Thank God for Plumbers

We got the call on the last day of vacation. "The plumber just told us he found the leak in your bathroom. It's everywhere." This rather penultimate statement led our trustworthy pipe manager to condemn the entire pile of plumbing and tile and recommend a redo. Demolition and reconstruction time. It didn't owe us anything. We figured the last time it was torn out and redone was sometime just after outhouses. It's about a two week job. It's the only full bathroom in the house. We've been going to the gym at odd hours. They have such nice shower facilities.

Transitions are weird. What will be isn't here yet. What was is gone. It is a time of grieving and letting go and expectation and anxiety and new opportunities. The trouble is that all of that lands at the same moment. It's nice when the transitions are scheduled and prepared for, and we are able to batten down the hatches emotionally and logistically. But transitions rarely come on our schedules and even when they do the new intrudes in ways we just didn't expect. (I had a dream the other night about soap dishes in the shower. Might be a little late to deal with that.)

To me this is very instructive about my sanity. If I'm sane, which I like to consider myself, I'll be able to roll with the hassles and anxieties and disappointments and upsets involved in ushering in a new era,
and a new color scheme. When I get nuts, angry, or just plain anxious it usually means I'm not processing well. A new bathroom is a minor speed bump on the road to tomorrow. However, there are, some transitions that are terrifying and horribly disruptive. But I consider the dust and discomfort and
inconvenience of this change to be training for the monsters. I'm trying to pay attention to my limitations and my sillyness. They indicate the when and where I need to breathe and pay more attention to the grace and the glory that surrounds me, in spite of the plaster dust. At such moments I make lists of gratitude.

I am very grateful for the competent people who work so hard for the church
I am very grateful for the lovely and graceful home in which we live.
I am very grateful for the artisans who know how to do this stuff.
I am very grateful for the patience and good humor of my family, particularly my wife.
I am grateful for the half bath we have down stairs.
I am grateful this will be over soon.

I think it's time to go to the gym for a shower. Whew!

September

We just got home from the beach. In Jersey we call it the shore. This shore from which we've come is in North Carolina. Emerald Isle to be exact. Two years ago we honeymooned there and have gone back to the same place since. There's nothing to do except be. Admittedly, being at the shore is considerably easier than being other places. There's waking up and watching the sunrise with your first cup of coffee. There's reading on the deck. Did I mention the deck hangs over the beach? Then there's saying good morning to a sleepy eyed bare-footed young lady. She sleeps in 'till 7:00 or so. Then there's the morning walk on the beach. Two grocery bags go along, one to pick up garbage and one to bring back treasures. There’s very little of the former, but there are always heavy twisting conch and freckled scallop shells in various stages of wear, jingle shells shimmering in the palm like doubloons in a stream, and oysters, lumpy digits worn, all worn and smoothed and crenulated and carved by the sea, the ceaseless sea.
You get the rhythm. It doesn’t belong to our agendas. It coincides with the sun and the wind and the tides. Its sound track is laced with the speech of laughing gulls and the dry crackle of sea grass. And under it all is the karumph of the waves finding the shore.
We just got home from the beach, but no matter what the calendar says, September hasn’t claimed me, yet. I still have sand in my shoes. I have been washed up here, worn, washed, smoothed and carved by the sea, the ceaseless sea.