That’s the prompt — the last thing I emptied.
Well, it wasn’t the plastic container under the kitchen sink, although I’ve been emptying it fairly often.
The kitchen sink has been dripping. I watched a Youtube video on how to fix it and bought the parts I needed. I was almost successful, but needed a little help.
But then it got worse.
A lot worse.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Now I turn the water off completely to the sink when I don’t need to use it. When I do need it, I turn it on and hear the dripping.
When I turn it off again, I empty the container.
My two youngest daughters were home on spring break this week. I hardly saw them, though. Full-time job, you know, plus I had something every day after work:
- Monday: appointment
- Tuesday: church meeting
- Wednesday: Gave a talk to one of the local historical societies
- Thursday: Sign language class at the library
- Friday: Different sign language class via Zoom
I still fit in several walks with one daughter.
I made some favorite dinners: baked ziti, broccoli cavatelli, and a chili-like dish called Turkey Taco Quinoa Skillet.
When I was making that last one, I found that I had run out of quinoa. I told the girls that I was doing a slight variation on that dish.
“What are you doing?” one asked.
“Skipping the quinoa,” I replied. I threw in handful of barley and hoped for the best. It was fine.
This morning, I said good-bye to one daughter who was driving herself back to school. Then I drove the other daughter to stay with her oldest sister before she flies back to college tomorrow. It was another long day for me.
The last thing I’ve emptied is me. My energy is gone.
I tip my hat to all you working women who for years and years have been working 40 hours a week outside the home. I’ve been a mostly stay-at-home mom. I know, I know — that’s work, too.
There’s something to be said, though, about getting up and dressed in the morning, and leaving the house every day.
There’s something to be said for working 8-9 hours away from home.
There’s something to be said for coming home to a dripping faucet.
On Friday when I got home, my daughters said, “The microwave is broken.” Sure enough, it wasn’t working.
I looked to see if the GFI had tripped on the outlet for the microwave. No GFI on that outlet.
I went to the basement to look at the breaker box. Everything looked okay. I flipped some switches back and forth, hoping that would do the trick. It didn’t.
I called the electrician.
Mind you, the last time I had called him it was because of a flickering light. I live in an old farm house and was sure something had nibbled the wires. He changed the lightbulb and solved the problem. He explained to me the likely cause for the flickering. I was embarrassed.
You can understand why I was reluctant to call, but I did. Our wi-fi was also on the same circuit as the microwave.
“Hi, this is Sally,” I said to his voicemail. After leaving him my phone number and address, I continued, “I don’t need you to change a light bulb today, but I’ve lost electricity to some things in my house –”
He picked up and cut me off. “I’m going to tell you what to do and I want you to follow these instructions. If it doesn’t work, you can call me back and I’ll come tomorrow.” He gave me some specific instructions and told me to call him back either way.
Suffice it to say, it worked. The microwave worked. The wifi worked. Everything worked.
I called the electrician back.
“Good job,” he said. “I’ll be sending your Junior Electrician certificate in the mail.”
“You really need to send me a bill,” I said. He wouldn’t let me pay him when he changed the lightbulb either.
He laughed. “No, I’m glad you got it. Call me, though, if you have more problems.”
I guess I’m really not empty. I’m full — with family and kind people in my life.
Do you think the plumber will be this nice if I call him?