We’ve been without running water since Friday. The pump malfunctioned, a part needed to be ordered over the weekend, and we’re hoping that today the troubleshooting is correct and water will be flowing through the pipes of our dream home soon.
There is something to be said about learning the intimate, inner workings of the place where you dwell. It’s good to know the source of your water, where the septic system is buried, where the gray water drains from your washer.
Moving into this house, we were clear that it was a fundamental in building a foundation for our lives. Thus, we are being schooled on the cornerstones of operation of our sweet abode.
Funny, a girlfriend and I were talking about the complexities of modern life, and I commented that many days I wouldn’t mind the simplicity of chopping wood and carrying water. Well, within a day, I found myself schlepping a five-gallon bucket to the house, grateful for the precious liquid with which I could wash our dishes. Careful what you wish for.
Ironically, the island where we abide has been drenched with rainfall, a flash flood in effect, and puddles aplenty. Water, water everywhere, but nary a drop to drink (no worries, we have a secondary source that’s been keeping us abundantly supplied. The only catch is that we need to transport it).
I wish I could say I’ve been graceful through this inconvenience of no running water. But there have been waves of irritation that have forced me to see a less-than-ideal side of myself. I’ve lived in my car, camped in the woods for extended periods, and I’d like to think I could make a decent homesteader. So what’s the fuss with a little pause on the water supply for a couple of days?
The truth is, I’m afraid that I simply am annoyed by inconvenience. The interruptus of my everyday luxuries, the ones I’ve grown accustomed to expecting. I don’t like the monkey wrench in my routine. I hate to admit this, but I think it may be true.
Along with the rains, has come a wild wind that shakes the windows and rattles the trees with a fierceness.
If there was a question (besides ‘will they fix the water pump today?’), I think it would be ‘how can I be more gracious in less than ideal conditions?’
Outside the safe container of my windows, leaves and limbs are thrown and whipped about. What are they to do but take it? Or break.
Today, I’ll look to a tree. Try for more grace. Bend with what is blown my way.