We’ll Deal with the Dishwasher Later (Blog #682)

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Well shit. It’s just after midnight, and five hours ago, after eating dinner, I started a small project. By small, I mean not small at all. I’ll explain. For months, since before my knee injury and surgery, our dishwasher has leaked. And whereas we haven’t been able to fix the problem, even with a new gasket, we’ve been able to catch the majority of the leak in a small bucket. But today we discovered a puddle of water on the floor in front of our sink (which is next to our dishwasher) and knew we had a bigger problem, since our dishwasher hadn’t been running.

As it turns out, in addition to the dishwasher leak (we’ll deal with the dishwasher later), we’ve had two leaks under our sink. Two! The first and most obvious is due to the device used to pipe water to our refrigerator. It’s faulty. After I Googled the problem, I learned this piece of equipment is one of the most hated by plumbers and is illegal in many states. It’s also a part you can’t replace on a Sunday night in Van Buren, Arkansas. Therefore, it continues to leak, but we do have (another) bucket catching the water.

The other leak, I’m afraid, is more problematic and is coming from a copper (hot water) pipe in the wall. I thought to look here because water was seeping under the wall and into our living room carpet, as well as into our kitchen. As I had to tear out some sheet rock under the sink to get to the copper pipe, I really made a damn mess. Plus, I had to rip out a thin sheet of plywood from under the sink, as well as some quarter round and a piece of particle board underneath our kitchen cabinets in order to see how extensive the water damage was.

Here’s a picture of what I discovered after I tore out the thin sheet of plywood. Notice the big water spot. That’s rotten wood and is all soft like a sponge. Ick. (Wood’s supposed to be hard.) One of the two copper pipes hiding in the back on the left is one of the referred to leak-causing culprits.

Rather than calling a plumber and shelling out a bunch of money to replace the copper pipe, Dad suggested we “try some of that stuff they sell on TV,” Flex Seal. So off we went to Walmart. Alas, we bought the tape kind (since the spray kind isn’t safety tested for potable water), and that didn’t work because the leak is apparently in a bend in the pipe, and it’s hard to wrap thick sticky tape around a bend. Oh well, it was only twelve dollars. So after doing some more Googling, I went back to Walmart and bought some JB Weld WaterWeld, a putty, which, after turning off the water supply to our house, I applied all around the bend (and then some).

That was an hour ago, and according to the directions, the putty should be dry by now. Of course, I hope it works. That would solve at least one of our two leaks. (We’ll deal with the dishwater later.) But who knows what will happen. I could turn the water back on, reach back to feel the pipe, and discover I’m no further along than I was five hours ago. Ugh. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Otherwise, it’s been a dandy day. This afternoon I finished the writing project I started yesterday and can’t tell you how good it feels. Hell, for two straight days I went to Starbucks, set up my laptop, and pounded the keyboard while listening to Elton John, and it was actually fun. I’m sort of disappointed I don’t have a project to work on tomorrow. Well, other than the sink. But really, it’s just a reminder to me that whatever you focus your attention on can be interesting and enjoyable once you get started.

Okay, moment of truth. I’m going to turn the water on and check the leak. Hang tight.

Insert period of time here.

Well crap. At first the patch appeared to work, but then it didn’t. I hate that. Oh well, I turned the water off again and put some MORE putty on the pipe. Now we wait–all night. With any luck, the patch will dry harder and do what what it claims to do–stop leaks. If not, STOP–IT’S PLUMBER TIME. (That’s a 90s music/MC HAMMER joke, Mom.)

Water leaks are such a mess, can cause such a mess. And whereas one leak is bad enough, we have two. (We’ll deal with the dishwasher later.) But this is the deal–problems rarely show up one at time. Everything in your kitchen leaks. You blow out your knee, then your skin falls apart. Whatever. More and more, I’m learning to appreciate the process–identify your problems, solve your problems. Granted, I don’t like the process–I don’t like the crick I have in my neck thanks to tonight’s drama either–but I do appreciate it. (The process, not the crick.) And at least we have more information than we did before, at least we know what DOESN’T work, at least we’re one step closer to finding out what does.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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On What You Give to Yourself (Blog #600)

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I spent this afternoon working on my dad’s honey-do list, which I guess makes me “honey” for the day. Anyway, he’s been asking me to fix the dishwasher for weeks. The front’s coming off, a spring is broken. “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” he said in desperation last night. So this afternoon I brought my lesbian toolbox inside and went to work. But before I could even take the damn dishwasher apart, I had to make two trips to Lowe’s in order to buy the appropriate screwdriver for the job. (The dishwasher is put together with those funny star-shaped screws, and it took two trips because they APPARENTLY make the screws in different sizes, and I guessed wrong the first time.)

