October 27th, 2007


Life in the Circus....

Shit, the washing off, dealing with, and cleaning up of it...
    The capering demons of our lives enjoy damp, humid and smelly conditions. I know this, because they apparently appreciate my company so much that they felt the need to renovate my house to suit themselves. Makes it easier for them to hang out. More comfortable, don't you know.
    Which is why I have only-slightly-modified sewage soaking through my hall carpet, puddling around my furnace and washer, potentially forcing archaeological digs of my floor, temporary removal of my furnace and architectural destruction of the wall behind it, to get at pipes which apparently house a blockage that has rerouted all that is bad and smelly about grey-and-worse water into my little ground floor home.
    I will spare you the details of 36 hours of steadily escalating water problems; I am something of a piping infrastructure Luddite, and can only take it on exhausted faith that it is a systemic, building-wide problem, years in the making and stemming from sub-sub-sub-par condo renovations done in the 1990s by a long-gone rehabbing fuckwit. I am grateful beyond words that it is building wide and systemic, because that means the condo association will pay for everything - up to and including complete placement of my carpet.
    And I have been more or less successful in keeping things in perspective. The mantra "I'm not in a FEMA trailer, my family history didn't drown beneath six feet of raw sewage and Lake Pontchartrain backflow" is somewhat ponderous, but a remarkable reminder that this is no social crisis, it's just another tricky day for me.
    And, unfortunately, for Best Beloved, whose body is not taking well the parade of sewage, lack of sleep and physically demanding toting, fetching, baling, baling, and baling.
    I shall go now and find good things to think about. Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do about this. The plumbers are off looking for more implements of destruction, BB is off getting pain medications, Andy is in his room, the cats are traumatized, and I'm looking forward to an evening of hauling my pile of sewage-tainted clothing, towels and rags to an all-night laundromat. I hope the plumbers will let me do my washing at home, but I'm not holding my breath.
    Given the odor around here, perhaps I should....

What a Wonderful World

In the interest of reminding myself that things can be beautiful, I found a poem I wrote a while back. It made me feel better, and, since I deluged you (deluged, get it? Get it? See, there was all this plumbing...never mind....) with my cranky maunderings, I'm going to take this chance to remind you that I'm sometimes less than cranky.

Night Rain

A screen, a gentle knock and stutter of rain.
Lightning announces itself silently,
low rumble on its heels coming in with the wind.
I can feel my skin.
Pinpoints, the space between them filled with night air
and the shine of dark wet sidewalk.
One story up, the smell of summer pavement hits me.
I breathe it into the spaces between my points.
Will my skin contain me?
The lightning glows over the lake
I sit very still

and expand into joy.

June-July, 1996