Valentine’s day is imminent.  And Sal and I have been together for 50 years.  I really should be traditionally romantic at least ONCE in my life, don’t you think?  But there’s a problem with that…I am generally a very romantic fella and I ‘lay it on kinda thick’ most of the time.  Every day, actually.  I am a romantic.  Like an Italian – obnoxiously so.

To be honest, I am kinda sickening about it if viewed from a bird’s eye (read: normal person’s) perspective – but I don’t view it from up there (laws of physics and aging limit my air-time these days).  Sal sometimes rolls her eyes.  And she has groaned.  I know it is all a BIT much at times, but a romantic has to do what a romantic has to do.  And I call her the ‘ol’ Puddin’, too (but that is mainly because I think ‘ol’ Puddin’ is really stupid-funny and I have been saying that for years for my own amusement.  I started calling her that when she was just 17.  OK, I have an odd sense of humour….. 

‘Sweetie-pie’ and such is not just an endearment, it has become Sally’s daily-use name.  ‘Course, ‘Sweetie-pie’ is interchangeable as to the sexes and Sal uses that for me, too.  Worse, we use ‘Sweetie-pie’ for my son and daughter quite a bit as well.  Daughter is OK with it but my son (especially when he was in high school) admonished me for using the term too loosely around his friends.  So, I compromised.  He became the much more masculine, ‘Sweetie’.  NO pie.

But, like most compromises, no one was very happy about it (except his friends).  I went back to Sweetie-pie.  He is now 37.  I am gonna hafta change.  Fortunately, I have grandchildren on whom I will burden such a cursed moniker.  It will help toughen them up.

But back to Val’s day……one cannot get too romantic with a women whose leg just went through major surgery so I am gonna have to get creative.  Hmmmm….we DO have a lot of pain-killers at the moment……

The easiest route to Sally’s heart, of course, is Roger’s Chocolates.  I have mended many wounds and bruised hearts over the past five decades with chocolate and Roger’s is by far the best over-the-counter remedy.  Flowers work but, you know how it is….we live in the forest and nature’s beauty is omnipresent for us.  Still, they can’t hurt.

But I need to stretch, think outside the usual charm offensive (charm: which I understand is now a smidge offensive to anyone belonging to the Me Too movement).  Dinner out is out.  Sal’s leg won’t allow for that quite yet.  A handful of diamonds is out….perhaps it shouldn’t be but it is at least out of reach right now.

We could just settle for bubbly, flowers and chocolate and some minor billing and cooing but, somehow, methinks that is NOT going to be sufficient to get her in the right mood.  And, what would we do if it did change her mood to something worse (repercussions of the Me Too)?  There is nothing quite as romantically off-putting as a tangly-haired woman grimacing in pain and telling me what to do – ‘get me a pillow and, damn it, do it quickly!’

That is NOT the kind of pillow-talk I am aiming for.

Hmmmm…..they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder…….

I am NOT talking about Sal.  That gal is charging along!  She ain’t sprinting yet but she gets up, looks at her walker as if to dismiss it…and I have to say, “Use the walker, Sweetie.  You are only at day 5 and you are practically moving well enough for Cirque du Soleil tryouts already.  Please do not push it.”  “I won’t”, she says.  And then she walks the five feet to get her walker.

This is day five after the operation but only day three of being on J&J’s  front lawn.  The entry to the moho is over 100 feet from the entry to the bathroom.  She has been down that path many times already.  I am guessing that she has walked close to 1000 feet from having been discharged.  To me, that is amazingly fast recovery time.  Admittedly, her endurance is limited.  After each trek, she kinda collapses but only for ten or 15 minutes.  C’mon!  That’s pretty damn good.

I can’t really say that I AM the invalid……because, I am not.  But I am a bit constrained by my space.  I am a 2XL in a 1XL space, if you get my meaning.  The kitchen has precisely 2 square feet of counter space and so my culinary efforts are very, very limited.  Take Out Chinese last night.  Friend’s Thai curry ‘take-out’ the night before.  But I can make her coffee and a bowl of cereal so, in that sense, I am a great husband.

Well, good enough, it seems.  She’s still smiling and in very good spirits.

Unless the scheduled physio (starting next week) knocks her down, I am thinking she will be quicker than the 6 weeks they estimated.  I am gonna dissuade accelerating the healing process but, to be frank, she is already accelerating it naturally.

