I love tradition. I love heirlooms. I love generational treasures - be they material items, or stories passed down. So many stories, trinkets, recipes, have been known to make me feel a strong connection to the generations before me. I always have a sense of wanting to go "backwards" in time, and re-live parts of history (taking the most modern of conveniences with me; my dishwasher and indoor plumbing ranking right on top of the list). Aside from having to have a latte more often than not, I have sometimes felt I was born in the wrong era. Life is too fast-paced for this country bumpkin. So often I feel we, as a society, take for granted what we have at our fingertips, and we forget to take the time to make special memories, to share favorite past-times, and to keep the practices of our ancestors.
If you've known me for more than ten minutes, you know I knit. I don't only knit because it's an addictive hobby and one of the most fun and fulfilling ways a person can spend their time. Although those are definite reasons of mine, they're not THEE reason. When I was eight years old, my grandmother Pearlaine, sat me on the sofa and taught me how to knit. She started me on making a dishcloth. I only ever knit when we were together those too few times over the years, and most of it was spent correcting mistakes rather than making much progress. It took me eight years to finish the dishcloth I started, but I finished. I was the only grandchild who did. I kind of put it away for several years after that, but since the age of about 23 or 24, I have knit (somewhat obsessively) ever since. It's something people used to do all the time. Men and women. They knit to provide for their families - clothes, gifts, socks, blankets. Not just super cool scarves (that you can purchase from me to benefit the March of Dimes - message me!) for the sake of looking trendy.
These same people who knit as a means of providing for their families also canned, baked their own bread, slaughtered their own chickens, grew their own gardens, ground their own flour, milked their own cows, dried their own spices, and darned their own socks. Yet today, you and I hit up the latest sales at Kohl's, grab a frozen dinner to pop in the microwave from our local grocery store, and swing by Target to buy a 45-pack of multi-colored socks to get us through the next few months.
I've been thinking a lot recently on what I want to pass down to Haley. I want her to know how to bake goodies from scratch. I want her to know how to make my awesomely delicious fudge. I want her to learn to sew. I desperately want her to learn (and enjoy) to knit. I might even learn how to can so I can teach her how to do it one day. I don't want to solely depend on our modern conveniences and technologies. I want to be able to hold on to the customs and traditions of those before me as well. My grandmother wasn't just teaching me a hobby. She was teaching me a skill. We have the luxuries of modern convenience before us, but there are valuable lessons to be learned and wonderful experiences to be had in doing some things the old-fashioned way. I will forever remember Grandma peering through her glasses as they sat perched upon her tiny nose, pointing to my dropped stitch and saying, "Now looky here. You have to go back and fix this. Remember how I showed you?"
If you've made any resolutions in the new year, and especially if you haven't, I want to challenge you. Take some time to find a new hobby - or try something from "the olden days" even just once. Bake yourself a loaf of bread. Make your own yogurt. Plant a garden and savor it's harvest. Learn how to knit. Sit down in the morning with a cup of strong coffee and a newspaper while you watch the sun rise from the comfort of your wooden rocking chair. Sit with an elder and marvel in the history of their lives as they share their stories with you.
Rather than worrying about remembering deadlines at work, or when the last time you changed the filter in your furnace was, spend some time remembering the toils and labors of those generations gone by, and appreciate the hard work, craft, and skill they wanted to pass on to all of us.
"Now looky here." It will be a look well worth taking.
To read the story of our precious Harlynn Renae, start here and follow the "next" links at the end of each post. Thank you for coming and sharing with us in this journey.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Year, New Memories
Every once in a while, something that happens will spur a thought - a memory. I find myself getting lost along the road to times gone by. Of all the things I remember, I always wonder what of my life I've forgotten. My sister will tell stories from our childhood and I won't have a clue what she's talking about. A friend will want to reminisce and I don't have a clear picture of what they're bringing up. But what I do remember, what I do have stored away in the picture albums of my mind, is so worth the resurrection.
I'm not proud of all of the choices I've made in life; not proud of some of the ways I did or said things. I'm proud of the fact I've made it here, though, and of the realization I'm not perfect, no matter that I thought I was close to it once upon a time. I remember some of it - but only so I can learn from it and not make the same mistakes.
