Water, water everywhere

I know this is supposed to be a site about the oddities, eccentricities, and specialties of a very unique environment. What it is not supposed to be is a journal of my daily life. I cannot imagine anything much more boring. Of course, when I retell it, I try to offset the boredom with exaggeration. Nevertheless, it is rarely something to write home about. Or to write blog about.

However, I am in the middle of a refurbishing project which is occupying way too much of my time and all of my somewhat limited homeskills. Since that is all I can think of, that is what I will write of.

I tend toward being somewhat … single-minded. Some would say stubborn, but I prefer resolute. I truly believe I should be able to do anything. And I become more than a little frustrated when I cannot. My latest venture is to replace the faucets in my bathroom. Two sets. One is simply incredibly unattractive - having lost all of its shine from years of improper cleaning - and the other really should match; therefore, both need to be changed.
Now, I have already changed the piping under one of the sinks as it was totally rusted through. It took some determination and the invention of new vocabulary, and, at the very last, a man with muscle to tighten the last joint - but, it is installed and not leaking. However, in the process another rusted part was discovered - a part that has to do with the stopper bobbing up and down in the drain when the doohickey is lifted at the top. It broke clean off. No part, no stopper, no using the sink because it will not drain.

Since I am readying the house in preparation to sell, I really need to fix this. I cannot sell a house with dysfunctional parts. There is probably a story in that. (What a metaphor!) But not the one I am telling today. No, today is the story of how the bathroom, bedroom and part of the den came to be flooded.

And that’s it. The whole story. You may fill in the rest however you will. Details are superfluous. I am sitting here now, having mopped and sponged for quite awhile, wondering if it is safe to turn the water back on.

I am alone in this, if one discounts Moose the Beagle and Bella the Cat. No one to run outside, turn the handle and wait for me to yell whether or not to turn it off again. Only me. I would have to schlog out to the outside cutoff, turn it, dash back in, listen for the gush of water, and be prepared to rush back out to the cutoff to turn it the other way. And to be quite honest, I am tired, now. Just that.

Tomorrow’s another day, etc. There is probably some analogy one could make or some irony of water in an already saturated landscape, but I don't have the literary zeal for such ponderings at this point in the story. Make your own. About all I can handle at this particular moment is to wonder how long I can “hold it” - as they say in southern Louisiana.