Worn and Wrong Parts; A Tale of Black Ice, 'Possessed' Water Closets and Bird Seed
My husband got out of bed and headed to the bathroom sometime in the ‘wee hours’ of the morning (a reference that takes on a fresh new meaning as we age). Since I had already made a recent trip, I just rolled over and slipped back into a light slumber, until that unmistakable sound broke through my dream state. I heard the toilet handle being jiggled to stop water from running into the tank. My hearing is no longer sharp enough to hear the faint water flow, so the problem might have gone totally undetected for days if it weren’t for Mike’s keen ears.
It seems we aren’t the only ones in the house getting older. The toilet is 20 years old and its parts are wearing out, too. Mike hates to work on anything involving plumbing, but I suppose the thought of hiring an expensive professional to fix something ‘simple’ is even more detestable. So in the morning (past the wee hours and now into actual daylight) we drove to the hardware store for parts.
I patiently stood aside while Mike surveyed the wall of parts, combinations of parts, and ‘helpful’ signs suggesting parts. He selected what he needed and we endured the happy cashier who sincerely seemed to want us to, "Have a good day." Really? We’re holding a bag full of parts to repair a leaky toilet; how happy did she think our day had been so far?
Well, after much male grumbling, the float valve assembly parts didn’t completely solve the dilemma and we had to make an additional trip to the store for a tank gasket. This fixed the problem … except for a slow dripping onto the linoleum. Fortunately, that resolved on its own after several hours. I laundered towels used to mop up leaks, cleaned the bathroom and we were now set to continue our ‘happy’ day.
Less than two weeks had passed before we awoke to discover the toilet surrounded by a shallow pool of water. The flexible tubing underneath the tank was now leaking. Quick! More towels!
Rather than stand by helplessly, and in the way, I made a hasty retreat as soon as I was dressed. I busied myself with my normal morning routines, which includes taking birdseed out to the feeder in the backyard. Mike landscaped a dry creek bed filled with large river rock (dry until it rains, then the sloped yard channels water into the ‘creek’ which drains through an underground PVC pipe to the front yard and out to the street). He also built a bridge from the edge of the patio across the creek bed to the rest of the yard.
This particular morning was wet and foggy, but it was also cold enough to freeze the water in the birdbath; I noticed it just as I reached the bridge, but the implications didn’t fully register. I got halfway across and hit an icy patch (imagine ‘black ice’ on a highway) … proceeded to slip and slide, valiantly struggling to regain balance … unsuccessfully. I twisted one knee in the effort, but still cart-wheeled off the bridge and pitched into the rocks. The bird seed I was carrying rained down all over the surface of the bridge. The front of one leg hit the edge of the bridge and the palm of one hand slammed hard as I tried to catch myself. I don’t know how or when I flipped over, but I ended up sprawled on my back across the rocks, which were also slippery and wet.
I remained still for a couple minutes, trying to decide if I’d broken anything besides my sense of dignity. The following several minutes were spent trying to turn over and stand up. I must have been a real sight floundering around out there. My feet kept slipping on the rocks and my knee hurt too much to kneel on it. I needed something to pull myself up, but the bridge was too slippery. I finally managed to scoot over to the bird bath and use that for leverage.
I hobbled into the house and told Mike what happened, commenting that the birds could just eat their breakfast on the bridge this morning. Mike gallantly said he’d take care of it. I cautioned, "Be careful." He wasn’t overly appreciative of me stating the obvious. In fact, he met my gaze and replied, "Well, duh!"
He got a broom from the garage, refilled the containers of birdseed and headed out. I stood at the backdoor to witness what came next, because I knew (and you know) he had tempted fate with his smarty-mouth remark. Sure enough, as soon as he got both feet on the bridge – bang! Down he went. Birdseed fell from the sky like confetti. I rushed out and determined he wasn’t seriously hurt. He scraped an elbow up and crashed one knee pretty hard; a knee that has already been giving him trouble. (At least his ‘good’ knee was still good, right?)
Then I looked at him and said, "Forgive me, but I have to get this out of my system …‘Well, DUH!’"
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