If I Weren't Laughing I'd Be Crying...

We have been without one of our bathrooms since two days before Christmas last year. On December 23, we got up early to do a little straightening and cleaning before my sister arrived at 11:30 in the morning, and the EO arrived at 8:00 that night. So, I made beds and organized while H cleaned the second floor bathroom. He did a right thorough job on the bathtub. It sparkled! He went downstairs ahead of me, and when he got to the kitchen, I heard him say "We've got a problem." And when I got there, I saw water pouring out of the ceiling fan in the kitchen. Yikes!

I wanted to call the plumber. No, says my favorite husband, it's going to require pulling out the ceiling or maybe the upstairs floor to fix it. It's that 80-100 year old cast iron plumbing, rusting or corroding, or something like that. It's going to take a lot of work to replace it, he says. Luckily, it had nothing to do with the commode, so at least that worked, but not the sink or the tub. He suggested we wait until we can ]\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\0 (that was Wolfie, writing his own thing--translate "feed me"--as he walked across the keyboard, the little bum). OK, so H figured we could just replace the bathroom rather than tearing it up and putting it back together. A nice idea. We've been wanting to redo that bathroom for several years now. Fine, I said. We'll try to do it in February. Ok, then, maybe March. If not March, then April. Should I just call a plumber? "No," my husband says,"I'll do the work. It will save us money." But then we went to Scotland in June. So maybe July? Well, not July. Now, we started thinking about maybe waiting until the EO graduates next year. But that would mean...no second floor bathroom for another year!

The thing is, I'm a bath person, not a shower person. I believe in long luxurious bubble baths in a comfortable sloping tub. A glass of wine now and then. Some nice smelly candles. A good book. Now, the only other full bathroom in this house has the most ridiculous little bathtub in the world, obviously created by a designer who had never taken a bath in his or her life...preferring that splashy thing called a shower, I suppose. For eight months, I have used that awful bathtub. For eight months, I have longed for my comfy tub. I am proud to say I have never complained. Until now.

But now, my sister-in-law and her husband and two girls are coming to visit in September. We are very excited abou the visit, but it's going to be rough with all six of us using the same bathroom for the week. So, last week, in my sweetest voice, I suggested that perhaps now would be a good time to get a plumber to come out and tell us if we can just patch it up and use it for another year or so. To my surprise, H said he'd call the plumber.

The plumber came on Sunday. As they went upstairs, I heard my husband telling him to let him know when he needed the kitchen ceiling cut, and my husband would do that job...he's very particular about how things are done. The plumber agreed and started surveying the problem. Luckily, in this old house of ours, this bathtub has an access area that is easily reached from above the tub. The poor plumber was practically hanging upside down in the access area surveying... H and I went downstairs to leave him to his work. Before long, the plumber comes downstairs, looking for H. "Is it really bad?" I asked. "No, I think it's a lot simpler than you realize." "Really???" I was excited! Maybe we won't have to tear out the kitchen ceiling after all.

For eight months, I have been without my beloved comfy tub. For eight months, I have been using that ridiculous thing upstairs. It turns out that our flood was caused by my husband's exuberance cleaning the tub two days before Christmas. The water went up into the overflow (the very old gasket needs replacement) and poured down into the ceiling over the kitchen. The bill to find out this delightful "I told you so" nugget? $142. That and a tube of Goop silicone caulking. The plumber said that it would take an awful lot of corrosion or rust to get through those thick old cast iron pipes. And there was none.

And no, I haven't used the free "I told you so." I never do...even though I've had quite a few opportunities to do so. But telling stories about my favorite husband is much more fun than telling him "I told you so." It's more fun to fall back on the all-knowing smile and arched eyebrows than to say "I told you so." And I have so many stories to tell!

So, it looks like we can wait until after the EO graduates to remodel our upstairs bathroom. But I promise that the next tub that goes into that bathroom must meet my strict specifications. Even if it means climbing in to each and every model in my socked feet to try it out!

