I don't have a problem with ruts. If I'm bumping along in my rut, I won't fall off any cliffs. I prefer to know what's around the next bend or over the next hill. I don't particularly like surprises and absolutely despise change.

Boring? Perhaps. I'm what True Colors calls a "gold" personality. Golds cling to the safety net of routines. Someone once told me "Sometimes change is good. Other times it's somebody's way of justifying their job." I can totally get behind the latter statement, and heaven forbid don't change the itinerary on vacation!

But there's this thing called life that tends to get in the way and muddle things up a bit. Or a lot. String a couple of days together and mix in a dose of the unusual, spit it out and you've got murky waters I'll do anything to avoid. But the fact is, life isn't static and we don't live in Stepford.

When our master bathroom decided to puke up its guts, I tried to ignore it. Turn a cheek and it will go away, right? Three days after we'd taken over our son's small bathroom due to a large puddle in front of the shower in ours, our plumber returned from the crawlspace (he's obviously not afraid of things that creep around with an unusually large number of hair legs). Said plumber dusted himself off. I asked how much to fix the leak? He laughed and said we had a major problem. I laughed and asked again how much? Pat the plumber (he's definitely not a Joe) looked me in the eye and said we had some serious damage. I gulped and with a dismissing wave, told my husband to handle it. 

My bad.

I took over dealing with the insurance claim. Akin to maneuvering through a mine-field blindfolded, it wasn't pretty. When the rep mentioned we had a $5,000 limit on mold damage, I knew we were in deep doo-doo (heavy sigh). 
Our home went from a cozy retreat to a scene from The Outer Limits. The mold people arrived in their germ-resistant suits, warned us to get whatever we needed for the next day OUT (gulp) and covered the master suite side of the house entirely in plastic. Zippers to get in and out. Masks mandatory inside the zippers. Huge machines to clean the air. Of course, being a writer, I imagined mold spores morphing into a deadly virus (breathe, Susie, breath) and creatures creeping into my house where a worker stuck his foot through the rotted subfloor and a gaping hole yawned a Stephen King inspired grin where the shower used to be. And unfortunately, he said shaking his head, it would take longer than anticipated. Go figure (b-r-e-a-t-h-e)

The mold was cleaned and our contractor went to work. Things were looking up--we figured out how to keep from bumping our elbows in the shower; we knew exactly where to scavenge in the garage for our underwear; became accustomed to the echo with no carpet and no furniture in the bedroom; found my iPod and hubbie's razor; remembered to park the cars outside the garage; knew how to blaze a path through a jungle of furniture. The day came when the carpet was scheduled and we could finally return the furniture and contents of our closets and right this sinking ship.

Yeah, right.

The carpet installer assured us his company had only received the wrong order twice in seven years (heavy sigh, deep, deep breath). Why us?

It has been three months, twenty-three days and seven hours since we first reported a puddle in our bathroom. I'm no longer bumping my elbows in our son's shower--but our spare bedroom is reproducing piles of "stuff" at an alarming rate. We keep the door shut. Maybe that's not such a good idea. The '60's are alive and well as we're sleeping on our mattress on the floor. I've grown quite fond of the extra room in the bedroom and the closets are spotless--it's not hard when there's nothing in them! We could qualify for the team if Underwear Scavenging became an Olympic sport, and we even decided to refinish a few pieces of furniture we will someday return to their place in our bedroom. 

And hubbie grew a beard. 

As I write this post, the carpet is scheduled for tomorrow for the second time. I'm not holding my breath.

Did I mention I don't like change? Sometimes-on the rare occasion-change is good, once the initial shock is over. Our bathroom and bedroom are beautifully remodeled in a Mediterranean theme. It's probably the closest to Italy I'll ever get. And I've grown extremely fond of hubbie's whiskers.

Did I mention I don't like change? 

There's another puddle on the bathroom floor.

Until next time,
Happy Reading, Happy Writing


"3D Character With Underconstruction Elements" courtesy of digitalart at www.freedigitalart.com
"theb0824" courtesy of NOAA Photo Library at www.everystockphoto.com
"Titanic Ship Sinking Behind Large Iceberg" by Victor Habbick www.freedigitalphotos.net


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