for the wonderful Zenaida to clean my cottage as she does every other week, but when she texted that she had a doctor’s appointment at two she needed to be here at 7 a.m., we all balked. Even I do not want my sheets changed and my laundry done badly enough to get up at six. Thank goodness, a compromise was reached—she came at nine and only cleaned the cottage, leaving the Burtons’ house for another day.

And what a blessing that turned out to be. With time to spare, she dug into some corners—and discovered a huge leak under the kitchen sink. Jordan is quite sure it was not there two or three days ago when we emptied the recyclables and she put the bucket back. Zenaida, who has an amazingly logical mind, found that it was the spray nozzle and not the actual faucet. Still there seemed to be no way to use the faucet except the nozzle. Aha, but there was! Zenaida figured out if we pulled the nozzle into the sink, the leak went down the drain instead of back down the nozzle cord to the space beneath. Just in case we have a bucket down there, and everything from under the sink is now under the butcher block. Took me five minutes, a call to Jordan, and the help of my dinner guest to retrieve Sophie’s dinner bowl.

I called my favorite plumber—what a luxury to have a favorite plumber—and he diagnosed a broken nozzle beyond repair. I would have to order another one. It would be under warranty, so cost is not a problem, but time delay is. They allow ten days for delivery. Meantime, I will be washing dishes with the nozzle hanging in the sink—more awkward than you would think. Keith also fixed the leak in my bathroom sink which turned out to be more significant—water was creeping out from the base of the faucets to the extent that it dripped over the edge of the counter onto the floor. It’s been that way ever since I’ve been in the cottage, but for a long time I attributed it to wet hands turning the faucet on and off. Only recently figured out it was more than that. Also only recently figured out it accounted for the five or six ants who visited me daily.

I thought between Zenaida stuck under the sink and Keith coming to fix things, my usual routine was shot—not good on a day when I was cooking for a guest and really wanted a nap. Not so, by noon they were both gone, my casserole was made, and I had pickled a bunch of cucumber slices.

So tonight, my friend Babette Hale, short story writer and author of the new book A Wall of Bright Dead Feathers, came for supper. She was on her way back to Winedale from Santa Fe, and I was flattered that she arranged her trip so that she’d have a night in Fort Worth and we could visit. I dismissed her offer of dinner, saying it’s easier for me to cook than for her to wrangle my walker. I served an appetizer of smoked Swiss, a chicken and hard-boiled egg casserole which was delicious if I do say so (I ate two helpings—she only ate one), and broccoli. Watch for this Thurday’s “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” blog entry for the casserole recipe—it’s definitely a keeper.

We had lots of good laughs, talked a lot about writing, much about her late husband Leon Hale, the legendary Houston columnist who died last spring at the age of ninety-nine, some about food, more about dogs, some about Santa Fe which holds a special place in the affections of both of us. I may have said this before, and I don’t mean to sound elitist or snobbish, but there’s something so refreshing when two writers can have a serious talk—I mean writers who consider writing their profession and sometimes their reason for being. A thoroughly lovely evening—and she gave me an idea for a book. As if I didn’t have enough projects on my desk.

For a Monday, it was a really good day.