My mood has been in the toilet, and I can’t seem to get a handle on it.
Somehow, I plunged into this feeling during the month of February — February 2007, that is. My down-in- the-dumps scenario makes me flush just thinking about it.
That was the year my husband, Bill, went into our hall bathroom to remodel it — and never came out. Except for fishing, bird hunting, deer hunting, canoeing, bicycling, camping, scuba diving, target shooting and a month-long raft trip.
The renovation target was our water-damaged floor. But as I peeked-in on the start of Bill’s project, I couldn’t hold my thoughts.
Never miss a local story.
“I sure am tired of that dark brown fiberglass tub,” I casually commented while Bill assessed the buckled strips surrounding it, his hammer and chisel in hand.
And then I left the room.
An hour later, the squeal of an electric saw broke into my thoughts. I raced down the hallway to the open bathroom door.
My color drained.
It was the scene of a chainsaw massacre. Gaping brown fiberglass hung limply from the walls. The tub was severed from the faucet. The shower head wept.
And so the saga began.
February 2007: Bill leaves Dodge for a month of isolation and no plumbing in the Grand Canyon.
March–August 2007: Bill scours the globe for a bathtub that fits into pre-existing space. One found, but back-ordered in Timbuktu.
September 2007: Visitor leaks news that Luginbill toilet is missing. Consequently, Bible study group keeps the lid on their reluctance to meet at our house.
January—March 2008: Lucy chooses multiple boxes of ceramic tile for bath and floor. On further examination at home, Lucy changes her mind.
July 2008: Bill single-handedly returns 350 pounds of ceramic tile. He leaves shortly thereafter for target practice.
November 2008–March 2009: Lucy buys and returns, buys and returns bath fixtures, and then buys and returns, buys and returns towels, rugs, and matching accessories. Bill grouts and grits his teeth.
That’s the story. And I’d like to wipe it from my mind. But, my new attitude—and Bill’s too, now that we’re finished (the bath, not our marriage)—is like a breath of fresh air.
However, just the other day Bill was eyeing our 30-year old kitchen counter with a measuring tape in hand. I have a feeling
I’m either going to sink or swim.
At least we have a new bathtub for a deep relaxing soak.