Waking up to a bright new world

It’s a fairly well-known fact that I take a nap every afternoon. I’m religious about it. Friends and family know not to call or come by between two and four. I’ve read a lot about research supporting the healthful aspects of napping, and I’m certainly not one of those who claim to feel worse after a nap then before. It’s a lifelong habit, inherited from my father, and now that I’m retired, I’m free to indulge every afternoon.

By the time two o’clock rolled around today, I was more than ready to sleep. The plumbing saga continued, with a crew of professional diggers who belied the heritage of the gravedigger in Hamlet. These were cheerful fellows—at least four of them—who pushed countless wheelbarrows filled with rock to a waiting truck. But they seemed to laugh and joke among themselves  while they worked. They were not impressed by Sophie, though, and I had to keep her in the house, despite her protests.

The wonderful woman who twice a month cleans my cottage texted to say she had to wait for repairmen at her own home. Jordan and I sort of gave up hope, but a little after one she showed up. I asked for a quick cleaning—laundry, bed linen, vacuum, etc.—but she was two steps ahead of me. She was going to do those things and clean the bedroom, then close me in the bedroom to nap while she cleaned the rest of the cottage. She took it in stride when I said she could not flush the commode but was undone when the plumbers cut off the water. “I can’t clean bathrooms,” she complained.

So that was the state of things when I went to sleep—a dirty house, an unflushed, stopped up commode, and no water. By then, the diggers had finished, and the plumbers had started their repair, which they promised me they could get done today. Sophie was wandering around, still wanting to go outside, a bit bewildered by all that was going on.

I woke up to a new world. Zenaida was gone, but the cottage sparkled and smelled clean and good. The bathroom was clean, the commode had been flushed and cleaned, and the plumbers were gone. I texted my thanks to Zenaida and called the plumbing company, where they said they weren’t quite through—all the dirt they took out has to be replaced and the area cleaned up. But the important repair was done, and Sophie was happily surveying her kingdom in the back yard. I felt like a new person.

Tonight at happy hour we celebrated Mary’s birthday—it’s one of the big ones, and she will  be in New York on the actual day, so we partied a bit ahead with a spread of cheese, pickled herring, blue cheese dip, and hummus. Prudence made chocolate dipped strawberries and strawberry buttercream frosting, which Jordan put on chocolate cupcakes. Can you guess that the birthday girl’s favorites are chocolate and strawberry?

A happy day, though it ended with Jordan and me searching Amazon for the N95 masks recommended when—not if, according to the CDC—the corona virus erupts here. Many affordable versions are “currently not available,” which tells you we are late to the party. But we did order four masks. I have this twisted logic, that I hope is true—if we spend money on the masks, we won’t need them. Still I worry ahead about quarantines and our country’s lack of preparedness.

Dodging a bullet, or, the plumbing saga continues

Mother and son--who's taller?

Jordan wins by a hair but not for long.

After a day that was just a beat off, it was a delight to have happy hour with Jordan and Mary tonight. Prudence couldn’t join us because her husband was still doing surgery, so she had no babysitter. But she breezed by with crème brulee and individual chocolate mousse cakes. If that girl ever walks into my cottage empty-handed, I will probably fall over in a faint.

We had a jolly time. Mary is on a kick of doing one fun thing every day for a month leading ujp to a decade-changing birthday—you can guess which decade because I’m not going to tell. Tonight, we were her fun thing, which put a burden on us to be extra bright and gay. But I guess we managed because she seemed quite happy about the evening.

A highlight was when Jacob came out, and we had a measuring contest to see who was taller—Jacob or his mom. We did that last night too—he’s even with his dad and almost even with me (I have shrunk with age, which happens to most people).

When Mary left and Jordan went inside, I had salmon salad (salmon left from Sunday night supper) for dinner, followed by half a crème brulee. Just couldn’t do the whole thing. For the salmon, I simply broke it up with a fork, added diced cucumber and green onion, a healthy squeeze of lemon, and some mayonnaise. So good.

But the day was not so good. I couldn’t settle down and get any real work done while first waiting for the roto-rooter guy and then waiting for them to leave. They arrived about ten-thirty—two men. One was the clean-out guy, the one who actually broke up whatever was stopping up the commode; the other was the camera guy and estimator, Now the presence of an estimator alerted me to the fact that they expected, hoped, to find a major problem to repair, and I was wary from the start. The clean-out visit, for which I was to pay today, was high, I thought (later confirmed by my regular plumber). But with heavy, whining, loud equipment, they cleared whatever was blocking the line and ran a camera through to find the problem.

The estimator showed me the video of what they found, but hey! My degree is in literature, not plumbing. He could have told me that was the moon, and I’d probably have believed him. When he quoted the repair price, I was in danger of fainting, except that I knew all along I wasn’t doing repairs without calling Woodie Woods, the company I’ve used for years. So I calmly said, “Do you mind if I get a second opinion?” He was affable about it, said not at all, but I heard him talking to his boss and repeating what I’d said,  which was “I’m a doctor’s wife, and I always want a second opinion.” Okay, it’s been forty years since I was a doctor’s wife, so maybe I fudged a little.

The cleanout guy was responsible for today’s bill, and when I paid him, he began to talk about a chemical that would make my drains flow more smoothly and I really needed it and was I interested in it today? After what I’d spent with him, I was not, but I had to initial a place to show that he’d offered it. A second thought; I avoid chemicals whenever possible. Our planet earth, you know. Both men stressed the urgency of the situation and what peril awaited me if I didn’t act immediately. I think they meant if I didn’t sign right now. I can easily see how this company makes money.

After they left, I called the dispatcher at Woodie Woods When I told him what I paid today, he said, “Ouch!” And when I told him the estimate for repair, he said, “Don’t touch it.” My regular plumber is on a big remodel job, but they hope to shake him loose to come here tomorrow. I hope so too. It’s one thing to have Keith in the house working. He’s been fixing my plumbing for at least twenty years and through two major remodelings, and I feel like he’s a friend. Having two strangers here this morning was discombobulating. I will be so glad to have a fully functioning commode back.

Meantime, Jordan says, “Let’s not talk about plumbing problems anymore.” Why not? It was almost my whole day.