I'm hip to time
Who gets that reference? No one under 50, I'll bet.
I rushed to get ready this morning, drove to camp for my shower (more on that later, though I'm sure everyone can guess why), had time to stop for my latest indulgence, a large Dunkin' Donuts iced turbo (espresso-laden coffee), extra milk, 1 sugar, and still get to work by 7:45. Then I discovered I'm the 9:00 person today. So I can blog without feeling guilty. I have no pictures to post, must be feeling overwhelmed, or not so great or something.

Actually I am overwhelmed but I feel pretty much capable of dealing with things. I've been having a plumbing crisis all week. Plumber called, had my new tank, came to install it and I asked for a new pressure switch while he was working down there. OK, that should solve all my problems, right? He also gave me a piece of my sump pump's hose so I could go to Lowe's & show them what size I needed. What a great man he is. But not so my plumbing. When I got home the next day the pump was running--bad, very bad pump. I called him, message left, he called me next morning after I'd left, we finally connected and he came yesterday morning. New pressure switch (other new switch declared faulty), plus he brought a brand spanking new hose for my sump pump and installed it for me ("How did you know I wouldn't have replaced that yet?"). By now the dogs know John and his partner very well and have reached the stage of adoration without even knowing that he is responsible for their having water in their bowl (and toilet) each day. OK, John works a long time, we flush and flush, pump comes on and shuts off appropriately is declared cured. As always, "if you have any problems, call me."

I get home last night and the pump is not only running but it's hot (not just warm) to the touch and won't come up to pressure. This is extremely bad. I call him. "Oh no, no, what's going on here?!" We discuss various possibilities (this man is just incredibly nice to me) and it finally comes out that he used up 50-60 gallons of water during the course of his work down there, necessary to adjust the pressure switch. Not realizing that, I did a small load of wash yesterday after he left. And we flushed the toilet 3 unnecessary times while he was there. Bingo! There goes the contents of my well.

So here's what he tells me to do: lower a string down my well, measure how long the string is before it gets wet. Wait a day, repeat exercise to see if the well has risen. Ohmygod I hate dealing with my well, there's just something I really hate about directly addressing its inadequacy. I like to deal with it in the abstract--"my well." But it's time to take off the tarp, haul a ladder to where it is. By now there is a row of 6' high balsam trees across what was once a path, and lots of vegetation growing in the way. I laugh at myself. I heave off the 60-lb wellcap and with one look down I can tell the well is dry. A girl just knows these things. But I have dutifully tied and duct-taped a rock to the end of my twine, which I lower into the well. I tie a knot when I hear the kerplunk of stone hitting water. Tonight I will do the same, knowing what I will discover. Hopefully the pump has not been damaged, but apparently when the end comes they just shut down.

Meanwhile I can shower at camp and bring water home from work but I don't have very many gallon jugs to fill. Went grocery shopping last night and didn't get jugs of water because didn't know what was waiting for me at home. Will get some today. Last night I had to make cheesecake for the luncheon we're having today.

I went out for ice cream (to Hot Dog Man--really the Whitebrook Dairy Bar, but in front of it is a statue of a giant hot dog with high tops on, pouring ketchup on his head) with Fred. We completely enjoy each other's company so it was a really nice trip. I took the dogs and they loved it, plus provided great entertainment for all who were there. Stuck their heads out the windows and licked everyone as they walked by ("Hi! welcome to Hot Dog Man! My name is Tess!"). Anyway, we had fun and it was a nice distraction.

Wednesday I had dinner with Ken. Our friend Ann, who is the neighbor I've know all my life and is a caterer furnished us with the food. I stopped at Fred's first for a quick gin and tonic on his porch (a summer rite) before picking up the food. The food was so good I ate too much and felt really ill. Saturday night is dinner with Bill, Ken and the people who are renting Bill's camp (this is the man who had my father for a professor at Rockford College). Then my friend Duncan and his family arrive for 2 weeks. And a bunch, a BIG bunch of cousins will be in camp all next week. Then my sister comes--HOORAY--to Rhode Island next week. I talked to my mother last night, briefly because I was in the middle of things. She didn't sound too well. She has Lyme Disease, she's feeling overwhelmed, she's just depressed in general, and I think it's sometimes hard on her that I have so many people paying attention to me in the summer time and her social life (which she considers to be non-existent) stays the same. I remind her of all the things she does with other people but she doesn't consider that to be a social life. What can I do.

Now it's later and we just finished our weeding project outside the building. The director directed us to do it, then it turned out she couldn't participate because she has a meeting this morning. How directorial. It's muggy, very muggy out there. Because it rained this morning the weeds were pretty easy to pull, and we had good participation by staff members. Now it looks better out there and everyone feels we've had a good team effort.

And I have to correct the work I did yesterday afternoon because I was so sleepy I'm sure I made a gajillion typos.