When the Cap'n and I lived in our spectacular loft in Brooklyn, we often referred to it as The Farm, because there was agriculture (our roof garden) and livestock (all the many pets), but mostly because there was always something going wrong that needed repairing. And so here we are again. I can't turn my head without another problem rearing up and biting my nose.
I did finally discover that the gas leak was coming from a loose manifold that just needed to be cleaned and redoped, and my goodness I don't think I'll ever walk into that cottage and not breathe deeply from the lack of propane in the air. It really does feel good to fix something, to make it right and get rid of all the nasty smelly wrong. Little by little we're making such small improvements in the hopes that someday they'll add up to something that's noticeably good.
Last week the toilets were acting funny, so I called the septic guys to come and pump out the system, which they agreed was "having a bad day". They lifted up the lid and I wish I could wash my eyes for what I saw. I'll leave it at that, but I promised myself that no matter what hat I'm wearing that day, I will never, ever be in the general vicinity when it is lifted again. Anyhoo, the nice septic man let me know that our tank, which is considerably undersized for our building, is on the verge of collapse, and that our leech field (where septic systems get rid of all the liquid...mmmm) appears to be clogged and needs to be replaced. So, a minor detail that the previous owners failed to impart. We had a dye test, but apparently those will only show catastrophic failure and not our measly problem that requires a full overhaul. Right. How do you give an evil eye so evil it draws $10,000 out of someone's bank account and deposits it in yours?
On a lighter and less-sewage-related note, I visited a B&B in the area last week, and promptly made the unilateral decision that our blankets had to be replaced. This wasn't news, but I had grown resigned to accept what we had (old, tattered quilts and ugly "bed-in-a-bag" type comforters from the 80s) as "fine" for the time being until I don't know when. But I saw this nice B&B, and how one wouldn't hesitate to get into the beds and snuggle down happily, and I was powerless to stop myself. $1000 later, and I'm up to my brim in spanking new quilts. I'm not generally the quilt type, but trust me, you take one look at this place and quilts it is. They arrived today, and putting them on the beds was such a cathartic activity. I love how working to improve a space causes the previous people who occupied it to become more and more erased. Not sure it was worth $1000 that we don't have, but I know it will have a dramatic effect on people's first impressions of their rooms, and that's worth something.
And, the Cap'n returns again this weekend. It's been five weeks. He just bought a truck and plans to stuff it full of left-behind belongings and dogs and head up for the Labor Day marathon. Even though our last visit was great, I'm experiencing the same hesitation at being ecstatic at his return. I'm worried that I'm getting too used to being by myself, and am getting out of practice at making compromises about my daily life and how I run things here, which might result in me getting impatient and bitchy. Or, maybe I'm impatient and bitchy because I'm all alone and need some help. The chicken or the egg, it seems. We'll see.