“So, Sal…..maybe we should talk about the ravine and the plumbing pick-up?”

“Ok, Ok….I’ll slow down.  I will.  I promise.” 

Our routine is pretty sad, really.  We wake up late (9:00).  Say nice morning things to each other.  Then I make her coffee and me, tea.  We look at emails (very important to email us as it is the only real entertainment we have) and then we trek to the bathrooms for ablutions.  By the time we have done that, the clock does not seem to have moved….it’s like we are caught in a ‘rip or tear’ in the time-space-front lawn continuum. The day ssslllllooowwwwwsssssss.  But Sal has to do exercises a few times a day and I get to be the ‘personal trainer.’  “Push, Sal.  Push.  That’s right.  Lift Sal.  C’mon, try harder.  Lift!  Now stretch, Sal, stretch.  Can you wash those dishes now?”

Oh, I am only kidding, you guys.  I wash the dishes.  Of course I wash the dishes!  That should NOT have to be said out loud but I tend to paint myself as a dickhead and that is what a dickhead would do.  I may NOT be a total dickhead but I certainly know how it is done.  And I COULD relapse into dick-headism at any moment.

And THAT is why I said ‘a day in the life of a dic…..ooops……invalid’.

….in a motorhome.  By the shores of the Campbell river.  Leaning a bit heavily on our friend’s kindness.  We are in recovery (both of us. I do not handle damages to family members well…unless it is me).

But Sal walked today…about 200 feet (100 feet OUT – 100 feet back)!  And she was very happy about it until the 175 foot mark.  “Sheesh, that was a good walk but the last few feet getting back is a bit tough but….I’ll be fine….”  Then she mounted the stairs and got back in to bed.

And that is likely to be our routine for awhile.  Which is good, really.  Firstly, she walked very well.  She walked with confidence.  AND she kinda walked a bit more quickly than I thought she could.  Plus, after her first day’s 300 foot marathon, the doc said, ‘don’t push it.  Keep doing it but not that much.’  So she just did 2/3 of a marathon.  All and all that is very good progress.

And, as a bonus, two ravens showed up this morning!  Sat in the closest tree.  Squawked like hell for a couple of minutes and then left.  It was very much like home….a bit weird but also strangely comforting.

This a 30 foot class A motorhome.  All the modcons.  And this kinda rig used to be the aspiration…kinda….I would have loved to have had a 30 foot stealth camper, a converted bread-van with a sign on the side that said, “Western Plumbing and Sewage”.  Maybe “Western Plumbing and Irrigation.” You know….?  A mobile home we can live in, reside comfortably and that didn’t draw any attention.  I planned on parking in golf course parking lots.  We’d look like we belonged there.  They are quiet at night.  It was an idea….and I kind of kept that idea percolating….

….but the moho is just not as fun as it used to be.  Of course, I know that the present situation is colouring my view (and the day with the flat tire) but, well…I know what my enthusiasm feels like and I know when it is absent.  My enthusiasm for a moho has left the parking lot.  Must be an age-thing, eh?  Could be a Trump-thing…..I suppose….

It may come back next November…..we’ll see.

As you will well understand, I am sure, there is NOT that much news to share in convalescence….it is a state of being that is marked primarily by boredom interrupted occasionally by pain and/or frustration.  Bowel movements become news.  But it might be worse for Sal.  People like her need to move around.  It is who she is.  We all call her the Energizer Bunny.  She has ravines to attend to, quilts to quilt and outboard engines to fix.  There will not be much of any of that for awhile.  But I can see the squares of cloth, the ravens, her little boat trips, the stream and ravine looming in her not-so-distant future.  I think we are past the worst of the operation stage and now we are fully into the rehab segment.

I am not 100% sure about much but one thing I know: there WILL BE QUILTS!

The hospital is new and bright and clean and confidence-inspiring.  Which is good as I have very little confidence in ‘the system’ as it is.  Fortunately, our surgeon feels a smidge the same way.  We found out because all the nurses on the ward extol his work habits, his discipline, his skill and his attention to detail.  He’s a nice guy as well.  But it became pretty clear that he didn’t trust everyone in the ‘system’ (including the staff) to do what he wanted so he came in every day and did it himself.  ON THE WEEKEND!  Even to getting bags of ice and other ‘duties’ atypical of surgeons.

