Shortly after writing about the “Christmas morning in Jail,” I reflected on today’s equally memorable and bizarre “Christmas Day Without Plumbing.”
That humbling truth is brought forcefully to mind by the disruption of the nearly 70-year-old septic tank that serves our hometown homestead. Yes, since the house was constructed in 1940 below the sewer line, it’s been served primitively but effectively by a septic tank. It functioned reasonably well – until Christmas Eve, December 24, 2007.
Maybe this had something to do with the 16 children and grandchildren gathered so joyfully to enjoy a traditional family day together. Moments before the last ones left they discovered a rising pool of moist, aromatic liquid covering the lower floor.
–Akin to the wonderful one-horse shay that ran for 100 years and a day, the cause was the buried line to the septic tank. Our blessedly helpful children shut off the water valve, mopped the mess out the back door, and departed for home, exhausted. –There was no place for them to sleep here.
The important lesson of this Christmas day is simple and fundamental. Although I’d as soon the accident hadn’t happened, we’ve realized that we can exist and tolerate this inconvenience. We’re also more thankful for the under-appreciated tools of life. The repair crew will be here tomorrow. Neighbors have offered more help than needed. There’s a construction portalet next door, available to use if I truly wanted to do so. Although I have the age-related malady shared by most other male octogenarians, it is tolerable. In youth, I thought camping out was fun.
In summary, we’re still better off than millions of folk here and around the world. The troops in Iraq would willingly swap for our momentary plight. It’s therapeutic to be reminded of all this.
In summary, sincerely, Merry Christmas, blog readers.