I remember drinking from the elephant cup. I remember swimming lessons. I remember the hardwood floors of the house on Woodland. I remember Rick and Edie coming to visit. I remember going to Tawny's house and counting the train cars, and her sneezes. I remember Mom taking us to the pier at Pismo for walks. I remember the BBQs John King hosted. I remember Eric - and how much it hurt when the state said he couldn't be a part of our family. I remember Brandon Watson daring me to eat dog food at his house. I think their dog's name was Checkers. I remember Christmas Eve at Grandma Vida's. I remember the ride home with Uncle Steve after eating at Pea Soup Anderson's. I remember Steph's imaginary friend, Piggly Wiggly. I remember Roslyn squirting water in my ear, then helping her feed the rabbits. I remember stinging nettles. I remember the nieghbor's garage on fire, and shaking as I peered out the blinds of our living room window. I remember my first boyfriend, Brian. We never spoke, but somehow we were in a relationship. I remember Mrs. Jones, the librarian, and how no one rocked shorts and tights like she did. She was the coolest. I remember Mrs. Meagher telling me she would miss me at 6th grade graduation. I remember my "big bro" Dave, letting my sister and I ski behind him in the dirt as we hung on to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. I remember softball and running smack in to Sean Lindsey who was guarding first base. I flew backwards about twelve feet. I remember the first time I shaved my legs, and how it made me feel like the most beautiful and sophisticated seventh grader in the world. I remember (yesterday) wishing I didn't have to shave my legs. I remember having an enormous crush on Taylor - that lasted for years. YEARS. I remember Judy swiping pictures of him for me. I remember going back to visit and going to the movies with Taylor. I remember thinking of names for our children.
I remember moving from California to Wyoming, and how much I hated it. That didn't last long. Wyoming is my home now. Always will be. I remember Amy and Lizza and the ridiculous nicknames we had and the fits of laughter that erupted. I remember how Tiffani and I overcame our intense dislike of one another to become best friends - almost 17 years now. I remember getting Maloa's letter when Mary died. I remember walking, singing, crying in the fog. I remember walking to Jamie's house every day for lunch. I remember being paid to type papers for the boys. I remember being the mascot and sweating buckets during basketball season. I remember baking cookies. I remember fighting with Mom. I remember sitting on the hood of the car and watching the sun rise. I remember the house in the country. I miss that house. I remember being baptized in the pacific ocean. I remember hating life. I remember swearing I would never let a teenager pull the wool over my eyes, even though I was one. I remember the accident....and the other four. I'm much better at driving now. I remember the shooting stars from the southfork highway. I remember when Dad thought I was smoking. He was a couple of years premature on that accusation. I remember "dude" and Corral West. I remember being a size two. I remember my first apartment. Yuck. I remember the hike up Deer Creek. The longest hike of my life. I remember thinking my lungs were going to explode, but trying to pretend like I was fine. I remember waiting tables and the interesting people I met. I remember the Brass Rail. I remember teaching Justin how to two step.
I remember Tennessee. Nashville. Grand Ol Opry. Travis Tritt. My first tattoo. I remember those bugs on campus. I remember sitting on Jenni's roof. I remember breaking Brent's heart. I remember Aaron breaking mine. But the singing - lawh the singing. I can still hear the harmonies in that outdoor courtyard. Still taste the Taco Bell nachos. Still hear those bugs. Those blasted, huge bugs.
I remember being so sick right before my wedding. Salmonella. Strep throat. I remember Brent not wanting to dance. I remember crying in to our checkbook register. I remember him cooking me dinner when I was sick and learning that minced onions is an entirely different ingredient from chopped onions. I remember being content. Completely happy with where I was. I remember moving to Fargo. In the winter. Yesterday marked our 5th anniversary of moving here. I remember being surrounded by friendly people but having no friends. I remember the landlady's eye shadow. I remember the Las Vegas trip. My husband going to Mauritius. I remember auditioning for American Idol and Tiffani right by my side. I remember buying this house. I remember regretting buying this house. I remember our anniversary trip to Mapelwood. And the mosquitoes. I remember finding out I was pregnant. I remember being unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. I remember holding Haley for the first time. I remember the surreal feeling, realizing I was a mommy. I remember bringing her home.
And now it's the start of another year. Another opportunity to make more memories. To capture more snapshots of life and store them away in my mind. Another chance to reflect on everything life has offered me, and be grateful for the chance to remember any of it.