It took a total of three hours, but I eventually got the dishwasher all fixed up–took the front off and put it back together with extra screws and some heavy-duty tape (since some of the plastic had broken) and fixed a spring that had popped off. Plus Dad and I vacuumed underneath. Yuck, what a mess. I’m guessing that hadn’t been done since sometime during the Reagan Administration.

Taking advantage of the fact that I was in a fix-it mood, Dad led me from the kitchen to his side of bathroom. “My sink is leaking,” he said, “but it’s just the cold water.” So off I went to Lowe’s again in order to buy a new rubber o-ring, which I assumed would be the answer to the problem based on where the leak was coming from. However, that didn’t work, so I’m going to go BACK TO LOWE’S either later tonight or tomorrow to TRY, TRY AGAIN.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been babysitting for some friends. You heard that right–me, babysitting!–taking care of two boys. One’s eleven and one’s nine. Honestly, it’s been a fantastic time. First we ate pizza and chicken wings, then we played Oregon Trail (a card came) and I died, then we watched The Sandlot. What a great movie. You’re killing me, Smalls. / You play ball like a girl! / Squints was pervin’ a dish. / For-Ev-Er. This was seriously a walk down memory lane. Not only did I used to play baseball like the boys in the movie (I was about as good as Smalls, which is not that good), but I also got a black eye from a ball like Smalls does in the film.

It really was the perfect way to spend an evening. Well, except for the fact that the boys fast-forwarded through the scene where Smalls and his friends knock the baseball with Babe Ruth’s autograph on it over the fence and into the territory of The Beast, the local dog they’re all afraid of. I don’t know–I guess it made them uncomfortable.

After the movie, the boys and I went through their nighttime routine. First, they brushed their teeth.

“Are you going to wash your faces?” I asked.

“Why would we do that?” they replied.

“Because you got pizza sauce all over them earlier,” I said.

They paused then said, “That’s what napkins are for!”

Next the boys said their prayers, which were absolutely adorable to listen to. They prayed for every single member of their family. “And God bless Mother and Father, and God bless older sister, and God bless me and brother, and God bless Grandma. Amen.” Then the older one turned to me and said, “Just to clarify, Grandma died five years ago.” Talk about priceless. After that, we sang three songs, the last of which was America the Beautiful. Not a single one of us was on key. Then the boys crawled into their respective beds. Then I let their little dog outside, and now the dog and I are piled up on the couch waiting for Mom and Dad to return.

This afternoon while I was repairing the dishwasher, my dad said, “Marcus, your Grandpa Dee would have been so proud of you.” (Grandpa Dee was my dad’s dad, and he was super handy.) Then he added, “I never did anything that he was proud of.” Wow. Even if this wasn’t a literal statement, it certainly was a heart-wrenching one. My grandpa was a good man, but I remember his coming in behind my dad to re-do things my dad had done, and that sucks for any child, that feeling of I’m not good enough.

I know what that feeling is like. My dad’s come in behind to re-do my work plenty of times over the years. However, now that we’re both older, that nonsense has stopped. For one thing, Dad can’t do as much for himself, so he kind of has to accept whatever help he can get. Plus, I can speak up for myself. This afternoon while Dad was peaking over my shoulder, I said, “Shoo. Get out of the kitchen.”

What you give to yourself, you can’t help but give to others.

I know it’s not always comfortable to talk about, the way our grandparents and parents weren’t perfect, the way all of us–myself included–aren’t perfect. We all have parts of our lives we’d like to fast-forward through, especially those times we’ve prioritized The Project over The Person. But having just spent an evening with two precious children, I think it’s important to talk about this, the fact that all of us are worthy of love and approval and few of us ever stop wanting these things from our parents. I don’t mean this as an indictment of my ancestors, since I believe everyone is doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. Plus, I know from personal experience that if you’re hard on others, that means you’re even harder on yourself. So all the more reason to work on yourself and give love and approval to yourself, since what you give to yourself, you can’t help but give to others.

[Tonight’s blog is number 600 (in a row). Much love and appreciation to anyone who’s read anywhere from one to all of them. This continues to be a truly enlightening, powerful, and healing journey, and I’m most grateful for those of you who allow me to travel it in such a public way. Here’s to you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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