My What A Lovely "P Trap"

lev·i·ty / ˈlevətē/• n. humor or frivolity, esp. the treatment of a serious matter with humor or in a manner lacking due respect.
      Humor or Frivolity indeed!  After the last couple of  "introspective" posts on property, security and metaphysical leaps of faith, it's time to lighten the mood. That's why it's time to talk about plumbing... wait, what? Let me look at my notes here... Yup... Plumbing.       I despise plumbing.

de·spise/diˈspīz/

Verb:

Feel contempt or a deep repugnance for.

Repugnance! Yes... Repugnance!  That is a damn fine word.  I have a deep repugnance for plumbing. What is all this about you ask?  The home inspection found some "issues" with some leaky supply lines to the sinks and toilet in my back-house. So, Mr. Home Inspector says I must fix or have fixed, said leaks and add a "P Trap" to the tub drain in my bathroom.  This is the point at which I felt like saying, "look, I'll go have a colonoscopy, they'll have a couple leaky sinks and no "P Trap (Whatever the frig that is) and we'll call it even." Deal?

No deal.

This looks like a job for Mr. Sylvan Park Handyman!  I've seen the trucks for the last ten years driving around my neighborhood and now I am in need of rescue. DUMB LUCK! My neighbor drives one of those fancy white vans that reads something like; "No job too small! Licensed, Bonded, Insured... great dancers, who like long walks on the beach,  piña colada's and puppies.  God fearing, atheist's who love whales and show up on time!"  Ok, I'm reaching, that's a lot to write on the side of a van.  I grabbed my phone, walked out into the yard, gathered my thoughts and prepared myself to... ahem, ask for help.  Something no man likes to do.  What to my wondering eyes do see? My neighbor, yes... that neighbor, enjoying a Krystal, grey meat "hamburger" on his stoop!  Dare I ask? I do.  I went over, introduced myself and asked if he had a few minutes AFTER he finishes that delicious looking, little grey cheeseburger to assess my situation.  He agrees.

A few minutes pass and a knock comes on my back door.  Gene is a strapping man.  Large, clean shaven and bald. Picture Mr. Clean, sans earrings.  He looks at my "P Trap" issue and complete lack of access to the area and begins with another thing no man wants hear, the vague and off-putting, "Hmmm.  Mmm. Hm. "Click, (draws air in through his teehth)" Mm."  Ugh! Not the "click, draws air"  thing.  That's expensive!  Then the damage.  "That's really tight in there.  That could take two men about 2 hrs.  and at $115.00 for the first hour, you could be looking at $400.00."  What?  $400.00 for something called a "P Trap?" That's ridiculous.  Thanks Gene!  Nice to see you Mr. Sylvan Park Handyman, Son-of-bitch, rip-off jerk bag!  Put that on your van smacked-ass!

I got into my shitty little truck, drove to Home Depot, purchased said "P F'ing Trap", glue, 90 degree this and that stuff and promptly marched home and cut a massive hole in the drywall. You want access? I got your access bitch... and in one hour, yes 1 HOUR... me... novice, no count plumbers-ass got said "P Trap" installed. $34.95!  Then, I went on to fix the two leaky sinks and the toilet and GUESS WHAT?

They still leaked.  Grrrrr.  Now Melody... my girl says, "Honey I used to be a plumber in a former life.  Why don't you let me take a stab at this.  You did the "P Trap" and your obviously losing patience with this... so go for a run and I'll fix it before you get home.  

...Right

Repugnance leads men to do strange things.  I agreed.  Yep... I got out of the way of my penis and surrendered the wrenches and teflon tape with aplomb. I went for a lovely run and cleared my head of drywall dust and dank crawl space fungus while Melody toiled away under the sink.  When I returned I expected to find her as exasperated as I had previously been. Not so.  She went to the hardware store, bought a new hose (source of the leak) and installed it with thread sealant and then reorganized the entire under-sink area. Dry as a bone.  

 

Now some people deduce that they were Napoleon or Gandhi in former lives.  Joan of Arc, Mary Magdalene... Not my baby.  Nope.  She was a plumber... And I have to say, that's one "plumber's-ass" I can handle.

Inspection

in·spec·tion

   [in-spek-shuhn]  Show IPA

noun

1.

the act of inspecting  or viewing, especially carefully orcritically: an inspection of all luggage on the plane.

2.

formal or official viewing or examination: an inspection of thetroops.

The act of inspecting... Well I've been doing a lot of that lately.  February 8th I posted the "So this is where we are" blog about me (us) wanting to break away.  I believe the words were, "right now my brain is about breaking away." And that was a Wednesday.  That Friday we had a showing on our house.  I said to Melody, "We're selling this house today." Consequently, we had another showing on Saturday and I repeated my sentiment.  Then... a showing on Sunday.  I was damn certain that we were selling our house.  I pressed my palms together and spied the heavens with all the muster I could muster.  And then... Sunday night... The call.  We got an offer.  After almost 1 year and countless price adjustments I finally tossed all my chips on the table and dropped to a price I knew would make something hit my line.  Today was the home inspection.  

