Ode to Free Flowing Water

This evening I really out did myself. In order to fully understand the depth of this outdoing, you must be briefed on the situation at hand. Let me begin by saying that the next time you get your water bill do not scoff. If it's a little higher than last month's bill, just say your favorite explitive under your breath, and send the check on over to the city with a stamp and a smile. For effect, you could even smather red lipstick on and seal it with a kiss. Why you wonder? Because you do not have a well that could dry or malfunction causing no water to run into your home. This is really quite comical actually. I noticed the problem this afternoon when I put a load of laundry in and it sounded like the Lock Ness Monster was going to erupt out of the wash basin at any moment. The gurgling sound emitting from the washer seemed odd. I thought it might be a fluke until I flushed a toilet and heard the same sound, and same sound again when I tried watering the garden. So, we turned the pump off and hope the water will circulate properly and can get it fixed tomorrow. In the meantime, a moment ago (as a creature of habit) I cruised into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I even went so far as to put the toothpaste on my fang brush and turn the knob. Duh. Nothing there. That's fine, I thought to myself, I have to take matters in to my own hands...this is where the irrational part begins.

To the left of our home sits our cistern well. There's a spigot coming off the side about five feet above the ground, which would, in a pinch, make for a bathroom faucet of sorts. Because the spigot is not operated by the pump, I thought there would be enough of a storage in the cistern to use. So, this is what I did. I put on a bathing suit and a pair of flip flops, grabbed my toothbrush, face wash, shampoo, soap, a cup, and a towel and headed outside. Most of the time when you think of outdoor showers you imagine this exotic waterfall experience surrounded by lush tropical greenery with steam emerging from the heat of the glorious experience. Not the case. I propped my supplies up on top of the fence post and draped my towel to the side. It took me about thirty seconds to complete my pep talk about how great this would feel and phrases like, come on Angela, get in touch with your wilderness side came to mind as means to encourage myself. Two pieces of information you need to know at this point: It's a full moon. So much for my 'hidden under a cloak of darkness' theory. Second, they put in a new road right next to our house. I turned the faucet and felt the chilly water roll out. Big girl pants, big girl pants! That was my mantra at this point. I went full force into go mode like a crazy person running through a bed of coals. I filled the cup and splashed it on my body all while frantically brushing my teeth. My hair was half wet and I furiously lathered soap when, can you imagine, the water began to trickle. A shot of enormous panic overcame me and I began to cautiously beat the faucet. I say cautiously because I had soap all over my face and could not rightly see. So I proceeded to bang in its general direction. Enough of a trickle came out for me to at least clear the soap from my face, which was a bonus. As I stood there in my panic, a truck comes ambling down the road. Are you kidding me? What, did someone call them and say, hey there's a crazy white chick trying to hose off in the yard, go check it out? I never have been one to have great luck... At that point, I just grabbed the towel and toted all my crap back into the house like a dog with its tail stuck between its legs.

I had high hopes that I could at least make good of an unfortunate situation. Now, as I lay in bed penning this, nursing my wounds of defeat, the barn owl sits on the side of the house hooting. If you ask me, it sounds more like a Ha! Ha! than a hoot hoot...

Here's to the joys of free flowing water and embracing your irrational side every now and again. May your showers be hot and your coffee be warm as you rise in the morning.