As most friends here know, I have a couple of ongoing health management things. These few things require a tub and hot water.
On Sunday evening, I was taking a bath, and the water stopped. I thought, “Huh. Water main break or something.” It’s an old city, happens now and then. Our plumbing is only five years old and we have an on-demand hot water heater the same age, so I just sat there a minute … until J said, “There’s a bunch of water out here on the floor.”
That, of course, was the end of my bath. After drying off and collecting my wits, I took a look at the “closet full of a million pipes,” and found this, with hot water gushing out of it —
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The lead from the water heater had separated from the pipe that takes the hot water to the rest of the house. The clamp on the top broke. I actually thought, “thank the plumbing deities for that,” because it looked like an easy fix.
You may or may not know — I don’t do plumbing fixes. Won’t touch ’em. But. I do understand most plumbing things. To confirm my suspicions, I had J go down to the basement to turn the main waterline off-and-on while I checked the bazillion valves in the plumbing closet. Looked like I was right. It was already evening, so we decided on cold water sink baths in the morning, and I Scarlett O’Hara-ed it until the next day.
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During the critical stage — messy!
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Called my good friend and contractor (who also happens to be our next-door neighbor) Monday morning. He ran by the hardware store to buy a few things, and it was fixed by noon! Couldn’t have taken him more than five minutes. He only wanted the cost of the supplies, but of course I doubled it and made him take it. Because calling in a plumber for something so simple and stupid would’ve cost three or four times that much. Let alone, having it fixed in less than a day.
So, as I was thinking when I first saw it, if we were going to have a plumbing issue, I’m glad it was a simple one.
To start, I’m fine. I believe I mentioned earlier that I had an infection at a surgical site which went away and then immediately came back worse. Very bad. Approaching sepsis. (During this, the bathroom renovation went belly up and two vacations were canceled.) However, it is gone now, I’m getting my strength back, and I feel better than I have in a very long time. I mowed our postage stamp size front yard yesterday. =)
I think I might’ve mentioned I was working on an adaptation of 1728’s The Beggar’s Opera. Didn’t work out. I was enjoying the work, but the details, places, people, customs and occupations of 1728 London are all things that would have to be very clearly explained to a modern audience. That would result in a well-over-two-hour musical, it could possibly prove tedious, and that’s not what I’m after. I’m after small, meaningful, and fun.
So I’ve started something else. At this point, I’ll say that it is a two person musical (plus the non-speaking pianist character) based on the local stay of a very famous, very fun, very complicated person from the 1920s/1930s. The first 15 minutes is currently being read by a few people. Interestingly, it’s revealed itself to me as about 75% sung and 25% spoken. I’m having a good time.
The garden is at peak!
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And of course, I’ve already got a good amount of herbs in hanging and drying. A few stalks of sage, basil, oregano, and thyme so far.
If you’ll pardon me, I have to get this off my chest. I’ll feel better.
I’d planned the new bathroom for months. I carefully chose the shower curtain, the floor planks, the mirror, the towels, the rug, the sconces, the art, the 36×60 deep-soak tub, the old-timey shower/tap … and the tile.
Not my best drawing (and it makes the bathroom look a little bigger than it is) but this is what was planned.
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The old-timey shower kit arrived quickly and easily from Amazon. The special deep-soak plumbing stuff I needed arrived quickly via UPS. The tub arrives later today. Know what else arrivedtoday? Eight very heavy cases of the wrong tile.
I ordered the brown/blue/green you see above. I got eight cases of white marble with grey veins.
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No problem, I think. I’ll call them, and surely they’ll swap it. Nope.
Home Depot (of course) does not do their own large deliveries (from the local store). It’s farmed out to a logistics company.
Long story short, I’m told by three different reps (none of whom work for Home Depot) that all they can do is process a return, give me my money back, and come pick it up. Three/four days+. Then I have to place a new order for the correct tile. Again. Which will take a week-ish for delivery.
But, I don’t want my money back. I want the correct tile. Because otherwise, I’m going to have a contractor in here with nothing to install.
Anyhow. Yes, it got to the point where I was yelling. Most of you know me well — It’s very, very difficult to get me to angrily holler at you.
