The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker

 

Only in my case it would be the veterinarian, the plumber, and the HVAC guy—doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it? Trust me, it has more pain to the pocketbook. Yesterday, Sophie spent several hours at the vet for treatment of an abscess—I won’t go into detail, but it involved several procedures, none of which are cheap. Now, she’s home, with medication, and snapping at those who give

The old house we all love but which is now
causing us maintenance problems

her an insulin shot (Jordan and Christian). And also yesterday, for the Burtons, they took their new-ish male kitten to be neutered. A traumatic pet day all around. And, my older brother was hospitalized. It was a medically oriented day.

But things are never dull around the Burton/Alter compound. Today it was plumbing and air conditioning. The plumbing problem seemed simple enough—the bobber on my toilet wouldn’t bob, and it was running all the time. The plumber I have sworn by for almost twenty-five years has retired, so I called a new company, recommended in our neighborhood list of vendors. The main house had a leaking sewage problem, but we planned to call a contract company about that. Then I suggested we ask the plumbers to look since they were on site. They diagnosed a severe problem, with water gushing out of a leaky sewage pipe. After an early afternoon call, they left, and said they’d be back either late afternoon or tomorrow. They came back late afternoon with the smallest, thinnest guy in their crew because part of the problem is that the deck is built over the sewage pipe. At first they said they’d have to shut the water off overnight, but then they recanted—after Jordan and Christian had filled pitchers and ice buckets and everything they could think of. The plumbers got the gushing slowed to a trickle, said they wanted to sleep on the solution, and went away.

Before I bought this property thirty years ago, an addition had been added on to the back and that’s apparently where the problem is—what should be two separate pipes for water and sewage is not (no, that does not mean we’ve been drinking sewage water—I don’t quite understand the whole thing, but the reason they didn’t cut the water at the curb is that they were afraid of backflow when it came back on). I had happily been thinking if the main house didn’t have water, they could have access to mine. Another no: it’s all one pipe which it shouldn’t be.

All of this meant Jordan and Christian were in and out of the cottage every five minutes around five o’clock, just when Donald from Rhinefort A/C was working to fix my heating/cooling units. He got them working and promptly got it so cool I needed a sweater. So there I was, wearing my sweater, trying to write my thousand words for a day with Jordan, Christian, and Donald coming and going and giving me updates. Proud to say that I did it.

But it’s not over. The plumbers had to cut a larger hole in the deck for their small guy to get down into that gosh-awful mess. Now they think they will have to come inside to the add-on back room, move the washer and dryer, cut the floor under them and locate the pipe that should have a Y and doesn’t. I told Jordan to ask for an estimate; she did, and the guy apparently in charge said, “I have no idea.” Not words to lull me to sleep tonight. And as plumbers, they won’t be repairing the floor where the washer and dryer go. Christian pointed out we will be without laundry services for a while, and I asked how he feels about the laundromat. If there was anything that made me grateful to be a homeowner, all those years ago, it was giving up the laundromat.

At least, as the sun goes down tonight, the dog and cat are healthy, my toilet isn’t running and my a/c works. The huge shadow looming over us is the plumbing problem. Wonder what tomorrow will bring. My brother is still in the hospital, and he has one thing in common with our plumbing: they aren’t sure what’s wrong (except maybe age—he’s almost 92 and our plumbing is a hundred in some parts of the house) and they don’t have a plan. He remains in fairly good spirits and his mind is sharp for which we are grateful. I do so much appreciate those of you who have sent good thoughts for his treatment.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it’s true that trouble always goes in threes. People caution that old houses are maintenance problems, but todays’ trouble spots are in mhy cottage which is a new construction except for the shell. I’m waiting for the plumber—the bobber in my toilet doesn’t bob, which means the toilet softly and gently runs all the time! Plumbers are never inexpensive—and the main house has a major sewage problem we’ll ask them to look at and give an estimate (that’s an old house problem, although that kitchen was redone less than ten years ago). And I’m also waiting for Donald, the faithful HVAC repairman. I discovered late last night that neither of my ceiling-hung units will open to operate. When I use the remote a light goes on and the thing beeps, but nothing else happens. It’s a lovely day today and will be okay, but it was stuffy and hot at midnight last night.

