Waterfalls
Nothing Zen about it.
I have this unequivocal fear of water damage around the house. Hearing water drip where it should not, well, quite honestly will unravel me. So imagine my horror, the panic, the Titanic sinking despair, when the first thing I read with my pre caffeinated eyes was “the water heater exploded” and “how do I turn it off?” These cryptic messages, were sent hours earlier, by my older son Stephen, who was living his production of home alone hell. Despicable Devils Deluge, in my home, while I was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the destruction, when I’m a timezone over, and 1419 km away. How dare that tank, tank ?
The little voice in my head nagged at me before we left for Palatine, the water heater NEEDS to be changed, I’m playing with fire, or in this case fluid fire. I shushed the inner voice. The banality of that decision is now a solidfoundation to NEVER ignore the little voice. No matter HOW crazy it makes me look. Some amount of crazy is good. To say otherwise, is just - crazy.
Subsequent messages were a little more positive. My son called his brother from another mother and the floodgates of water heater hell were shut off, the terror tank emptied into the bathtub via a garden hose. We would not be hosting an indoor Zambezi Indoor River Run. Krisztina came running home to help with clean up and switch with Stephen who had to go to work. I applauded the genius’ at work, thinking thank goodness, they are not totally lost when we are not around. My mommy feathers were fluffy and proud. A plumber friend took the time to come by and check to make sure there were no other water geyser threats. The suffocation I felt in the morning was subsiding.
Next was deciding rent/buy, and then finding an available plumber, (friend was leaving for vacation) right around construction holiday to come and toss the rusted, outdated, gut-spewing beast out on it’s ugly cylinder butt, and put in a new shiny well behaved, water warming tank. For two days, I agonized over things. Lost sleep. Paced around the condo. My parents got on the phone looking for their plumber. No answer. More anxiety. I shouted out to my Facebook community. People offered advice, insight, information. And from the great silence, another kind of geyser was brewing because of miscommunication. Rosalind, my friend and mentor for over the last two decades - surfaces like Moby Dick out of the ocean, with the most vital of information that had not been communicated to me. She had offered 48 hours before to get things done when my son woke them up at 1:30 in the morning to ask the brother of another mother for help….
Sometimes, at 19, you think that mom will magically somehow use her superpowers to be a mindreader, because in the past she has done so in the most creepiest of ways, and she will just KNOW that there was an offer to have this whole debacle taken care of within 24 hours. Or maybe at 19 you just like to take cold showers. Youth and vitality over comfort. I don’t know. The mind reading app in my brain must have short fused, shut off, defected somewhere, or maybe lack of sleep for 48 hours played into its disablement. No matter. Now the I was armed with information, that would allow hot water to be a luxury again in our lives, along with the peace of mind that I will not have to deal with this upon my return, things started happening at the rapid pace as the water that flows down the Niagara. Within 36 hours, the terrible tank was banished to the curb, and in its place is now a pretty 60 gallon tower, providing liquid warmth and happiness.
But alas, that daydream was washed away. After a very long day of travel, delays in both Torontoand Montreal due to thunderstorms, consistent with my water woes, only this time falling from the sky. We finally arrived home five hours later then originally scheduled. Robi and I were excited to go and pet the precious new white tank. He opens the door, we see the tank, I’m about to get excited - and I hear dripping!!!! I am convinced I’m just being paranoid, until I look up and notice water dripping from a valve nearby. Some mystical force will not leave me alone with this and is amusing itself by showering me with sprinkles. Warm sprinkles to boot. Only Stephen gets the cold showers. After some epithet filled words, I checked in with Béla, and shoot a quick text to Ros - how late can I call the plumber ??? At this point it’s 22:30. Call him. I did. He was at my house in 15 minutes. Apparently I sounded frantic, no doubt I did. Thankfully, the problem was quenched swiftly, stopping the makings of an indoor rainforest by morning.
My dear water gods, trolls, or nymphs, I am not a mermaid, nor some wilting flower, it's time to shut off the tap, before I tap out.
