The Way of Water

The atmospheric river bringing flooding to California has overflowed its banks and is lapping at our back door in Tucson, where rain is always welcome. Welcome, that is, if you’re not a dachshund. Thank goodness we still have that box of puppy pads … we put three in strategic locations this morning, and they’ve already been used.

And of course today’s the day our water heater starts leaking. Donna left an emergency message for the handyman and we’re waiting for a callback. We’re hoping he doesn’t take Martin Luther King Jr. Day off. Waste Management doesn’t, and I know because I checked. When WM observes a Monday holiday our Tuesday garbage pickup slips to Wednesday, so I always check, even though we know from past years WM doesn’t take this particular holiday off, which seems odd considering as how Reverend King was in Memphis to support striking sanitation workers when he was assassinated. But then MLK Jr. Day honors the great man’s life, not his death, so maybe I’m grumbling about nothing.

When I said water heater just now, did you picture a large white cylindrical tank standing on end or something else, like maybe one of those wall-mounted tankless heaters they use in other countries? Most Americans, I think, call the tank version a hot water heater, which is silly and redundant, but you know right away what a person’s talking about. I’m worried the bottom of ours will suddenly fail, flooding one end of our house and ruining the hardwood laminate flooring, and I think maybe I’d better hook up a hose and drain it.

Ah. The handyman called back to say he doesn’t put in water heaters. He referred us to a couple of plumbers and we left voicemail messages with each. It’d be nice to get some idea of how long it’ll take to replace the water heater before I drain the old one (Donna and Polly have already taken precautionary showers and I’m next). Last time, which was nearly 20 years ago, we went to Home Depot and bought the new one ourselves, bringing it home in the back of our truck. All the plumber had to do was hook it up and haul away the old one. I expect that’s how we’ll do it this time around, but again, we need to hear from the person who’s going to do the work first. This is one of those situations where I want to jump up and do something, but have to be patient instead.

Who’s this twat?

I posted a photo of an old German hunting knife to Facebook, a boy’s hunting knife given me by my father in 1957, when I was 9 or 10. Dad was in the Air Force, and we were stationed at Ramstein Air Base, located near the city of Kaiserslautern. My Facebook post prompted two of my sisters to send photos of the silver charms and emblems they collected as kids, the ones we used to pin to our Tyrolean hiking hats. Yes, we all had German kit, though sadly the only item I hung onto is that knife. I’m not sad about losing the lederhosen, though!