Sadly, his fears were somewhat confirmed.  The first night the ‘kitchen’ forgot Sal and her roommate.  They had nothing but the brownies I brought them and the nurses tried to make up for it with week-old, cellophane sandwiches.  Sal didn’t mind.  Neither did I, really.  No one goes to the hospital for the food.

After her operation, she was pretty cocky.  Swinging her leg like a Rockette, smiling as she hobbled along to the bathroom, telling me, “No pain.  This is good!”.  We were both encouraged but I was stunned.  I had reconstructive surgery 40 years ago and the Tortures of the Inquisition pale compared to that deal!  Only the Salem witches had it worse.

But Sal was ready for more……..

So her physio marched her like the Marines march Grunts.  Less than 30 hours after the re and re, she was led on a 300 foot trek around the ward.  Sal’s roommate and her physio went 25 feet and she came back in a wheelchair.  Sal was a bit ticked after The Long March and she is simply NOT the type to get annoyed or complain.  And the long first trip had also exhausted her.  But she became downright angry about it when she awoke to a swollen, stiff, extremely painful knee the next day.  A few words were exchanged.  The next day the physio took her only 25 feet and then into a chair.  But she still had to go up and down stairs (three) a couple of times before she was released.  I was there  – watching without breathing.  I asked if they had oxygen for me.

They were good.  Kinda.  Mostly.  My view is somewhat biased from the get-go.  I HATE hospitals with a passion (mostly because I associate them with sadness, pain and often grief…my bad).  Should you ‘press the button for the nurse’ the chances of them coming were about 50/50.  If they came and then went off to get meds or painkillers or something, the odds were better…maybe 3 out of 4.  And, of course, different shifts of staff seemed to be operating without any knowledge of the previous shift’s work.

“I don’t work here usually.  I am in Cardio as a rule.  Ha!  What do I know about changing a dressing?”  

The second night I brought them sushi and tempura.  Sal was ecstatic.  Even the food delivery people said, “Wow!  That’s way better than this stuff!”   Sal’s roommate was very appreciative.  THAT kinda tells what you already know: hospital food sucks!

Overall rating?  GREAT!  Why?  Because they ‘gave her back’ pretty much intact.  The knee will heal. That is NOT always the case with hospitals.  We lucked out this time.  And we came away with a REAL appreciation for the surgeon, not only because he did a good job, but just as much because he cared enough to do all the post-op follow up.  Dr. Tung is good.

Sal was scheduled for a complete knee replacement.  Post op, she has to rehab with physios for awhile (as long as six weeks) and commuting from OTG was out of the question.  So, a good friend loaned us his motorhome.  The idea was that we would reside in Campbell River while she healed.

She was scheduled in for the 7th.  On the fifth, we went to Vancouver.  Slept over in the moho and returned on the sixth.  In theory, a day to spare.

And…the best laid plans of mice and Murphy….  

Halfway home the moho started to shimmy and shake and make noises.  I pulled over, examined everything and carried on (it was NOT coming from the engine or the transmission).  But it got worse.  We were on the upper levels of the Island Highway.  It was getting on to dusk.  Sal was following in our ‘ol faithful Pathfinder.  “Hey, Sal,” I said over the walkie talkies we had brought with us, “pull up alongside and see if you can see anything.”  She did.  Reported nothing seen. I carried on.  The noise got worse.  “Hey, Sal?  You there?”

“No”, she replied.  The Pathfinder is crapping out.  “I can only go five miles per hour!”  I pulled over and waited.  She limped up.  It was raining.  It was cold.

I tried driving it and it worked fine.  I gave it back to her and said, “Let’s go.”

And so we went.  The noise got worse.  “Hey, Sal.  Better look again.  It’s getting ugly.”  “Can’t.  The  car is doing it again.”  I pulled over.  It was getting dark.  We were at a higher elevation.  The rain was starting to look like snow.  She limped up…….

We went through that exercise another time but, at a certain point, the moho was really acting up.  Shimmying.  Making a racket.  I could not proceed.  Sal was suffering more Pathfinder failure and took a few minutes to crawl up again.  While I was waiting, I looked really carefully….and then I saw it!

