Oy. Oy. Oy. The joys of older home ownership. Like snaking clumps of clay from the sewer line. Like calling a plumber and he says, “that’s not good.” Like said plumber confirming that the sewer line has to be dug out…through the landscaping that you designed, excavated, and toiled months to put in. Like…
You know what? I’m so over complaining as an outlet.
It feels so entitled. It does nothing more than make me feel like shite.
I am learning, after a lifetime of extracting every ounce of sweat and anxiety on the small stuff, I have the power. I have choice. I decide. How do I respond to this situation or that person that comes my way? The decision, my choice, is what I CAN control when everything else feels f%&$ed. It determines if I’m miserable or just inconvenienced. Bat-shite scared or calmly seeking perspective or more information.
And is the plumbing issue really that bad?
No. I am resourceful. We adapt. This is a 1st world problem, and I have lived in the 3rd world where folks have real problems, like trying not to die.
Sure my favorite garden spot is getting torn up but:
1. The pipe collapsed and slowed in the kitchen sink/washing machine section. Not the poo section.
2. I can wash dishes in a pot and bail the washing machine. I don’t have to bail poo and get typhoid.
3. I can still use my kitchen for most things. I have family and neighbors who will let me use theirs for meat prep and cleanup. That, my friends, is why I heavily invest in the “favor bank” principle, before ever requesting a withdrawal.
4. Hubby is willing to dig out the pipe and save us some massive labor costs. His back, on the other hand, is screaming about not getting a vote in the matter.
5. Hubby is willing to dig out the pipe and save MY back from injury two weeks before my half marathon, the one I have been training a year for.
6. He found the collapsed section on the first try without having to dig up the whole walkway.
7. Ditto relief about the poo section and not having to poop in a bucket.
Where do we go from here?
There’s a part of me that wants to dig up and replace the whole line. This house is over 100 years old and who knows when the current sewer line went in. It’s not clay, but cast iron, so may not be too, too old. But the fig tree that our current neighbors took down sent roots everywhere. So, who knows if it decided to tap further along the line during its lifetime (yes, into the dreaded poo section). We’ll see, I guess, when the plumber comes back out to have a look at the damaged section.