Back In The Saddle Again

I had a rather rough week...no, make that TWO weeks. Yes, I enjoyed the Olympics, especially Michael Phelps' sweep of gold medals. And the gymnastics. Beach Volleyball. Basketball! Track and Field. Diving...hey I could go on, but you get the idea.

I used the Olympics to try to bring myself into a state of relaxation during the two weeks I worked on a particularly difficult case. I worked on my days off, in the evenings, and on weekend days (sometimes at the office and sometimes at home). But in the end, it was a good thing. The case has been resolved. Settled. It was a hard-won settlement. But we did it. My co-counsel is a true gentleman, with a silver tongue. I'm a bit bullheaded when it comes to trying to do the right thing. It's the red hair. We actually made a really good team, me with the quick snap-backs, and him smoothing everything over. At one point, I told him I really liked this "good cop, bad cop" thing we had going. He says "And we can reverse roles now and then if you want." "Sure!" I said "I'd like to be the bad cop every once in a while, too!"

Of course, I was the bad cop, something I have never really done before. Normally, I'm the sweet southern-style lady, winning 'em over with a smile and sweet voice. But for some reason, this time, I just got angry with the outrageous behavior of our opponents. In the end, we settled. And we got everything we wanted. But it wasn't easy. Still, it was worth all the work.

So, I'm trying to get back to normal. Back to blogging. I have the piano tuner coming over tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to some music. I plan to do absolutely NOTHING tomorrow. Well, obviously, I'll get up and have breakfast. I'll do that. And I'll probably turn on the TV to watch the basketball game. I'll do that, too. But I have no set plans. Finally! A real day off.

Olympic Fever

It may be a while before I get back to my blog...I am SO wrapped up in the Summer Olympics right now. Is it just me, or does it seem like the coverage is SO much better this year than ever before? Is it because Beijing is 12 hours earlier? Who knows?

Last week, I worked long hours at the office, and even on my day off. It's another one of those nasty cases (they seem to be coming along more and more often, probably because everyone expects the administration to change and the free ride to end but enough politics). I had planned to help my friend Dorothy move on Friday, but had to work instead. H and I were able to help her on Saturday, along with some other friends and movers. We were all exhausted. We started at 8 in the morning and finished by 2:30 in the afternoon. H and I went home and I showered and took a 20 minute nap, then started watching Olympic events. I like to work on things while I watch TV (review documents, do a little needlepoint, some knitting, paperwork, etc.) but I found it a little difficult to do much of anything but watch the action. If it hadn't been for the commercials, I wouldn't have accomplished anything.

I'm a big Michael Phelps fan, and he has not disappointed! The 400 meter was exciting, especially when he was a full body length ahead of the next swimmer at the end, and breaking his own world record to boot. Fantastic! Then we watched the basketball game between the US and China this morning. Loved that, too! And the gymnastics. But I was SO worried about the men's relay event tonight. The announcers kept talking about how there was no way the Americans would beat the French in this relay. And even until the last few seconds, I didn't believe it would happen. But, Damn! They did it! This time, I found myself sitting on the edge of the sofa. Then standing in front of the sofa. Then in front of the television. If I'd gotten any closer I would have been in the water with them!

So. Here it is. I'm just going to be so busy this week, between the job and the Olympics that it may be a while before I write again.

Dumpster Riding

No, that's not a typo. I know you've heard of dumpster diving. This is different. Well, it involves dumpster diving, but it's not the point. Tuesday night, I went out to dinner with some friends (we celebrate our summer birthdays together every year), and Donna told us her tale. A week ago, she wrote out some checks to pay bills and put them in their envelopes, then put the stack on her table to take to the mailbox when she left for work. She remembered that it was recycle day at her townhouse complex, so she gathered her newspapers and piled them on the table, too. You know where this is going. When she grabbed the papers to take them out, she accidentally grabbed the outgoing mail, too. And she didn't realize her mistake until she had lifted the dumpster lid and thrown everything in. Oops.

