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TODAY WE HAD: ONE SMALL LEAK for the water pipe, one giant leak (of time) for mankind--two of mankind anyway. That would be me and the yard man, who must now wear the hat 0f the fix-it guy. I'm not counting the plumber in the census of people whose time gushed away. It's his job to climb down into muddy holes and repair damages; I once heard of a plumber who said, "Lady, your _(hmm...the word rhymes with knit, but isn't nearly so refined)_ is my bread and butter!" (The plumber was not so refined, either. But then, he was working in sewage, who can blame him?)




You may question, dear reader, how it happened that my time seeped away, since I was not the one to rent the backhoe, or use the shovel, or consult with the plumber, or muck around in the mud, or do any of the backbreaking labor. So here's the thing...I was the one who had to stand around biting my fingernails and whining about the lack of running water. For a while I even had to bemoan the fact that the electricity was turned off. I mean, really! My job was a breeze at that point--how could I not complain? I couldn't use the faucet, the toilet, the washing machine, the refrigerator, the freezer, the stove, the oven, the vacuum cleaner. Well, to be truthful, I couldn't summon up any fretting about my inability to vacuum...but no cordless phone, and no music (I tried singing to myself, which is no easy trick when one is in a complaining mood) ...and.. and...no internet?! To my way of thinking, there were sufficient grounds for malcontent.


Soon enough, however, the electricity was restored and, after considerable time, there was even some water available for use. Just as I was about to wrap up the belly-aching and hope the lawn could soon be put aright, alas, some fate decided that if I really wanted something to grouse about, then why not have the consultation with the plumber produce an edict that my flower bed shall be ripped apart. Yes, yes, the very one I was studying with such satisfaction just this morning and delighting in the way the flowers were becoming so expansive in their beauty, adapting so well to each other and looking altogether lovely.


After that things escalated rather rapidly--my bewailing, that is; but there was the advanced digging and drilling and way more slogging of sloppy mud, as well. I grabbed a quick pre-ripping R.I.P. shot of the bed,


and then I rushed to do a temporary transplant
of the poor flowers, some of them with their very roots chopped off.



















Had I been ruing my lack of music? As I worked at saving my pitiful plants, I was treated to Jack's "Hammer Symphony, Etude in F minor." I must say, although it wasn't what I was hoping to hear, it did fit the occasion rather well, and it neatly drowned out my less-than-pleasant words of ungratefulness.



...To be continued. That's right, you are going to have to check back tomorrow to find out if my further ungratefulness led to yet more calamity, or if, in fact, things hit bottom (the jackhammer, the shovel, the griping) and steadily improved. I'd be happy to fill you in right now, if only I knew...



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