I'm not proud of all of the choices I've made in life; not proud of some of the ways I did or said things. I'm proud of the fact I've made it here, though, and of the realization I'm not perfect, no matter that I thought I was close to it once upon a time. I remember some of it - but only so I can learn from it and not make the same mistakes.
I remember drinking from the elephant cup. I remember swimming lessons. I remember the hardwood floors of the house on Woodland. I remember Rick and Edie coming to visit. I remember going to Tawny's house and counting the train cars, and her sneezes. I remember Mom taking us to the pier at Pismo for walks. I remember the BBQs John King hosted. I remember Eric - and how much it hurt when the state said he couldn't be a part of our family. I remember Brandon Watson daring me to eat dog food at his house. I think their dog's name was Checkers. I remember Christmas Eve at Grandma Vida's. I remember the ride home with Uncle Steve after eating at Pea Soup Anderson's. I remember Steph's imaginary friend, Piggly Wiggly. I remember Roslyn squirting water in my ear, then helping her feed the rabbits. I remember stinging nettles. I remember the nieghbor's garage on fire, and shaking as I peered out the blinds of our living room window. I remember my first boyfriend, Brian. We never spoke, but somehow we were in a relationship. I remember Mrs. Jones, the librarian, and how no one rocked shorts and tights like she did. She was the coolest. I remember Mrs. Meagher telling me she would miss me at 6th grade graduation. I remember my "big bro" Dave, letting my sister and I ski behind him in the dirt as we hung on to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. I remember softball and running smack in to Sean Lindsey who was guarding first base. I flew backwards about twelve feet. I remember the first time I shaved my legs, and how it made me feel like the most beautiful and sophisticated seventh grader in the world. I remember (yesterday) wishing I didn't have to shave my legs. I remember having an enormous crush on Taylor - that lasted for years. YEARS. I remember Judy swiping pictures of him for me. I remember going back to visit and going to the movies with Taylor. I remember thinking of names for our children.
I remember moving from California to Wyoming, and how much I hated it. That didn't last long. Wyoming is my home now. Always will be. I remember Amy and Lizza and the ridiculous nicknames we had and the fits of laughter that erupted. I remember how Tiffani and I overcame our intense dislike of one another to become best friends - almost 17 years now. I remember getting Maloa's letter when Mary died. I remember walking, singing, crying in the fog. I remember walking to Jamie's house every day for lunch. I remember being paid to type papers for the boys. I remember being the mascot and sweating buckets during basketball season. I remember baking cookies. I remember fighting with Mom. I remember sitting on the hood of the car and watching the sun rise. I remember the house in the country. I miss that house. I remember being baptized in the pacific ocean. I remember hating life. I remember swearing I would never let a teenager pull the wool over my eyes, even though I was one. I remember the accident....and the other four. I'm much better at driving now. I remember the shooting stars from the southfork highway. I remember when Dad thought I was smoking. He was a couple of years premature on that accusation. I remember "dude" and Corral West. I remember being a size two. I remember my first apartment. Yuck. I remember the hike up Deer Creek. The longest hike of my life. I remember thinking my lungs were going to explode, but trying to pretend like I was fine. I remember waiting tables and the interesting people I met. I remember the Brass Rail. I remember teaching Justin how to two step.
I remember Tennessee. Nashville. Grand Ol Opry. Travis Tritt. My first tattoo. I remember those bugs on campus. I remember sitting on Jenni's roof. I remember breaking Brent's heart. I remember Aaron breaking mine. But the singing - lawh the singing. I can still hear the harmonies in that outdoor courtyard. Still taste the Taco Bell nachos. Still hear those bugs. Those blasted, huge bugs.
I remember being so sick right before my wedding. Salmonella. Strep throat. I remember Brent not wanting to dance. I remember crying in to our checkbook register. I remember him cooking me dinner when I was sick and learning that minced onions is an entirely different ingredient from chopped onions. I remember being content. Completely happy with where I was. I remember moving to Fargo. In the winter. Yesterday marked our 5th anniversary of moving here. I remember being surrounded by friendly people but having no friends. I remember the landlady's eye shadow. I remember the Las Vegas trip. My husband going to Mauritius. I remember auditioning for American Idol and Tiffani right by my side. I remember buying this house. I remember regretting buying this house. I remember our anniversary trip to Mapelwood. And the mosquitoes. I remember finding out I was pregnant. I remember being unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. I remember holding Haley for the first time. I remember the surreal feeling, realizing I was a mommy. I remember bringing her home.