She decided she simply had to go dumpster diving for those lost bills, so she went into the house, changed from her workclothes, found a nice chair to climb on, and went back out to the dumpster. Using the chair, she was able to get into the dumpster, which was basically empty except for her papers, the bills, and about an inch of water. Yuckky! She got the wet envelopes and tossed them out of the dumpster onto the ground, and suddenly felt a bump as the big rock that kept the dumpster from rolling fell out of place, and the dumpster started rolling. As in rolling toward a hill. Just as her life began to pass before her eyes with the thought that the dumpster was going to tumble down the hill with her in it, she remembered that the complex had put chains on the dumpsters because of previous problems with dented cars. She says she could only pray the chain held. And it did.

Now she had to figure out how to get out of the dumpster. The chair was on the outside, she was on the inside, and there was nothing to stand on...and on top of that, she had to hold the lid up, too. No one in sight to help. Eventually, my former ballerina friend managed to get one leg up over the side of the dumpster and squirm the rest of the way out. Unharmed. Wet and covered with yukky stuff, but unharmed.

Anyway, Donna is almost a germ-freak. Not quite Howard Hughes, but very aware of cleanliness. When we go out to eat, the first thing she does is go to the ladies room to wash her hands. And she doesn't like to touch public door handles with her bare hands. OK, so now, she is standing next to the dumpster, covered with dumpster muck, and holding a pile of gooey envelopes in her bare hand. Her bare hands, I tell you! What does she do about it? Well, she goes into her townhouse, spreads the envelopes on the table and dries them with a hair drier. Only then does she take her shower, clean everything up and get ready for work again. My friend Donna is a very organized clean person. Once she tossed those dry, albeit suspect, envelopes in the mail, I'm sure there was nothing left to tell the tale of her dumpster ride.

She says she hopes no one got it all on video on their cell phone. I said I hope they did! I'm going to be on the lookout, checking Youtube! But my advice to Donna? Two words:

Online banking.

Red Letter Weekend

The elusive offspring called Friday, Saturday and Sunday. If I didn't know that he was calling to make sure he didn't miss wishing me happy BD (yes, I'm a Leo), I'd have worried that something was wrong. It's great to see how stimulated he is working in the Physics department. If you want to know exactly what he is doing...well, I can't say. Not that it's secret. It's just that I don't understand it. Something about one substance acting as both a conductor and an insulator depending on temperature. Is this what "superconductivity" is all about? He says all he needs is a pen and paper to do his job. He's doing mathematics and theoretical physics and all that interesting stuff. Interesting stuff to physicists like the EO and his physicist flatmate, the Irish-lilting James. And interesting to my favorite husband, who took thermodynamics in college. The only thing I know about thermodyamics is that if you put a kettle of water on the gas stove and turn up the fire, you can make a nice cup of tea in about one minute. Mmmm. That sounds like a nice idea right now.

Another Tomato Caper

Every day when I get home from work, I am always afraid to find out what might be waiting for me. For the first two months, Kira had an accident on the tile floor every other day (and believe me, it's not fun to clean up after a dog, especially one the size of Kira). We knew she didn't have parasites (the vet already confirmed that), so we thought maybe she had colitus or irritable bowel or something like that. We tried every type of canned dog food known to man, and every type of dry food, or combination thereof. When we got back from Scotland, Kira decided on her own that she wanted only dry food, and only once a day, in the evening. She would not eat in the morning. And we started doing something that a friend recommended: we put one tablespoon of unsweetened coconut on top of her food every night. It binds with the yukky stuff inside the gut and takes it out with the rest of the ... stuff. She LOVES that coconut! She wants me to put it in the palm of my hand so she can lick it up. When I open the fridge, she hurries over to stick her nose in and touch the bag of coconut. Sure enough, it looked like we had cleared up the problems with her innards. Then after the three wonderful uneventful weeks, she did that gross thing that Ziggy used to do...she found the "kitty treats" in the litter box. Ewe! Next day, boy did we have a clean-up job! But now we have gone for two weeks without incident. We put the kitty litter box in the basement, and Kira can't get through the kitty door to go down there. It frustrates her to no end that the cats can go through that little door and she can't. The cats, of course, realize this, and torment her with the cruelty that only cats can show.