So. I’ve decided I’m going with the mistake marble-looking tile. I don’t hate it, it’s not ugly, it doesn’t clash, and it’ll reflect light in a dim bathroom. Plenty of people would happily choose it on purpose. It’ll look something like this, color-wise. It’ll be okay with the blue & green room. It’s fine.
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As my psychiatrist tells me — manage your aggravation and pick your battles according to what’s worth it and what’s not. It’s nice tile, it’s just not what I chose.
This wouldn’t smart quite so much if this weren’t the third time we’d ordered from Home Depot (actually, their logistics company) over about a year and had the wrong thing delivered.
So, Home Depot — never again.
Now, the mental part.
I realize that if this were five years ago, I would have put the eight cases of tile in the back of the SUV, driven them to the store, pitched a stinky fit, and drove home with the correct tile. I’m no longer capable of doing that. I couldn’t even lift a single box. So that’s about coming to terms with what you can no longer do. Plus, this sort of thing pushes my buttons, and I spout things like, “I wish I had a job or ran a company where I could constantly screw up and then tell people, ‘So, what?'”
But, pick your battles. Be the overly-reasonable bigger person when it’s beneficial to you. Be grateful that I’m in a position to pay for a bathroom redo. I’m learnin’.
I hope there are some helpful thoughts in here along with my frustration. And yes, I’m tagging the hell out of Home Depot and the logistics company. Right @homedepot? Ha!
Since I recently updated my ancient Facebook account (I only look at it once or twice a year — Marketplace.) At any rate, probably best not to post anything to me there. I’m on Instagram as well if you’d like.
Since we’ve already had a lot of folks joining us here that I haven’t spoken to in quite a while, I thought I’d do a little bit of a catch up. (Yeah, this is going to be a very long post. I’ll intersperse some photos.)
J and I now live in Westchester, in a charming downtown, short walking distance from the train station and less than an hour from midtown Manhattan. A few blocks from the Hudson River. We bought this 1100 ft.² 3/1 project-house cottage just about six years ago.
The original part of the house was built in the 1840s, it was extended in the 1880s, and I’ve been renovating since we moved in.
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(A fun photo in the cellar!)
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It is truly my avocation. When we bought it, the first thing I did was tear the front room of the house off and rebuild the original covered porch. Every board, rail, and post — hand cut, all wood, all me, no pre-fab whatsoever.
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The day we closed, and a few months later.
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There was a big initial construction push; but then … two bouts of cancer, several operations, and finally a quadruple 10-hour operation with four Columbia specialists last July. This sidelined reno for about three years. I have my challenges, but I am absolutely fine now. I am nearing a year in complete remission. I’m officially disabled with the tag, parking spot in front of the house, etc. But, you probably wouldn’t know it just to look at me. It’s a neuropathy and chronic fatigue situation, besides the fact that they removed a lot of my insides. (Seriously.)
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Renovations resumed just recently in full! While we were on vacation, we had our close friend, nextdoor neighbor, and contractor tear down the 1 inch thick plaster-and-lathe ceiling in the large kitchen to expose the huge 180-year-old beams. (This was something I was never going to do on my own. Too big, awful, and unpleasant.) I’m now in the process of doing all the finishing work and putting the kitchen back together the way we want it. Very cottage-core, or course. The work is challenging, very creative, very satisfying, and I’ve learned to pace myself. Updates will come on that soon. It’s looking gorgeous.
I am, as always, a Director of Music and Organist at a local church, which I love. I’ve been there six years as well. My friends there were an enormous help during my very serious health challenges. I also teach piano and other instruments privately, but I’m very selective about who I teach, and only have seven students over three days, 30 minutes each.
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I suppose if I haven’t spoken to you in quite a while, I’ve also developed quite a travel bug. I was in London a few months ago, we were in the Catskills a week ago, I’m in Orlando in a week and a half, and in July I’m visiting my mom for a week in Tampa.
While I’m in Tampa, our contractor is tearing out the fiberglass tub/shower situation and putting in a huge, deep, wide tub. Also tiled walls, and vintage shower fixtures. (The tub will be a big help for me. One of the things that helps me most is doing my PT exercises while in hot/warm water.)
