Orange County Register — North County News-Tribune; Date: Sept. 26, 2019; Section: News; Page Number: A5
WHAT A DAY
Life does not want an organized schedule
When it comes to schedules, there are people who precisely organize their days and people who roam through the hours like feral cats. I am the organizational type.
I’d like to feel superior about that, but having a schedule gets me into trouble sometimes.
Last Saturday, I got into a tug-of-war with one of the lesson horses. I wanted to hold her hoof to clean it. She wanted to stand on it. At one point, she wrenched her foot away so violently, the motion twisted my back.
On Sunday, I could not stand upright without walking my hands up my thighs and weeping a little. I made it through my day’s errands with the help of Advil, but had to go home and rest. Although I was in pain, I was mostly grumpy.
This was going to interfere with my schedule.
Tuesday is when the plumbing broke. I awoke to low water pressure and the sound of running water. Stepping outside, I saw a small but significant stream burbling from our front yard, down the steps, across the sidewalk, and into the street.
This would have been a job for Dale, but he was in Boston at a golf tournament, so I did the next best thing. I sent him a video of the leaking yard with the text, “Help.”
I’m not completely clueless about how plumbing works. I knew I could turn the water off at the street. I also knew I needed a special tool to turn the lever.
Unfortunately, I never know where Dale keeps these things.
By the time I called the plumber, my neighbor came to my rescue with his shutoff tool. He got the water turned off and left his tool with me. In the meantime, Dale called and told me where our tool was.
He also wanted me to root around in the mud, looking for the sprinkler shutoff valve. This did nothing for my back, but I did it, whimpering all the way. By that time, the plumber arrived, capped off a pipe, and promised to come out and fix it after Dale got home.
If only the pipe had cooperated.
My back was still screaming, but I had planned to go to the City Council meeting, and I was not going to cancel my plan just because of unexpected calamities.
After swallowing more Advil and breaking out the Lidocaine patches they sent me home with after my gall bladder surgery, I showered and dressed. I opened the front door, stepped out, and saw it.
A geyser was now shooting out of my yard, into the street.
Cursing all the way, I grabbed the shutoff tool, turned off our water, and called the plumber. Then I went to the meeting, daring Life to throw one more problem my way.
Wes the plumber was at my house early the next morning. He spent hours replacing PVC joints to keep everything from leaking and bursting, and soon I had water again.
Dale came home the following week. I adore him, but I was never so happy to see him. He didn’t walk right in the door. First, he stopped to look at the repaired pipes. I understood.
My back still hurts a little, but I don’t care. The plumbing is now his responsibility. He can add “fix the pipes” to his schedule—and I can delete it from mine.
Longtime Placentia resident Gayle Carline tracks those moments that shape her days as a wife, mom, computer whiz and horsewoman. E-mail her at [email protected].