Supply Line

I don’t sleep-in any more, and Thanksgiving is certainly not the day to lounge too long, as there is much to do (or so I’m told). I had hoped to sleep until 7:30 or maybe even 8:00, but when my wife’s alarmed voice woke me from the other side of the house, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.  Hearing your name called with a loud voice accompanied with a plea to come quickly does not lend itself to peaceful slumber.

With no time to throw on acceptable attire or even a sash, I flew through the house and down the stairs. I found Rhonda in the back hallway near the bathroom sloshing around in a depth of water normally reserved for a bathtub. After being instructed to grab a towel and start sopping, I was told that she had been in the family room when she heard the sound of water gushing. Upon entering the bathroom she saw water shooting our from under the vanity. Now Rhonda’s no plumber, but she immediately recognized that as a problem. This is about the time when she started to holler for me.

I did the best I could under the circumstances (I was startled from a deep sleep, fumbled with my glasses, couldn’t find the light and couldn’t decide what weapon I should grab). By the time I got downstairs Rhonda had taken matters into her own hands and ran to the basement to shut off the water main (she also knows where the fire extinguishers are).

One of the water supply lines under the sink had burst allowing water to flow unfettered at full-blast. The water quickly flooded the bathroom floor and then escaped out the door, past the bookshelf and down the hall to the laundry room. We attacked the standing water with mops and towels. Then there was the matter of the bookshelf.

We surmised that the water had most likely found its way underneath the freestanding shelf. We decided to unload the shelf and then move it (instead of the other way around). The bookshelf is about four feet wide and six feet high with six shelves (seven if you count the top, which was stacked with photo albums). The shelf was full of books and binders, and we wanted to avoid an unassisted move to the basement through a rotted floor.

I was amazed and entertained with the contents of the shelf.  Among a set of encyclopedias, dictionaries, old textbooks and how-to and help-for guides, I found a plant-growing guide in the shape of a wheel, which could be spun for directions on water, sunlight, etc.  I had bought it in St. Cloud in 1980 after Rhonda had given me an English Ivy for my birthday. I glanced at it briefly, hoping that there was a suggestion on how to handle too much water.

There were travel guides of places we have been to and places we hoped to get to (I kept my eyes open for warm and dry climes). I saw church directories that had pictures of families with little children who now have children of their own. Then there were the photo albums containing pictures of my children now grown, and family members long since gone.

It was Thanksgiving morning and Rhonda, and I were busy doing something we hadn’t planned on, but we were thankful. We were thankful the line hadn’t burst while we were away, and the bookshelf had provided numerous reminders of our many blessings.  Thanksgiving is not the day to lie around in bed, as there is much to be thankful for (or so I was reminded).