|Charlie, "Waiting, and waiting - for a plane to Lisbon."|
Good Evening, Everybun!
My hoomins woke up to a bit of a nasty surprise today - a puddle of water on the kitchen floor. One of the water pipes coming out of the floor slab by the kitchen sink sprung a tiny, hissy leak. Mr. Plumber will be here tomorrow.
Aaaaah, the charms of Sputnik era copper pipes. The trouble is, for now, we had to turn off the water to the whole house, and we're in a temporary camping mode.
Of course, I didn't have to do anything. I thump, and the hoomins hop to it. But the incident drives home the fragility of the bubbles we live in. The house, the "institutions," our loved ones, the little muscles we don't know exist until we sprain or pull something.
Mr. Plumber will be here in about three-quarters of a day, Wednesday will be here on Wednesday. How long is that? We feel somewhere between nervous and upset to infinity.
Good Night, and Good Luck!