Tonight I came home, and as I always do, peered into the kitchen with trepidation. Imagine how delighted I was to see that there was no Kira accident on the kitchen floor. Yippee! But wait! What on earth was that bowl doing upside down in a corner. And what was that lump under the bowl? No, no, nothing like that. Please! But, if you recall my Tomato Tale from May, you won't be surprised to hear that under the bowl was the tomato I had left on the counter the night before. A tomato on the floor! Was Wolfie up to his old tricks again? Or had Kira decided to look for treats on the counter and knocked the bowl over in the process? I picked everything up and put it in the sink to be washed, then left the room. No sooner had I stepped into the living room than I heard a noise in the kitchen. I ran back in to find Wolfie, on the counter, holding the tomato by the stem in his teeth. Up to his old tricks again.

So I ask you, what is more interesting, a coconut-eating dog or a tomato-eating cat?

Keeping in Touch with the Elusive Offspring

Sometimes, I really have to work hard to keep in touch with EO. When he's bored, and has nothing to do, or when all the other students have gone on holiday leaving him behind, he has been known to call home every night. But when all his friends are around him, and he's working, and sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, his poor mum becomes a bit of a potted plant (I didn't say I become potted...just a potted plant).

So, this past Saturday I called him at 9:00 a.m. my time and 2:00 p.m. his time. I got my cellphone and pressed the speed dial for Thom UK. The phone rang that special UK ring "burrrrt-burrrrt." "Hullo?" a male voice answers. In my sweetest, all-knowing mother's voice, I say: "Are you asleep, sleepy?" A hesitant response comes back "Uh, no," and then "Who are you trying to reach?" Oops! Not the elusive offspring I was looking for. "Oh! I must have the wrong number! Sorry." The male voice on the other side says it again "Who are you trying to call?" This time, my response is a little sheepish: "Thomas." "He's asleep" comes the answer. "Oh, who am I talking to?" "James." (It sounds more like "Jems" when he says it). One of my son's flatmates...from Ireland. And my synapses start to malfunction immediately. What the heck is James doing with Thomas' cellphone (or "mobile" if you are in the UK)? Luckily, James saves me from saying something stupid, like "What the heck are you doing with Thomas' cellphone?" by telling me I should call him on his mobile and wake him. Ah, I had called the flat's land-line.

I should have said "Sure! Nice to talk to you, James." But no. I start asking him stupid questions about how he's doing and what he's up to. He's a really nice guy and he put up with all my questions and I believe he even gave back as good as he got. Eventually, I said I should probably call the sleepy one and we hung up.

Honestly, I'm not stalking my son's flatmate! Mrs. Robinson I'm not! But I have to admit that when he speaks with that lilting Northern Ireland accent of his, it's ... well... seductive.

So, I then called and woke the sleepy one. Last week, he started his internship with one of his professors or lecturers or someone in his department. It appears to be more than a 40-hour a week job, this internship. Sadly, the department did not have the budget for paying him (although there were funds for graduate students), so the potted plant is now footing his rent and bringing lunch to work (thus saving bucks and calories). The EO sounds very satisfied with this summer internship...sort of makes it all worth while, you know, eating home-made sandwiches and soup and all.

Eventually, I'll get ahold of him again and find out just what he's working on. Maybe I'll call the flat's phone number again (as opposed to EO's mobile) and maybe James will answer again...

Just kidding!