Big mohos (30’) have ‘dualies’ at the back.  Four wheels and tires on the rear axle.  The inside tire on the drivers side had split.  Very weird.  It split in half like a person would cut a bagel in half.  I had two halves of a tire on the inside.  The remaining tire was carrying the weight and it looked a bit taxed in so doing.  “What are we going to do?”

“Can’t fix this kinda thing myself.  Let’s phone the nearest tire store.  The nearest tire store was answered by a young ditz who said, “Well, we close in half an hour.  If you can get here, we can maybe look at it tomorrow……..?”

The second tire store was Fountain Tire in Comox.  Run by a guy called Craig.  “I’ll get a service truck out there as fast as I can.  Hobble to the rest area (one km up the highway) and it will make doing the job easier.”  So, we did.  “Hey, Craig.  If you sell batteries, please bring one.  I have a support vehicle that is also dying and I have diagnosed that it is acting like a dead battery.”

Corey came with the service trick and set to work replacing the inner tire.  I took the battery and swapped it in.  The car then ran like a racehorse.  Odd problem, tho.  I guessed that the alternator simply wasn’t charging.  That killed the battery and Sal was running without much spark…..OK, it was a lucky guess.  I admit it.

Corey was a tire genius.  He removed the bad tire and put on the new tire (and they are large, heavy tires) like it was child’s play.  Pretty neat.  By then it was snowing lightly.  It was dark.  It was cold.  We hadn’t eaten since breakfast (we left early – didn’t stop and don’t usually eat ferry food).  Things were looking bleak.

We all went back to Comox to settle up.

“Where y’all going and can you stay over while we fix the electrical problem?”

“Can’t.  Wife is scheduled for an operation at Campbell River Hospital tomorrow early.  Gotta get her there.”

“OK.  Take our courtesy car.  Leave the Pathfinder.  We’ll get on it right away.”

“No rush.  Once I get her to the hospital, all the time pressure is off.”

“Well, let me take some of the pressure off.  No charge for the service.  No charge for the tire (2nd hand) and no charge for the courtesy car.  Now get her on to the hospital!”

“Craig!  You can’t do that.  You have costs!”

“I can do that.  And I am.  Now go!”

We went.  Got to our parking spot at my friend’s place in CR and rolled into bed.  It was 10:00.  And bloody cold.  But we crashed into bed, got up, went to the hospital.  She was supposed to check in at 8:00 am.  She did.  She was ‘admitted’ at precisely 8:00 am.

Murphy is a bastard.  But angels can thwart him.  A big, hairy, tire shop guy had wings on his shoulders. Remember that: Fountain Tire in Courtenay/Comox.  And yes – Sal will put that on Facebook later, too.

Tomorrow – the operation went very well but…………………

An Aussie friend of Elon Musk got a Power Wall (battery) and some solar panels a couple years ago.  Had ’em pumping out juice for well over a year.  Pleased.  Very.  Seems he saved $6,000.00 in electricity bills last year and he runs a larger 4 bedroom home complete with all the modcons and copious air conditioners.  In the featured article he said, “I expected this to pay for itself in 20 years.  At this rate, it will pay for itself in five years!”

That is not news.  We know that every panel gives more power, every battery stores the power longer.  Put more succinctly: Getting a solar array and storage is an obvious no-brainer, a totally can’t-lose proposition.  Especially if you are capable of a grid-tie arrangement with BC Hydro.  Grid-tie is even more dollar efficient ’cause the power company acts as your battery.  Elon’s friend is now a convert……..but why did he do it in the first place if he had doubts?

What used to be dismissed as hippy tech or ‘unnecessary’ or too expensive is today proving to be a good idea.  Think about that.  He did.

If any of you decide to think about it and want advice, just ask.  Free.

There is a yoga-gal and her husband who you-tube regularly about their OTG life-in-the-making.  Nicole and Jake are building and living in a yurt and in an area not far from us (judging by the views and such).  They have 172,000 subscribers.  Admittedly, the ‘eye-catching’ shots of Nicole’s bare top (but she’s always facing backwards) or some other sultry come-on selfie-pose creates a larger audience than just those interested in yurts and trees but still….172K subscribers is HUGE!

