Normalcy
I long for. I love my summer friends, they are some of the people most dear to me, but my life gets turned upside down while they're here. I live partly in the boat house, partly at home and partly out of my car. This week I had in my car 2 packs with clean clothes, 2 laundry baskets with dirty clothes and dirty bedding, a basket with notes from the shoreowners' association and my reading materials, plus 2 bottles of Diet Mtn. Dew to keep me grounded (or slightly above the ground). So one night I went to the laundromat, then to physical therapy (self-guided, since my insurance has cut me off for now), then home and cleaned out my car. I even put everything away once I got home. And heaved a huge sigh of relief. I went to Linda's, had a drink and told them all (there are 4 people there now, plus Fred was visiting) I was hysterical and obsessing over my water issue. I went to my neighbor's camp (he's a contractor) to talk to his wife about the possibility of having him help me with my water issue. I stopped at Ken's to tell him I couldn't order wood because I didn't have enough money for that and a plumbing issue.

But god bless Ken. He said "Let's call Marty Coolidge, he might know who to call." Marty used to be a handyman jack-of-all trades for someone, before he up & quit. He's in his 70's, maybe, and is one of Ken's dearest friends. I described the problem to him and he said there was little chance it was the foot valve in my well (as someone's boyfriend had suggested it might be, which would mean someone would have to bring an extension ladder to my house and go down into my well with a sump pump, drain the well and replace the foot valve). Probably something in the pressure switch, he figured, and why didn't I try calling John Ryan, he might fix it for me. John Ryan is an informal-type plumber who knows a lot about Myers pumps, which is the kind I have. I called John Ryan, who lives a mile from where we used to live (which was across the road from his daughter and granddaughter). He must be in his 60's but boy does he know a lot about plumbing and pumps. Yes, he could come but only on Weds., the day I was due to be in AuSable Forks barcoding their collection. Not cool to leave there mid-day, but what else could I do? No, it didn't sound like the foot valve to him either, more like a problem with the pressure switch. No, it wouldn't hurt the pump to run it with water spewing out the side.

So I met him at my house yesterday afternoon. I'm always embarrassed to show people my plumbing situation, the hole in the floor where my pump, etc. are kept. "Oh, this is big compared to where I just was." You get to it all via a trapdoor in the floor, climbing down a ladder. So he figured it out, and boy was I embarrassed. There's a tiny hose that runs from the pressure switch to the side of the pump and the hose had become disconnected. How did I miss that? Someone had actually described this possibility to me but I overlooked it in my hysteria when I was down there (of course, I was only down there when the water was spurting out of the pump, I never checked it out after the water stopped flowing). So kind, sweet John fixed it, then diagnosed another problem: the bladder inside my tank is shot. Ken and I have suspected this for a long time so it was no surprise. I asked if he would be interested in installing a new tank for me & he said sure, he'd order one & call me when it came in. HURRAY! He left, all is (supposedly) fine. I don't trust any of it, but the pump is behaving admirably so far. I'm just waiting for that hose to blow itself off again. Well crisis averted. Huge sigh of relief. And again: When am I going to drill a real well? When I have $10,000 to spare, that's when.

I've spent a lot of time with Erdvilas & Linda and their guests this week, having a very nice time but feeling very disorganized. Last night we went to the best Mexican restaurant in the area. It's impossible to get a table there but we got there early so it worked out. Fred met us there. Food was good, everyone in a good mood. Nice time. I had key lime ice cream for dessert with raspberry syrup drizzled over the top. That was very tasty. Back to Linda's afterward where we did the NY Times crossword, a communal project. Then home at last.

Tonight I have no plans. What to do with myself? RELAX! Vacuum. Tomorrow I have to go for cocktails with someone across the lake who is working with the attorney on the class action suit about the tax thing. Blech.

Friends of mine are selling their camp, which used to be part of the girls' camp at the head of the lake. They have 3 buildings, which sleep 19. Asking price: $690,000. We're all stunned. I can't imagine they'll get that much for it, and I can't believe they're selling it.

This afternoon I go to Placid to see my orthopedic dreamboat doctor. To find out what? I guess to see if physical therapy was worth doing. It all seems sort of silly to me but then, my knee only hurts sometimes and then only a little. Hopefully I'll get home early enough to mow my lawn (again, you all say, with mowing the lawn!).

My dog Tess has no respect for screen doors. Here's a neat trick she learned at camp: If you just barge through a screen door, chances are you can punch the screen out and use it like a pet door. I stapled the screen back together and yesterday watched her barrel right through it again. So there's a project: cut a board to fit across the bottom of my screen door so she'll bash her head the next time I fix the screen & she tries to go through it. The mosquitoes in the living room last night convinced me this was a good project to take on soon.

Hot, very hot here. Supposed to be hot for the next few days. That would be great, but camp will be crawling with The Ickies. Mega-cousins coming this weekend for cousins' 50th wedding anniversary party (since they're my former in-laws, I must go not only to anniv. party but to family dinner which follows). I'm hoping for dead-calm morning to sit on dock with Jenica and/or paddle my kayak.

And now I have to catalog some DVD's that are so bad that no other library in the country owns them.