Friday, March 25, 2016

This is Serious. . . and I'm Ready

       It's been rather WET around this 'burg' the past few days.  We're still in 'find-things-and-find-a-home-for-them' mode. One excursion down THAT bleak alley was rewarded by discovering three huge, black lawn'n'leaf bags - thought to contain the pillows to our wicker outdoor chairs but, "surprise!" they contained all of the linens for the two trundle beds we have for overnight visits by the grand peeps. (Of course when our best friends visited very soon after we moved in and my husband had unexpected open-heart surgery, en route to visit one of their kids in Florida, the bed linens were MIA.)(They were en route to Florida.  He had his surgery in Virginia.  I pictured you forming an image of 'drive-through' surgery. NOT!)
       So be it.  I daintily hauled the 'finds' out of the garage and through the house for a 'christening' visit to the laundry room.  (Had the washer and dryer been unionized, there would most assuredly been at least a demonstration.)  In the face of this seemingly endless 'moving in' activity, my husband decided to surprise me by getting the attachment necessary to fill and operate the hot tub we'd installed in the master bath for therapeutic back 'issues'.
       That exciting evening, as we watched all the fun goings on in the world news, I would dash to the master bathroom and  Check on the filling progress of my new best friend every ten minutes.  Things seemed to be progressing nicely until the fourth such check.  Where there had been eight or so inches of hot water occupying the base of the tub, said base was rapidly becoming empty having dispersed its contents to the tub's surrounding area (recently dry, new hard wood flooring) as if by a demonic variety of sorcery.  BRAIN: "Stop inflow of water." RIGHT HAND: "I'm ON IT."
       The remainder of the evening was spent playing mop, swear, take photos, speak-through-clenched-teeth 'calmly' so as not to sound alarmed/upset to the recovering cardiac patient.  I'm sure you know the drill.  And, once tolerance and energy were depleted, the new 'washer-dryer-with-an-attitude' was finally discharged of its duties for the night.  The next morning, once all involved were alerted and blamed, we took the logical course of action and returned to the store that had delivered the tub to discuss resolution and recovery.  (I tried to explain - while hubby was napping - how this was an extremely unusual course of events to the washer and dryer but they were serving 'frozen' shoulder and would have nothing of it. BRAIN: "What is it you are always telling your grandchildren about arguing/reasoning with inanimate objects?")
       Now, tomorrow happens to be the dreaded b-day, the cruel reminder of the passage of time and missed opportunities, iced off with the requirements of seeming to be merry and grateful and just itching to chuckle at every snappy little amusing remark.  It's a game I usually play with a semblance of pleasure but, and even "Do Tell" will back me up on this one, I'm tired and - ready? - wet, AGAIN!  Having just demonstrated to (a very tolerant) husband how staying on top of things and following the rules re: the 'care and feeding' of the new washer and dryer, I finished chores, got a shower and did what was to be today's last imposition on the laundry room inhabitants, only to discover in passing that water was freely flowing from the washing machine onto the just-cleaned tile floor.  And my phone was ringing.
       Taking the opportunity to answer it (after stopping the machine) to give myself time to calm down, hope it wasn't a neighbor wondering why there was water oozing out of all of our windows, I thought ANYone but my dear Mother - ensconced in heaven since '81 or my best friend Kathy (of the no linens when visiting)  is going to get a very unpleasant earful.  Well, it was yet another missed opportunity.  Apparently these limbs aren't traveling at a brusque enough speed these days because as I retrieved the cell phone it spitefully went silent.  And you know I missed Kathy's early b-day call.
       Haven't even listened to her message (Mopping, you know) but I am blissfully transformed.  I can't wait to call her back and just laugh at all of this nonsense.  The incredibly able mother of seven will, I know, see some bizarre humor in this drippy tale.  And I shall be grateful - for Kathy, the ability TO LAUGH AND THE ABILITY TO MOP.  INDEED.  I BELIEVE IT IS MY FOURTH ANNIVERSARY FROM THE GOOD FRIDAY ON WHICH THE WONDERFUL DR. DAVID OKONKWA PERFORMED 12 HOURS OF SURGERY ON MY BACK - THE RISKS WERE HIGH BUT THE RESULTS 'DIVINE'.
        So, a shout of gratitude and good will to Dr. David.  I can mop!  The alternative to the risky surgery - by now I'd be wheelchair-bound, on a morphine drip, a real death sentence - would have been no more mopping but lots of 'resting' in peace.  Sooo glad we opted for "Door Number Two" - hope you are, too.  Serious can be scary.  But 'ready' is good.  I try to balance them.  And I'll let you know what Kathy had to say.  You'll laugh.
Later, Lorane. . . .
 






















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