And now it's the start of another year. Another opportunity to make more memories. To capture more snapshots of life and store them away in my mind. Another chance to reflect on everything life has offered me, and be grateful for the chance to remember any of it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Gurgle Gurgle
Since having been sick since last week, I've become exhausted and somewhat lethargic in the evenings. I muster enough energy to play with Haley, but beyond that, I can't seem to function at a high enough level to do much else. Last night I made popcorn for my dinner and had a bowl of cereal for dessert. Only because Brent would'nt agree to stop watching the football game and make me some toast and oatmeal. Not because he's a bad husband, mind you, but because he's tired of giving in to my lazy whims. I can't blame him.
I sauntered upstairs to grab myself a second helping of "dessert" and made my way back down to our basement to watch the football game (Oh Brett Favre...honey..hang it up.) and snuggle with my daughter.
Toby, our black cat, had literally placed himself into a pointer position at the foot of the stairs, and was creeping forward in somewhat of an overly-cautious predatory stalk. I stopped and stared in the direction he was "pointing" - in to our basement bathroom.
This bathroom is probably the nicest room in our house. Cobalt blue mosaic tile floors and a decorative sink/cabinet system are all the rave whenever someone gets a tour of our home. They only rave about it because they don't have to clean it. That tile is the dangdest material in the world to keep clean. And the shower leaks, so it has been converted to the hiding place of the litter box. So maybe at one time it seemed to be the nicest room in our home, but no more.
I saw a slow flow of water.
Wait - water? WATER?! Not again. No, no, no, no.... After paying nearly $10,000 to replace and repair our basement from taking in water two springs ago, I cannot survive another episode. Please, God, not again....
I stepped over the stream and looked into the center of our bathroom where the sewer drain is. Or should I say, where the sewer drain runneth over. Brown, silty filth covered our bathroom floor and oozed to every crack and cranny within the bathroom.
"BREEEEEEEEEENT!"
"What?"
"Water! Is it the sewer? In the bathroom!"
The next two minutes involved us chaotically and frantically doing absolutely nothing. What do you do when your sewer line is infiltrating your home, and there's football on tv?! Apparently, you yell at your spouse. So that's what we did.
I grabbed Haley and hauled upstairs, as if the basement were on fire instead of slowly filling with muck. I looked for the card that was once on our fridge for the fantastic plumber who fixed our water heater. No card. Brent moved the card. It was on the fridge for instances just as this. Gone. No card. No recollection of who it was. I yelled down to ask him where the card was. Bad idea.
"VAL! DO NOT TALK TO ME!"
Note to self: When spouse is in survival mode to save your home from being swallowed by sewage overflow, spouse could give two shakes about the location of a plumber's business card, even if they were the one responsible for moving said card.
After Brent sucked up five shop-vac loads of sewage, he remembered we had a cap valve in the floor of our basement on the other side across from the bathroom. With superhuman strength he tipped over the loveseat, removed the cap, and turned the valve. No more flow. Just slow seepage. Thank goodness!
In the meantime I called the first 24-hour-emergency plumber number in the book. No answer. I left a message. I'm still waiting for a return phone call. By this point Brent is done dealing with it. There's nothing more he can do and he is beyond frustrated. He suits up and tells me he's going to shovel the driveway. Not just because it was filled again after he had already snowblowed it, but because he needed to get out of the house.
I called the next plumber. Answer. HELP! "We'll have a plumber call you, ma'am." Within minutes my phone rings - it's the second plumber. He asks me questions and I assure him we have not used water for a couple of hours. "Are you sure? No faucets? Toilets? Washing machines?" I am 100% positive. "Well that sounds like a city main problem. I can try to call the city but we have a hard time getting a hold of them after hours. Sometimes we have to call 911 just to get a hold of them. I'll give you a call back in a few minutes."
"BREEEEEEEEEEEEENT!" I tell him to go to the neighbors and see if they're having sewer problems. He disappears for almost 10 minutes. I thought he may have drowned in their basement.
While he was next door, I had called the number on my City bill. I reached a recording that gave me a number to call in case of emergencies. I dialed that number and was told to call the sewer plant. I called the sewer plant and was told he would get a hold of someone from the streets department.
Brent came back and I asked, "Is their sewer backing up?"
Something was wrong. Brent looked...extremely disheartened.
