Kickapoo Wishing Well at the Trail of Tears photograph copyright Kathy Weiser
(Blogger's Note: This post has some unpleasant subject matter, proceed at your own risk.)
Our well has been having 'issues' for several months now and my husband has diligently worked on DIY solutions. He's a handy guy and he does a lot of repair work around the Potter School House. Last week our poor well started to go seriously south and Sunday it was gone A little note might have been nice. Thanks a lot, well. Services are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Please bring pie, creme brulee and paper plates.
We have had no water for two and a half days. Water is something most people take for granted, myself included. If you don't have a well, water is provided to you by the city in which you live for a fee. If you do have a well, you cast magical spells and hope it doesn't die and the power doesn't go out...and then there's the septic tank. Which is a whole other can of worms...or pool of icky...depending on your perspective.
Since I work from home, I'm at the front lines of the no water zone. I can't use anything that requires me to rinse or wash, including paints and adhesives. I haven't showered since Saturday and the concurrent layers of extra strength deodorant are starting to head towards epic fail. We have water in jugs for drinking, rinsing, brushing and a large bucket of water courtesy of our neighbor for...flushing. The flushing happens twice daily. I'm selling tickets to the neighborhood kids.
Last night before bed I was rendered helpless with laughter when my hubby asked me in a most serious voice, "How many poos do you make? Are you making more poo?"
"Yes. Yes, I am. Gosh, thanks so much for asking! Are you the poo police? Am I being given a poo ticket? Can a gal poo in private around here?"
Yes, this is what I've been reduced to. Laughing at poo.
One can either laugh at this shit or cry. It's not the end of the world, we just don't have water until we settle on the plumber.
The first plumber to arrive at the scene was blessed with a sparkly white smile, wavy brown hair, a fit physique, baby blues and what my husband later jokingly referred to later as 'rugged good looks.' Picture the 'carpenter' on a home improvement show. After he dropped the bomb that our well was going to cost four thousand dollars to fix and lept back into his trusty plumber van with a grin, I told my husband he seemed like an affable fellow and I had a 'good feeling' about him. Now I realize he was the shiny 'bait' the plumbing company sent out to hopefully meet the 'lady of the house' and flim flam her into spending a small fortune on her plumbing woes. One wonders if the 'switch' was a big hairy guy with a baseball cap, scraggly pony tail, beer belly and the ubiquitous plumber butt...
Luckily my husband was not swayed by Super Plumber's rakish good looks and he called some other plumbers for comparison bids. All of these plumbers are from local companies with long standing records and good reviews. The second plumber came out, told us a similar story about what needed to be done and bid at two thousand dollars less than the first guy. He was willing to dig the trench himself and not hire a backhoe and a crew. We had a third company slated to come out this morning, but they never showed.
So we are leaning towards the second guy, but we must look over the contract first. At the earliest, we'll have water again Thursday night. I am trying not to freak out and I'm hoping my deodorant lasts that long. Then there are the problems of the mounting dishes and the laundry baskets straining at their seams. My daughter stood watch over the Raisin Bran this morning with a stern warning about too much fiber and our current plumbing situation. Seriously. It's come to this. My family is monitoring my fiber intake and bathroom usage.
Yes, that's a chorus of Green Acres you hear in the background. Oh and it took me until I posted this blog to fully appreciate the humor of the name of the well in the photo above. Just take a peek...