THIS OLD FARMHOUSE - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)



     The Great Spring Backup was definitely unsuitable for children.  Frankly, I thought it was unsuitable for anyone.  Every time I saw someone wearing a T-shirt that said “No Fear,” I knew they had never heard the sound of a gurgling toilet.  A gurgling toilet is a reason for fear, along with thoughts of panic because what’s gone down will be returning soon.  I learned to be ready.  When I heard a loud gurgling, it meant I had an angry toilet.  I immediately sent out a PDS…Plumber’s Distress Signal.  That involved dancing around the septic tank in hip waders, waving a plunger, and making a gurgling sound.  

     My wife said she didn’t know which was more distressing; a backed-up septic tank or my gurgling.

     I became known as the Plunger Warrior from the Lost Tribe of the Backed-Up Septic Tank.  Actually, the tribe wasn't lost.  They deserted me.  Without help, I took matters into my own hands.  I was fierce, even sacrificing a toilet bowl, hoping to appease the god of the drain field.  He just scoffed in mock laughter.

    The late and delightful Erma Bombeck once wrote a book entitled The Grass Is Always Greener over the Septic Tank.  I agree whole-heartedly if the grass hasn’t been dug up.  I don’t think I ever saw grass over our septic tank.

    Not long after the Great Spring Backup, I had my first opportunity to expand my woodshop skills since my days as a master sander in high school.  I thought of the perfect project: remodeling the bathroom.  I had watched enough home improvement programs on renovation to mistakenly think I could renovate a bathroom.   I should have known never to take on a project of this magnitude when my wife was perfectly capable of doing it herself.  Nevertheless, I pushed ahead, completely ignoring her pleas for me to seek help.  “I know a good counselor,” she said, “who’s dealt with many husbands who have attempted bathroom remodels.”

     “This is just something I have to do,” I answered.

     “Alright,” she went on, “but don’t forget the time you tried removing a hangnail with a table saw.”    

     “That program on bathroom renovations has shown me everything I need to know about a remodel,” I said.

     “Didn’t they also say, ‘Don’t try this at home?’” she continued. 

     Ignoring logic, common sense and history, I refused to give up on my project.  I knew if I quit it would be a blow to my self-image as Mr. Fix-it.   

     Although there is no reason for remodeling a bathroom, other than strengthening the ties that bind (specifically, a rope around the neck), it did give me time to myself because the rest of the family had moved, citing the wisdom of my former woodshop teacher, who told every student to clear out if I picked up anything other than sandpaper. 

     During my remodel, I learned there is something a man should never do: NEVER tell your wife when you’re starting a project.  She will instantly set a due date in her mind, and if it’s not done by the due date, a change of address may be necessary, with no forwarding address.  Certainly you should never suggest another project, unless you have backup protection.  You see, most wives forget to take into account your time with the boys, football, hunting, fishing, and just plain laziness.  You’d think they’d be more understanding than that.    

     When I decided to remodel our bathroom, I made the mistake of telling Connie. 


To be continue...check back soon


  

THIS OLD FARMHOUSE - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)


     With anxiety building to fever pitch, the day arrived for our move into the old farmhouse.  It had no insulation, no electric heat, and single-pane windows that could have been upgraded to chicken wire.  We would enjoy the great outdoors, indoors.  It had an old wood stove that was large enough to hold a small forest.  This would allow us to cut and stack wood together; the perfect recipe for family bonding. 

     I was looking forward to the challenges of the old farmhouse.  Adversity would be stalking us every moment.  I couldn’t wait!  I didn’t have to wait.  It came immediately!     The front door wouldn’t let us in.  “With your experience in woodshop, maybe you could SAND it down,” said my wife.  I loved her sense of humor.  After jiggling a key in the lock for approximately 20 minutes and politely threatening the door with a hole in its midsection, it let us in.  Adversity was there to greet us.  As I shut the door, the doorknob on both sides fell off.  Fortunately I had a screwdriver, which I always carried with me for my encounters with missing doorknobs.  With the screwdriver, I was able to twist the lock assembly and open the door.

 

     Meanwhile, our son had been staring at the old wood stove and thinking about the small forest he would have to split and stack.  When the door opened, he tried to make a run for it.  Using my extraordinary quickness, I made a quick burst and stayed in close pursuit as he darted across the yard.  I lunged and tackled him just as he was about to reach the car.  We were already beginning to bond. 

     Adversity continued to stalk us.  I waited for it to tire.  As darkness settled in, we discovered it never tired.  As soon as I flipped on the light switch, the power went out.  “Must be wired for candles,” I said.  We quickly learned that the slightest provocation would cause the power to shut off.

     “Will the lights go out if I light a fire in the woodstove?” asked my wife.

     “Probably just cause them to flicker a bit,” I answered.

 

     While we were trying to catch our breath, Adversity appeared to have boundless energy.  It rudely awakened us one morning with a scream from our daughter.  “There’s a bird on my bedpost!” she yelled.   

     I jumped out of bed and ran upstairs.  Sure enough, perched on her bedpost was the rare yellow-breasted bedroom intruder; a rare find, indeed. 

    “Wow!” I exclaimed.  “These birds are usually found outdoors.” 

     I was hoping the Audubon Society wouldn’t find out.  I feared they might try to get her room designated as a bird sanctuary.  Then we’d have to worry about “birders” hiding in her closet, waiting for another sighting of the rare bedroom intruder.   

     I would have to coax the bird out of the house before there was a knock at our door from the Audubon Society.  I knew from a previous encounter with the living room chickadee that extreme calm was necessary in negotiating an exit.  Do not send your cat to do the negotiating. This can result in a large cleaning bill.  You must talk the bird out slowly and deliberately.  Be sure to have all the doors and windows open.  You can always wrap up in a blanket if it is sub-freezing, and you have to wait several days for the bird to make his travel plans.  He may be waiting for the cat to freeze to death.  Then he can strut out the front door and fly away.

     Thankfully, we didn’t endure a long wait.  Our yellow-breasted intruder realized there would be far more air space outdoors.  So he flew out an open window.  I love a smart, quick-thinking bird.      

 

     Each new day brought more drama than the day before. 

 

 

To be continued...check back soon