"Long story short, no." He had learned, however, a few weeks prior our neighbors had to have their sewer line rebuilt. They did a load of laundry and their sewer backed up. The city told them it was their (our neighbors') line, they had to have it rebuilt, and now the cost of that procedure is tacked in to their "specials" which means their house payment just went up to cover a $10,000 expense. Both Brent and I felt like we had just been stabbed in the gut. With a poop-covered knife.
My family is coming in three days to spend the holidays here. Our sewer is backed up, we're going to have to pay a buttload of money to fix it, and Christmas is cancelled.
Brent called his friend to ask if he could shower at their house, since he had to get up early in the morning to donate plasma. I texted my boss to tell him I wasn't sure if or when I would be able to come to work the next day, and texted the babysitter about our new fantastic adventure. I got a call back from the plumber who said he was unable to get a hold of anyone in the City and he really didn't want to have to call 911...I interrupted him to tell him I was way ahead of him and we had someone from the Streets Department on the way.
As Brent was getting ready to leave, we saw a City truck pull up outside and talk to our other neighbor. We gathered they knew each other. We walked outside as the employee began to beat the street with a metal pole, trying to find the manhole cover. Mind you, everything was covered with snow, so it wasn't an easy find. The neighbor dug right where he stood with his snow shovel and said, "Here it is." They pulled the cover off and the employee said, "Oh, that doesn't sound good. Yeah....we have an issue." I looked at him and waited... "This one's on us." he finished.
I started jumping up and down right there in the middle of the street saying, "Praise Jesus!" Our neighbor (who knows me not at all) was a little surprised by my reaction. Brent started laughing. I told the city employee, "I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your night, but thank you so much, and Merry Christmas!"
He told us he had to round up some reinforcements and it would be an hour or so before they could come back out to work on it. He finished by saying, "Don't use any water for a while." He drove off and I skipped back in to the house. Literally, I skipped.
WE DON'T HAVE TO PAY FOR A NEW SEWER! Are you understanding this, people?! This was a simple city fix, and not an expense we have to worry about. Can I get an AMEN!
About 45 minutes later the city trucks arrived and did their magic in our sewer line. Brent got a text from the first neighbor asking us if our toilets were going crazy. Thankfully, since Brent had closed the sewer valve, they weren't.
I later remarked to Brent, if it had to happen, think of the blessed way in which it took place. It happened right as I was coming downstairs and noticed it, it was the city's problem, not ours, and it was contained to the bathroom. I asked, "How long do you think we would have sat and blamed each other for the smell before we realized what was going on?" He laughed.
I love it when my husband laughs.
I sauntered upstairs to grab myself a second helping of "dessert" and made my way back down to our basement to watch the football game (Oh Brett Favre...honey..hang it up.) and snuggle with my daughter.
Toby, our black cat, had literally placed himself into a pointer position at the foot of the stairs, and was creeping forward in somewhat of an overly-cautious predatory stalk. I stopped and stared in the direction he was "pointing" - in to our basement bathroom.
This bathroom is probably the nicest room in our house. Cobalt blue mosaic tile floors and a decorative sink/cabinet system are all the rave whenever someone gets a tour of our home. They only rave about it because they don't have to clean it. That tile is the dangdest material in the world to keep clean. And the shower leaks, so it has been converted to the hiding place of the litter box. So maybe at one time it seemed to be the nicest room in our home, but no more.
I saw a slow flow of water.
Wait - water? WATER?! Not again. No, no, no, no.... After paying nearly $10,000 to replace and repair our basement from taking in water two springs ago, I cannot survive another episode. Please, God, not again....
I stepped over the stream and looked into the center of our bathroom where the sewer drain is. Or should I say, where the sewer drain runneth over. Brown, silty filth covered our bathroom floor and oozed to every crack and cranny within the bathroom.
"BREEEEEEEEEENT!"
"What?"
"Water! Is it the sewer? In the bathroom!"
The next two minutes involved us chaotically and frantically doing absolutely nothing. What do you do when your sewer line is infiltrating your home, and there's football on tv?! Apparently, you yell at your spouse. So that's what we did.
I grabbed Haley and hauled upstairs, as if the basement were on fire instead of slowly filling with muck. I looked for the card that was once on our fridge for the fantastic plumber who fixed our water heater. No card. Brent moved the card. It was on the fridge for instances just as this. Gone. No card. No recollection of who it was. I yelled down to ask him where the card was. Bad idea.
