My plumber

 I'm not quite sure how I found him but he is a gem.  A little grey man in brown work clothes, unremarkable. In his 60's, he is a throw-back to my parents generation. Calls me "Mrs" when everyone else calls me by my first name.

Hardworking, honest, decent.

I'm always amazed at how small his bills are. Bills on regular paper for amounts exactly like $121.52, including parts. I want to pay him right away but he always demurs, saying he will send me a bill.

Years ago he would have "helpers" for heavy lifting projects.  One year it was his nephew who then disappeared. He has no children to inherit his business.  No one wants to be a master plumber anymore anyway.  Years of work/study etc and in the end you are cleaning out toilets. 

Last year his wife was sick.  A heart condition.  He muttered about retiring. I called yesterday, hoping he was still in business.   I needed his advice on the sump pump situation at our cottage.  The young guy across the street who is a plumber was helpful but still I needed to run the situation past someone I trusted.

My old plumber called back today.  His wife died in April.  She was in and out of the hospital last year till the end. I murmured  my condolences. He said she said she had a happy life.  I said I know he was a devoted husband.  Then he veered off topic.  His wife always fed the hummingbirds so they expect to see her out there with her syrup .  He is using his wife's formula (sugar and water) to keep up with the hummngbird's expectations. ....and to keep her memory alive. 

He hasn't retired.  

A new routine of sorts

 Yesterday and today I walked Zoey down the path to our little marina and then up the other path to an adjacent community.  Along the way, a massive ancestral old tree was down, uprooted undoubtedly by the recent rains, not wind.  It fell across both paths - ours down and theirs up.The root mass seemed shallow for such an enormous tree.  Scary.  The trees in that steep stream-bifurcated area are virgin hardwoods, probably going back hundreds of years.  There was never any development there or agriculture.  It's an interesting place, recently changed through stream restoration to prevent storm water from going into the river..

I often think of our old rescue dog Rebe when I walk those paths with Zoey.  I would keep Rebe on a leash going downhill until we got past a steep embankment.  I was always afraid she would fall over the edge.  Rebe loved it. She would run free up the wooded slopes and back down into the old stream.  Sometimes I would lose sight of her and get worried. She always knew where I was and would come back.  I feel her spirit there.  Those were good times for both of us.

I can never let Zoey off leash.  She doesn't like other dogs.  If someone's dog were walking off leash , I think she might fight them.  Better safe than sorry. As it is,  Zoey trots obediently ahead of me. Sits on the ground as I sit on a bench on the adjacent community pier. Pants, tongue lolling to one side. She is a black dog and feels the heat.  I watch our neighbor over on our community pier working on his new boat.  I yell hello to him but he is power washing and doesn't hear me.

I'm glad no one else was here at high noon walking their dog.  I'll come back.

It was hot and humid out.  We returned home within an hour.

Had to miss yoga today so that was a good substitute exercise. 

Crazy Days and Crazy weather

We left Florida so that we would not get stuck in hurricane season.  Then Tropical Storm Isais strode up the coast, hitting coastal towns especially. Florida was mostly spared on the west coast. Up here, we got rain but no trees down.  Then two days of just rain/thunder/storms that saturated the earth.

We drove down to our cottage to find the sump pump had been off due to a faulty switch.  The basement was filled with muddy water.  My husband knew that there was a faulty switch but didn't realize it controlled the sump pump.  He is a procrastinator.  He would fix the switch "next time" after he bought the parts. Chores have always lined up on him until he gets a rush of manic frenzy.  When I ask him if he has done something he replies, not yet.

I should have called an electrician.  

Then there is the old boat that needs to be fixed.  Boat repair people are their own breed.  They don't return calls.  They don't show up.  So my husband thought he had found a good guy to fix the boat.  Good guy meaning someone who doesn't look like a serial killer. Someone who actually showed up when he said he would.  Husband called this guy repeatedly for two months.  No answer.  No response to various pitiful entreaties to at least call and give him the name of someone else.

Meanwyhile husband and son finally get the faulty switch at the cottage fixed and then they had drain the basement which took forever, then we went back to find mud was clogging the sump pump, potentially burning it out and costing a fortune to replace. 

I really really should have called an electrician.

Meanwhile, husband got serious about repairing the boat and found someone who said he'd come out and take a look.  Name was familiar.  One of the guys on our list from years ago who was unreliable. It was suspicious this guy was free. Maybe this guy just got out of jail. Every other place said they are swamped  with work.  Everybody is buying a boat.

Today the boat repair guy came and fit the stereotype.  Monstrous serial killer type, somewhat too friendly.  He even remembered our sweet old dog Rebe, now dead more than 6 years. And, oh yes he remembered the boat.  Later he dx the boat's problem correctly, said he'd have to order the parts which were hard to get (everyone buying/repairing boats).

That's probably the last time we will hear from him.

The new normal

It is insanity.  No exaggeration.  The pandemic and a psychopath for a president.  The perfect storm.  Still. we personally are fortunate.  No work for my husband to drive in to.  He is on the computer and  telephone all day. My husband's office has been closed since early March.  I talk on the phone to friends.  Many are now widows. They are coping in different ways. One lives alone after her husband died last fall. She likes her house and location.  She doesn't want to have to socialize with strangers at one of those independent living/continuing care communities.  She likes being alone but worries about falling.  She has a one story home with different levels for different areas.  Not stairs, just a few steps.  But falling when you are alone is scary.  Fortunately, her daughter and family lives nearby .  My friend tutors two of her grands while they are out of school.  She is good in that role, enjoys it.