Jim just got back from the hardware store with our new toilet.
That sentence implies a tale, you know. Needless to say, I am prepared to tell it to you.
Of course, I have to preface this with the observation that when I was a little girl, nobody went to any hardware store on a Sunday because there were no hardwares stores open. Once again, I am overwhelmed by the way things have changed in the past 48 years, which is how long it has been since I was a little girl. Cell phones! Computers! Cable TV (not to mention SATELLITE!) But I digress.
The day began well yesterday. It was sunny and in the low 60s with a promise of a rise in temperature to the 70s. (In January!?) We had leftover steak from dinner the night before, so I made steak and eggs using part of the leftovers and absolutely wonderful free range eggs that Jim and Jesse brought home from Iowa, courtesy of my brother-in-law. (Thanks, Ed!!) I was motivated to put on a very sustaining breakfast because on Jim’s and Jesse’s agenda was the retrieval of some ripple stone that Alex and I had located.
After breakfast, they got their tools and equipment together, and got ready to go out on their expedition. We bade them farewell, and two minutes later Jim came back in the house and said, “Don’t expect to go anywhere while we’re gone. Your car has a flat tire at the left rear.” He paused a moment, and as he exited the house I heard him mutter “I wonder if there’s a tire repair place open today.” A small amount of clunking and clanking in the carport indicated that he was removing the tire. Presently he stuck his head back in the door and said, “I’m going to drop this tire off on our way out of town.”
“Okay,” I replied cheerfully from the sink, where I was cleaning up after breakfast. After I finished that little chore, I sat down to try to finish reading “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” by Barbara Kingsolver, and contemplate what my plans for the rest of the day were. Alex headed off to the bathroom for her morning sojourn and a shower, and all was calm for about two minutes.
Suddenly from the bathroom I hear a calmly panicked call, “Ellie, there’s water coming out of the toilet!” I dropped my book and sprang to my feet. Alex was attacking a large quantity of water on the floor with the mop. The sodden bath mat was already in the shower. (She hadn’t been wasting any time dealing with the catastrophe.) I rather abruptly shoved her towards the shower and knelt in the puddle to get access to the shut off valve to the toilet. That secured, I looked at the toilet and asked what had happened. Alex explained that when she flushed the toilet water had gushed out of the back of it. I looked back there and could see water still dripping from the tank, so thinking that the break was in the tank part, I decided it would be wise to get all the water out of the tank into the drain. I knew no more would run in since I had turned off the water to the toilet.
So, I flushed the toilet. Whoa! Big mistake — the break was in the bowl segment of the toilet where the water gushes down from the tank into the receptacle, so immediately there was approximately 8 liters or so of water pouring out the back of the toilet.
“Run get the rag basket!” I told Alex as I took the mop out of her hands and started mopping for dear life. The mop was dry, so it was resisting sopping up water the way they do until suddenly they are damp and then totally wet. Within seconds, she was back, and I emptied the whole basket onto the puddle. I threw the useless mop into the shower and we both started shoving rags around to mop up the spill. Thank goodness it was clean water, not used.
Anyway, we got it cleaned up, and I picked up the shards of porcelain off the floor, not without neatly slicing my pinkie finger on one of the knife-sharp edges. After thoroughly washing my rather small injury (how clean was that water, or floor, anyway??) and applying a bandaid, I placed the largest chunk of broken toilet on the lid as a reminder that it was out of commission.
Alex and I discussed how this could possibly have happened. After a certain amount of CSI work, I noticed that the back of the toilet had a crack that had obviously been there for quite some time, and was just biding its time until the worst possible moment to fail. Then the phone rang, and my friend Jeri was calling to invite me to go shopping with her in Springfield. I was certainly ready to get away from the house, which seemed entirely too prone to disaster that morning. Even though I knew the money supply has run low, and I knew we were going to be buying a new toilet in the near future, I agreed to go shopping on the condition that I was not buying anything. And I told her she’d have to pick me up as my car was up on a jack at the moment. Alex volunteered to take me out there if Jeri would bring me home, so that is what we decided to do.
I wrote a note to Jim and left it on the door. I figured the guys would be back with their load of rocks before either of us returned. It said: “I have gone shopping in Springfield with Jeri. I wanted to leave before something else happened. . .” I figured they would discover what had happened to the toilet if they looked around a little. (As it turns out, they discovered the toilet right away but it took them a while to figure out the ominous “something else” reference, because they did not remember the flat on the car, even though they had just replaced it moments before. “It was just a flat, really, not a disaster, no big deal,” my son said.)
