Sometimes, life hands you a mid-course correction. Take this blog entry, for instance. As we drove up to our house after a wonderful vacation in Florida, I was toying with the title: “Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are dead, Disney is broken, and Xenu works for Starbucks”.
Wherein I was going to describe the wonderful production of “Hamlet” that we saw at the Guthrie the night before we left, the many wonders that we saw at Disney (and the observation that at any given time, there are a surprising number of rides/attractions that are out of order, or closed for remodeling.) and finally, introduce you to the lovely, friendly, and incredibly efficient young lady from somewhere in north Africa (if I had to guess)that made my Chai latte upon arrival at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. If it weren’t for her name tag, identifying her as “Xenu”, you wouldn’t ever guess that she was an evil intergalactic over-lord who got her kicks torturing the souls of scientologists with volcanoes.
Maybe I should invite her to a clambake.
Anyway, here’s where the mid-course correction comes in.
When we arrived home, our basement carpets were soaked with water from our over-flowing sump-pump well. It was a small enough amount of water that you didn’t notice it until you’d walked back and forth a few times and squished the water up out of the pad to be then absorbed by the carpet.
(Insert obligatory record-scratching noise here)
So here I am, sitting in my partially demolished basement with the smell of must in my nose and the friendly hum of fans in my ears, and I am cheerful.
“Cheerful?” you ask?
“Yes, cheerful.” I answer.
See, I wouldn’t HAVE this problem if I didn’t have a wonderful husband who loves to take his family with him on business trips (rather than wanting to go alone so he can “cut loose”). If I hadn’t been in Florida enjoying the sun and spectacular-tasting alcoholic beverages by a sparkling pool watching my children slip down an incredible waterslide.
Nope. I could have been here, with an endless leaden drizzle, with full knowledge that the sump pump had given out, a two-gallon water bucket to bail with, and the nagging suspicion that my husband feels like he can't have any real fun with me around.
I wouldn’t have this problem if we hadn’t had the money to finish our basement and make it a wonderful, happy, shiny place to live. If we didn’t have a fully-finished, lovely basement with wall-to-wall carpeting and thick, cushy padding under it, I would have finished clean-up of my dull-gray concrete basement a good twenty-four hours ago with nothing but a shop-vac.
My problem would be smaller still, had we not had the means to put an addition on our house two years ago, adding another two rooms to our basement.
On top of all this, we have friends like Rick and Tarra who will come straight from work, and get going, tirelessly moving huge pieces of furniture, great sopping gobs of carpet padding, and huge blower fans around until late in the night. I’m not kidding, the first people we called said “we’ll be there”. There is a long list of people behind them, that would have been here at the drop of the hat, had we called (we really only needed two people…Bob Wagner, or we would have called you too. You were next on the list.) If it would have done any good, I bet we could have had twenty people here last night lifting, hauling, and cleaning. Also, our friend Eric got on the internet right away and did a TON of research for the best way to do the clean-up, and got the distilled information to me VERY quickly while we were busy taking stock of the situation.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I’m not one to go looking for the silver lining in any given cloud. That’s what I have Sue for (also, to water the hermit crabs, bring in the mail, and take the garbage to the curb when I’m on vacation THANKS SUE!!!!)
At any rate, no Rebbecca of Suynnybrook Farm, am I.
But, I’m also not one to miss the silver lining if it’s there, shining directly into my eyes.
So, the moral of the story is:
If your cup runneth over, and spilleth onto the floor – don’t complaineth about the mess.
That’s all I’m saying.