I met the inspector and agent at the door. I wanted to tell them that I'd been inspecting my "home" for years.  The last couple years with extreme scrutiny in fact.  I wanted to tell them that I spent years picking the right bed, couch, tables and chairs to soothe my soul and pad my nest.  Candles and lamps; blankets and books.  Paintings, knick-knacks, music and memorabilia all in an attempt to foster development, remind me of who I am and provide security.  There's that word again...

se·cu·ri·ty/siˈkyo͝oritē/

Noun:

The state of being free from danger or threat. The safety of a state or organization against criminal activity such as terrorism, theft, or espionage: "national security".

The state of being free from danger or threat... Hm.  When have we ever been free from danger or threat?  Since the dawn of man we've roamed the earth in harms way.  Hunted saber-toothed tigers, discovered fire, electricity... language.  Think of the fella who invented and TESTED the first parachute.  Danger.  Threat. Of all the things we've "discovered" in this world, I think the facade of security is the most dangerous of them all. People grow up under the umbrella thinking if I just do the right thing, get the right education, marry Mr. or Ms. Right, work for the right company and play by golden rule, my life will be just perfect.  It's unattainable.  Perfection that is.  Will a Harvard education get you further in life?  Absolutely.  Does a 25 year marriage make you special?  Yes... it does.  Is  that the only route to take through this thicket called "life"?  Nope... There are many branches on the Tree of Life. Go out onto the limb friends... that's where the fruit is. Repairs can only begin after inspection.  I'm not suggesting we all sell everything, quit our jobs and leap off the ledge.  I'm merely suggesting you take a moment out of your day, lie down on your belly, stretch your arms far out in front of you and pull yourself out onto that ledge and peer over.  No need to leap.  Just appreciate the distance. Yeah, I wanted to tell them that I'd been inspecting my "home" for years. The last couple years with extreme scrutiny in fact.  Now, we're operating as if this house is sold.  Our home is within us and not for sale. Always has been.  Always will be.  I hope to pass along my house to a young Dr. couple who, with any luck will begin to pad their nest with candles, couches, lamps and blankets.  I know where they can get some... Cheap.

So this is where we are.  If  you've been following along, you know this blog used to be about the restoration and love of my old Tartan 27 "moose".  Well, after several years of enjoyment and restoration, sadly we realized that we wanted to move aboard a sailboat and actually try living on it.  "Moose" at only 27 feet was entirely too small for a comfortable existence.  So, We need something bigger. That's where we are now...

Personally... after owning a couple houses over the last fifteen years, I'm tired of it.  Cutting the grass, fixing hot water heaters, leaky roof's and crazy neighbors.  I've spent thousands upon thousands of dollars, as most of us have, on mortgages, kitchen upgrades, taxes, etc... etc.. and I don't feel one tad bit more secure than I ever have.  The dream of home-ownership has never been for me.  I've tried to buy into it and picture myself with the picket fences, and all that crap but I can't.  I've always been a wanderer, seeker and vagabond.  I grew up in a house where that was highly discouraged.  "Go to college, get a J.O.B and work for the same company for 25 years and retire with a pension" was the company line in my family.  A Marine Corps father and highly intelligent and over achieving siblings is what I was surrounded by. But I was the artistic kid and while I really tried to tow that line, I couldn't do it.  Still can't.

I could go on for days but that would be arduous at best.  Long and the short of it is, I found me a girl who is smart, beautiful, adventurous and also ready for a big change.  If this wold has taught us anything over the last decade, it's that nothing is guaranteed.  Nothing.  Life is right now.  Happening in front of us everyday.  My Marine father is battling Parkinson's Disease as we speak.  Melody's mom is wrestling with Lupus and the tragic effects it has on an otherwise vibrant woman.  We aren't guaranteed a healthy "old age" and even if we were, when I'm 70 years old, am I going to want to run around the globe and try new things, live uncomfortably if even for a day?  Chances are, I'm not.  I've been observing the world around me vigorously... differently after the events of September 11, 2001.  It was a day that changed my life forever.

Where I thought I'd find "security" I found absolute unrest.  I've been an artist my whole life... Like it or not, that's the fact.  Sometimes I don't much like it to be honest.  I've had a "regular" J.O.B for the last 10 years... and it's nearly killed me.  So, the house is for sale.  I sold the drum kit I've had for 25 years.  I've given away things near and dear to my heart because I'm sick to death of STUFF.  Shit I own that brings me no comfort and provides no enlightenment what-so-ever.  My books, and a couple of guitars I will keep.  The rest... gone.

I do dream of having a small, eclectic cabin on the lake someday.  One with a library and large stone fireplace.  I'd like to have some chickens, grow my own food and write my crazy poetry and silly songs.  I would but right now, my brain is around breaking away.  It's about throwing off the wet and musty blanket I've covered myself in for the last decade and leaping off the ledge.  This story, The "Story Of Moose" is no longer about a boat.  It's about us, Melody, Jet (our dog) and myself.  We are "moose" and this is about our "journey".  The journey that we've been on together for the last 6 + years and the journey we're attempting to under-take as we go forward.