A useless day—or a day when I was useless

My brother and me, in happier days

Truth is, probably no day is totally worthless; each has some redeeming quality. But I am hard put to find much good about today. No, it was not a bad day. It was just a day, a plain day, one when I didn’t know what I wanted to do and did almost nothing. I checked emails in the morning and made chicken salad for our dinner, so it could cool and blend its flavors in the fridge all afternoon. And then I fiddled, manufacturing things to do, avoiding what I’d set as my goal for the week.

You see, I’m almost at the end of the first draft of Irene in a Ghost Kitchen. I have the end—the climactic scenes, if you will—in mind, and I think I know how they should go. But I am avoiding putting the words on paper. I think in part I’m afraid to ever call the silly, short book finished, and in another part I’m afraid the end won’t work out as I intend it to. With Irene, one never knows. The entire cast of characters could take off in their own direction and spoil what I think are my plans. So I piddled.

And I didn’t know what to blog about. It’s been a different day—my brother is in the hospital again, just down the street from us. I knew last night they had requested transport from Granbury to Fort Worth where his cardiologist is but there were no beds at the hospital. And then all day today, I knew nothing and was afraid to call, maybe because I didn’t want to intrude or interrupt and maybe because I feared bad news. Finally at six o’clock, I called, he answered, and we had a short but semi-reassuring conversation. When I asked if we should come visit him, he said his dance card was already pretty full. And then he said it was complicated to get there, and I thought he was thinking of me in my transport chair. I have found in the past that hospital has a lot of twists and turns, and you can get lost if you don’t know where you are going. So we will talk again tomorrow.

Also today, Jordan’s new cat went to be neutered, which didn’t affect me much but did throw a monkey wrench in scheduling. They took him eight and were to pick him up at three. Then I called Sophie’s vet because we discovered an abscess on the back of her neck. I had a faint hope he would prescribe antibiotics over the phone, but no—he wanted to see her. Diabetes complicates infection. Jordan took her at eleven and, to my dismay, they kept her. Then they called and said she could go home at three. Schedule conflict! No way the kids could have the dog and cat in the car at the same time. It all worked out: they got the cat, Jordan and the cat came home, and Christian got Sophie about four. She is home, has some antibiotics, and my wallet is a lot lighter. But I am grateful she didn’t spend the night.

Last night we had a farewell happy hour for my Canadian daughter and her husband—I fixed a spread instead of just a light snack, because I knew they would have packed their kitchen and couldn’t cook. Pigs in a blanket, devilled eggs, veggies with a dip, olives, pickles, cherry tomatoes, etc. We had a pleasant evening, and I worked to avoid topics on which we disagree, but somehow the subject of money ruling the world came up. Reluctantly I realize it’s true, but I hate it; she accepts it with a degree of cynicism that frustrates me. When Sue said she as always proven right, I didn’t remind her that she had absolutely guaranteed that trump would win in 2020 because money rules—and he didn’t. But I hated that a touchy subject came up when who knows when we will see them again.

So maybe all that baggage was on my mind tonight and kept me from writing or, until now when it is almost midnight, from blogging. Who knows how creativity works? Tonight, because I as so at loose ends, I took a nap about eight-thirty and that was when I really came to grips with how out of sorts I felt. So I got up, came to the computer, and deliberately wrote three sentences. And I felt the muse kick in, I knew where I was going. It was too late to keep at it, but now I’m fired about tomorrow. I had promised myself I’d write a blog post first thing in the morning, so I turned to the book I’m currently reading. And then it occurred to me that if I wrote the blog tonight, I could go right to the novel in the morning. And sort of what I wanted to say flitted around in my mind. So that’s why these cobbled together thoughts on creativity and indolence.

Sweet dreams all. I hope I dream of Irene wrapping up that story in her usual fine style.