Dead Waterheater and a Double Sister
Our water heater died again yesterday. Fact is Ruthie and I both knew when it happened that it was very likely just the pilot light out again, but I’m the world’s worst pilot lighter and at six o’clock Wednesday morning, there just wasn’t time. (Plus this thing is due to die—its original five-year warranty expired in 1989.) Went to work, forgot about it, no problem. Until we both got home yesterday afternoon and needed showers. What to do? We could call my sister hannaH’s house; her family lives just a mile from us and we could pop in, shower and pop out pretty quickly. But were they home? Were they busy? Maybe they had company. Maybe they had Sam to bed early and were having one of those rare peaceful evenings. I didn’t want to bother them. Now, all of this debating took place in my head in about two seconds, but I finally allowed myself to realize than not only would it not be a problem to call her, but that if I didn’t and she found out she’d probably kick my ass. And I could hear myself saying to someone, if our places were reversed, “are we not past that yet?” So I called. They were in fact home and of course, she said, it wasn’t a problem, so we packed some clean clothes to put on and off we went.
We lived with hannaH & Dale for a couple years after we left Kentucky so their house feels like home anyway, but when we got there hannaH was working on their supper and there was steam on the windows and it smelled wonderful and it was warm and huggy inside. Ruthie showered first while I talked to Dale and Sam. hannaH suggested that we stick around for supper. Again, here’s one of those moments where you either play the polite, “Oh, we couldn’t impose” game or you recognize that there’s authentic love and relationship going on and you eat their food. We chose the latter.
As Ruthie was wrapping up her shower I realized and commented out loud that I should’ve brought a razor. Dale offered me one of his and within thirty minutes I was showered (it was hot) and shaved and had exchanged my grimy work clothes for clean ones and felt wonderful. HannaH threw on an extra piece of chicken which Ruthie and I split, and there was a big salad with olive oil and homemade bread.
After we ate Dale put Sam to bed and we all sat down and talked a little and then Friends came on. Joey’s funny. We laughed together and talked some more and when it was time to go home we left with four bags full of groceries. What we had intended to be a quick in-and-out borrowing of some hot water had become a couple hours of life together. It was good.
There’s no punch-line. No big moral to the whole thing. Maybe not even enough to justify blogging over it. Except to say that people are lots more willing to love us than we are to ask them to. My friend Michael says that one of the lessons we should learn from our dogs is how to not be ashamed to ask for affection. (I’m handicapped here by virtue of living with the Boomer, who won’t get up when we come home, but his point is valid.) A little bit at a time we’re finding that life together—real, honest, open life—is better than the other kind. And that a big part of that is my willingness to admit that my water heater has died again, whatever that may mean to a given relationship on a given day. Really, people are okay with that. And so you see, there is love enough for the taking.
We lived with hannaH & Dale for a couple years after we left Kentucky so their house feels like home anyway, but when we got there hannaH was working on their supper and there was steam on the windows and it smelled wonderful and it was warm and huggy inside. Ruthie showered first while I talked to Dale and Sam. hannaH suggested that we stick around for supper. Again, here’s one of those moments where you either play the polite, “Oh, we couldn’t impose” game or you recognize that there’s authentic love and relationship going on and you eat their food. We chose the latter.
As Ruthie was wrapping up her shower I realized and commented out loud that I should’ve brought a razor. Dale offered me one of his and within thirty minutes I was showered (it was hot) and shaved and had exchanged my grimy work clothes for clean ones and felt wonderful. HannaH threw on an extra piece of chicken which Ruthie and I split, and there was a big salad with olive oil and homemade bread.
After we ate Dale put Sam to bed and we all sat down and talked a little and then Friends came on. Joey’s funny. We laughed together and talked some more and when it was time to go home we left with four bags full of groceries. What we had intended to be a quick in-and-out borrowing of some hot water had become a couple hours of life together. It was good.
There’s no punch-line. No big moral to the whole thing. Maybe not even enough to justify blogging over it. Except to say that people are lots more willing to love us than we are to ask them to. My friend Michael says that one of the lessons we should learn from our dogs is how to not be ashamed to ask for affection. (I’m handicapped here by virtue of living with the Boomer, who won’t get up when we come home, but his point is valid.) A little bit at a time we’re finding that life together—real, honest, open life—is better than the other kind. And that a big part of that is my willingness to admit that my water heater has died again, whatever that may mean to a given relationship on a given day. Really, people are okay with that. And so you see, there is love enough for the taking.
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