As the earth blankets with snow, I think of the struggles we faced this year. Water is the mother of life; clean drinking water is what gives North Americans good health and piece of mind. Millions all over the world face the threat of disease and death from drinking contaminated ground water. We are the lucky ones.
Without sounding too focused on what they call “first world problems”, when there are more important social issues to discuss and remedy, I am going to describe another one of my unfortunate tales.
The “mother of life” can sometimes be a b!tch. Where there is too much water in the wrong places, irreversible damage is imminent. This spring, our yard was a 4×4’ers dream. This spring, we owned a luxurious natural swimming pool in our garage. These things were out of our control and should not occur next year. My story is one of wrong-doing and I get to share it with passion and flair, because it was not my fault. This spring, Jack left the outside tap turned on.
The minute I parked my car in the driveway, I suspected something was awry; I did not recall installing a water feature beside our house. I had returned home to a beautiful fountain glistened by sunshine, spraying up toward the heavens. I rushed to the tap, turned it clockwise, and stood in the puddle a moment, hypothesizing what could have caused this injustice. Upon further inspection, I noticed a hole in the garden hose that was attached to the tap. The pressure had built up over a few days and the hose stretched until it could no longer handle the psi and burst, producing a rainbow sans the gold at the end.
I picked up my phone and immediately called Jack, who was working away from home.
“You’re not going to believe what just happened. The garden hose exploded.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“You left the tap on! There’s water EVERY WHERE!”
“Ohh man. Go check the basement.”
I hustled down the stairs and with relief I proclaimed the basement flood-free.
“Oh wait, there is water dripping off the electrical panel.”
I proceeded to follow Jack’s ridiculous demands to open the electrical panel with a screwdriver that sent a spark flying half-way through the operation.
“F*ck this, I’m abandoning ship.”
This is the moment Jack (after being quit for 2 and a half years) started smoking again.
It turns out the fountain sprayed sporadically into a hole in the conduit on the outside of the house and ran down to the panel. If the good things in life worked out this perfectly, I’d be an Astronaut Model.