Hooo … am I tired! Tomorrow I’m off to the airport hotel, which sounds dreary, but it will be very nice. It’s supposed to be a quite decent hotel, and it’s attached directly to the airport. This way, I’m already there for my flight the next day, no rushing, no public transportation issues, another spa day.
A foggy, wet day; but no actual rain. Just a light wetting-you mist. Well, ya know. Fog.
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“A foggy day in London Town Had me low and had me down I viewed the morning with alarm The British Museum had lost its charm.”
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A bit of a rant today concerning the visit. It’s an entertaining and surprising rant, but if you’d like to skip it, just scroll down to the photos.
Lots of walking and standing today, and I’d have to say unfortunately, Westminster Abbey does disabilities very poorly. I went 15 minutes before opening, and after I’d walked around the large yard to get to the main entrance line. The employee out front sort of talked in circles when I asked whether there was a disabled entrance. I was tired of asking about it (and I was already there), so I waited in the line with the normals. They opened at 9:30 on the mark, but all the folks that worked there already seemed very much “on guard.”
When I didn’t want a free tour headset, the person-wearing-a-robe kept going on and on about it. After two or three go-rounds, her last sentence to me was, “But why don’t you have an audio guide?” Um, hello? I guess they don’t like people to refuse headsets. Maybe we try to talk to them too much otherwise. That impression was further confirmed as the day progressed.
Of all of the places I’ve visited in the past week, The Abbey staff has been the least friendly/helpful by far. And I’m not even very needy or demanding. The Docklands Museum and Southwark Cathedral absolutely both destroy Westminster Abbey in this respect. (I should mention, I had a very nice conversation about Jenny Lind with the lovely young headset-collector woman in Poets’ Corner.)
Later, after saying the same thing three or four times to different docents before they “got” what I was talking about, I realized they’re programmed to parrot this and that, and prefer not to be bothered; that I couldn’t possibly have anything useful or interesting to mention. In one instance, I mentioned a fact about some burials in the Stuart aisle of the Lady Chapel. She disagreed. I told her she should really read her very own Dean Stanley’s book … he documented all the royal burials in the mid-1800s.
At one point, I really needed to sit down (or fall down) for a while. I explained to a verger/docent/person. She told me I had to walk all the way around to get the 24 inches forward to where she was standing next to the chairs, rather than just picking up the rope hook for literally two or three seconds.
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I mean, c’mon.
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I was briefly in the vicinity of one absolutely hysterical docent — every time you took a step towards him, he either exaggeratedly turned his head the other way or walked to another corner. (For real. I tried it a few times to make sure. LOL)
This kind of crap filters down through the layers, and of course, as they’ll often remind you, this is first and foremost, a place of worship. As a career churchy myself, to say I was less-than-impressed is a gross understatement. And I’m looking at you, Dean Hoyle.
That’s plenty of complaining for today! Let’s look at some awesome pictures! I took dozens and dozens, so we’ll just do the highlights here.
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Henry VII’s stunning Lady Chapel
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I guess I can now say that I was once in the quire at Westminster Abbey
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Chaucer’s tomb. Interestingly, he was not interred here as a great poet, but due to his job as an upper-level government functionary.
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QEI — The lady, the myth, the legend. (She’s not in the box. She’s stacked in the crypt underneath below the floor, with her sister Queen Mary. Elizabeth is on top. Poetic justice.
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Edward the Confessor
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An aisle in the Cloister
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Remarkably preserved medieval paintings!
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I’m a bit of a scholar on the subject, I’ve done my own research, I’ve read Dean Stanley’s book(s) at least two or three times, and I’ve been to the Abbey in person several times, this being my last.
Yes, sure, I felt a little unwelcome. Big deal. However, combined with feeling physically uncomfortable without any way of helping myself, I don’t need to return. There was an Evensong later in the day I’d considered, but I hopped on the boat for an afternoon cruise instead.
One of the crew came over to me (a few of them know me by now) to mention that a more comfortable window seat had just opened up on the starboard side, and I realized that I felt very much more welcome on the Uber Boat than inside Westminster Abbey.
Sit Still Phill 