Alex took me out to Jeri’s place, and off we went. Certain staples were obtained and a fine lunch was enjoyed at the Galloway Station Bar and Grill. We stopped by to visit a friend and her 2 year old daughter on the way home, and arrived just in time for absolutely fabulous tacos featuring some of the black beans we grew last year as the refried bean portion of the mix. However, we were not allowed to touch the food until we had gone out to dutifully admire the new rocks acquired by my men. Needless to say, Jeri was not averse to this activity, being just as big a rock addict as I am.
This required the use of a flashlight, since it was already dark. First of all, I was shown this gorgeous pillar:
It is destined to be placed in a vertical position here:
I have been having trouble with my hose pulling across all my tiny hen and chicks and sedums in the lowest bed of the rock garden. I have had my eye on this worked sandstone pillar which is presently acting as a “Cool Rock” pedestal in the pergola.
I was wanting to remove this square rock from the flagstone pathway pictured above (close up of the area):
Then the hose would neatly follow the flagstone path and stop molesting the plants in the bed. But both Jim and I like that pedestal where it is, and when Jim saw the rock now in the wheelbarrow resting in the creek bed, he said to Jesse, “If we can, I want to get that rock. If we can.” They could.
They also could get these rocks as well.
But by far the best piece they brought home was a piece of ripple stone. The first day Alex and I had scouted that creek bed, I had noticed this rock. It was just sitting there, right on top in the creek bed, enticing me. It was awfully big, though, and once I tried to lift the corner I knew it was beyond my capacity to bring home. Alex just stood there and said “Not in my car.” All I could see was the amazing bench it would make in the stroll garden.
Alex and Jesse had gone to scout the location, unbeknownst to me, and they also fooled around with that stone. Jesse was able to move it to the side of the creek bed, and so he was pretty sure that with Jim’s shoulders added to the task, that rock could be gotten home. It was largely due to the existence of this rock that they took the wheelbarrow with them when they went off yesterday morning. When Jesse shined the flashlight on it as it rested in the garden cart right out in my very own back yard, I almost could not believe it. (That is a 2×6 and a 2×4 supporting it off the metal edge of the garden cart)
I may quite possibly be the most spoiled woman in America.
Quite possibly. Gorgeous rocks and rockery. I’m jealous.
Ever thought of expanding your enterprise with pre-massage rock lifting? Quite sure it could fit as a beneficial health and strength building therapy thingy … possibly turn into a fad as well.
Good there are hardware stores open on Sundays sometimes. You can do without much, but hard without a loo.
I once bought a washing machine on a Boxing Day – which is a “red day” in the calendar here in the Far North – and to my great surprise the store was crowded. I thought I was insane to go shopping a washing machine a day like that – but with three young children and a broken washing machine at home there was no choice. The car and the then husband were on their way somewhere so quick action was necessary if the offspring should have any clean clothes to wear.
Those men of yours . . . as I’ve said before, they’re keepers.
That ripple stone is going to make a gorgeous bench.
Living in a fairly religious, conservative state (though in the bluest, most liberal town in it), Sundays are pretty quiet around here. The public library is closed, which always annoys me as I invariably don’t get around to going on Saturday. But the gods of commerce prevail, and most stores are open on Sunday. Except the Mormon thrift store, of course.
Be still my heart! I love rocks. All shapes, sorts and sizes. I’ve often told my husband that if he wants to really make me smile, not to buy me expensive jewelry. I’ll just send it back or never end up wearing it. But just drive out somewhere and bring me home a pretty rock. Now that’s a gift for me! And my garden!
Brenda
Oh,those men went out again yesterday and brought home another group of amazing rocks. we now have enough to finish the walks in the vegetable garden, and I have some nice big blocky ones to use in the next phase of the stroll garden.
I’d be out there today working on it, except I have been laid low by a bladder infection which seems to have involved my kidneys. I am keeping a low profile today until I can get to the physician and acquire a proper antibiotic. meanwhile, lots of water and cranberry juice and I’m just tired, not really bad off the way I was yesterday. I hate being sick.
Hope you’re feeling better.
*snibble*
I am much better now, thanks az. I’m sure the snibble helped. I now have the antibiotic, which of course is playing havoc with my intestinal system. It is used to having all sorts of beneficial bacteria growing there, and unfortunately no one has invented an antibiotic that kills the bad bugs and leaves the good ones behind. Side effect that I was not anticipating is that the mild sinus infection I have enjoyed most of December is also responding to the therapy. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
I loved this whole post Healing Magic Hands – from the broken toilet to the black beans and rocks, and think the spoiling sounds perfect. But I’m not so sure a non-gardening, non-cooking, non-ripple-rock-loving woman would understand how perfect it is!
Annie at the Transplantable Rose