"VAL! DO NOT TALK TO ME!"
Note to self: When spouse is in survival mode to save your home from being swallowed by sewage overflow, spouse could give two shakes about the location of a plumber's business card, even if they were the one responsible for moving said card.
After Brent sucked up five shop-vac loads of sewage, he remembered we had a cap valve in the floor of our basement on the other side across from the bathroom. With superhuman strength he tipped over the loveseat, removed the cap, and turned the valve. No more flow. Just slow seepage. Thank goodness!
In the meantime I called the first 24-hour-emergency plumber number in the book. No answer. I left a message. I'm still waiting for a return phone call. By this point Brent is done dealing with it. There's nothing more he can do and he is beyond frustrated. He suits up and tells me he's going to shovel the driveway. Not just because it was filled again after he had already snowblowed it, but because he needed to get out of the house.
I called the next plumber. Answer. HELP! "We'll have a plumber call you, ma'am." Within minutes my phone rings - it's the second plumber. He asks me questions and I assure him we have not used water for a couple of hours. "Are you sure? No faucets? Toilets? Washing machines?" I am 100% positive. "Well that sounds like a city main problem. I can try to call the city but we have a hard time getting a hold of them after hours. Sometimes we have to call 911 just to get a hold of them. I'll give you a call back in a few minutes."
"BREEEEEEEEEEEEENT!" I tell him to go to the neighbors and see if they're having sewer problems. He disappears for almost 10 minutes. I thought he may have drowned in their basement.
While he was next door, I had called the number on my City bill. I reached a recording that gave me a number to call in case of emergencies. I dialed that number and was told to call the sewer plant. I called the sewer plant and was told he would get a hold of someone from the streets department.
Brent came back and I asked, "Is their sewer backing up?"
Something was wrong. Brent looked...extremely disheartened.
"Long story short, no." He had learned, however, a few weeks prior our neighbors had to have their sewer line rebuilt. They did a load of laundry and their sewer backed up. The city told them it was their (our neighbors') line, they had to have it rebuilt, and now the cost of that procedure is tacked in to their "specials" which means their house payment just went up to cover a $10,000 expense. Both Brent and I felt like we had just been stabbed in the gut. With a poop-covered knife.
My family is coming in three days to spend the holidays here. Our sewer is backed up, we're going to have to pay a buttload of money to fix it, and Christmas is cancelled.
Brent called his friend to ask if he could shower at their house, since he had to get up early in the morning to donate plasma. I texted my boss to tell him I wasn't sure if or when I would be able to come to work the next day, and texted the babysitter about our new fantastic adventure. I got a call back from the plumber who said he was unable to get a hold of anyone in the City and he really didn't want to have to call 911...I interrupted him to tell him I was way ahead of him and we had someone from the Streets Department on the way.
As Brent was getting ready to leave, we saw a City truck pull up outside and talk to our other neighbor. We gathered they knew each other. We walked outside as the employee began to beat the street with a metal pole, trying to find the manhole cover. Mind you, everything was covered with snow, so it wasn't an easy find. The neighbor dug right where he stood with his snow shovel and said, "Here it is." They pulled the cover off and the employee said, "Oh, that doesn't sound good. Yeah....we have an issue." I looked at him and waited... "This one's on us." he finished.
I started jumping up and down right there in the middle of the street saying, "Praise Jesus!" Our neighbor (who knows me not at all) was a little surprised by my reaction. Brent started laughing. I told the city employee, "I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your night, but thank you so much, and Merry Christmas!"
He told us he had to round up some reinforcements and it would be an hour or so before they could come back out to work on it. He finished by saying, "Don't use any water for a while." He drove off and I skipped back in to the house. Literally, I skipped.
WE DON'T HAVE TO PAY FOR A NEW SEWER! Are you understanding this, people?! This was a simple city fix, and not an expense we have to worry about. Can I get an AMEN!
About 45 minutes later the city trucks arrived and did their magic in our sewer line. Brent got a text from the first neighbor asking us if our toilets were going crazy. Thankfully, since Brent had closed the sewer valve, they weren't.
I later remarked to Brent, if it had to happen, think of the blessed way in which it took place. It happened right as I was coming downstairs and noticed it, it was the city's problem, not ours, and it was contained to the bathroom. I asked, "How long do you think we would have sat and blamed each other for the smell before we realized what was going on?" He laughed.
I love it when my husband laughs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)