When we wrote our first book and posted it to Amazon, the OTG category did not exist.  We went under the general heading of ‘Wilderness Adventures’ or something.  Today, on Amazon.ca there are over twenty pages with Off Grid in the title.  There are several categories now.  The point?  Living (and/or prepping for) OTG is a growing phenomena.

Why?  Why would 172K subscribe to Jake and Nicole doing very common and basic chores on the smallest of scales?  Why would successful rich people who are on the grid start adjusting to being off the grid?

Why, actually, did Dave and Sally go OTG?

What is going on?  Are they all feeling what I feel?  Are they just ‘playing at it’?  And what, exactly, am I feeling?  Do they know something I do not?  What has happened over the past say, twenty years to make people think this way?

It (the feeling) is much older than just 20 years, of course, 70’s back-to-the-landers were motivated to do the same but…if I might venture a guess….they were responding to the industrial conformity, materialism, pollution and unhealthy processed food that was modern life back then (still is for many, of course). The BIG threat, TEOTWAWKI or the coming Zombie Apocalypse was less of an issue.

Today?  I do not know but I suspect that all the media and government fear-mongering is showing up as more idiots buying 30+ guns and ammo and storing dried food in buckets as they show on the Netflix series ‘Doomsday Preppers’.  I think fear is the new motivation.

But…fear of what?  More to the point: how does building a yurt and carrying buckets of water answer the fear?  For that matter, how many guns can one man shoot at a time? 

Look at the real threats…..climate change, pandemics, war, economic collapse and yes, maybe even revolution-in-the-streets (somewhere) but how is a yurt an answer to that?

There is an emerging answer to that growing-but-still-amorphous fear and it seems to be ‘community’.  People helping each other.  And we OTG’ers do that pretty regularly.  I see it all the time.  And ‘help’ OTG – style does not take the form of money or donations to the Red Cross.  ‘Help’ out here is real-time.  Real-work.  We rescue disabled boaters, freely give required labour, provide materials, feed people and share what we have.  Community plays a much larger role out here.

Perhaps, if urban people had a stronger REAL community, fear might play a lesser role in their life.  That seems to be true for those ‘groups’ (urban or otherwise) that identify closely with one another like Jews or Amish or Muslims or even First Nations.  Birds of a feather flock together and, in numbers there is strength…..that kinda thing.  The point again?  People are more afraid these days.  Fear is somewhat unifying but NOT for everyone – only amongst those who look and act like you. The stranger is being seen as a danger again.

Fear makes for divisiveness more than unity.

Community is an answer to that fear but is it the answer to the actual danger we face?  What good is singing Kumbaya together if the actual threat is a Tsunami or pandemic?

The bible warns of the 4 horsemen, chaos, pestilence, famine and war.  Coronavirus fits.  And get this new threat of pestilence in biblical proportions….: locusts!  The horn of Africa and the Middle East are being swarmed by gazillions of locusts again.  And then there is the anti-Christ….(In Christian eschatology, the Antichrist or anti-Christ is someone recognized as fulfilling the biblical prophecies about one who will oppose Christ and substitute himself in Christ’s place before the Second Coming).

Isn’t Trump trying to do that?

Regardless of the madding thoughts this all generates, I can deduce only two things.  There are more people moving OTG and their motivation is more fear than a desire for Walden Pond.  Me…?  I started out at Walden and I am moving somewhat towards Zombie Apocalypse but I have no REAL perspective on it.

I could be a nut.

As previously confessed, I am more and more a pussy….. and, NOT having showers is simply unacceptable to me.  I pout and whine.  Worse than a pea under the mattress, it is.  And so it was with uncharacteristic focus and hard work I went at this shortcoming in my life and, tho it took days, if not weeks, we are now able to get hot, wet, wonderful showers again.

There is a God!

Nothing is easy, tho.  New pump, altering pipe lengths, replacing parts, finding new fasteners….the task is not a simple re and re.  It is a re and re and re and take a tea break.  Then go re and re some more the next day.  Sheesh.

But, well, a broken system is an opportunity to improve it and so we did a bit.  (Note-to-self: we still need a new project.  I will build a water shed and insulate the hell out out it – in better weather, of course).

But Sal got the current extra-dirty work as her assignment.  As I replaced the pump (and re-set the pressure switch which is different than every other pressure switch on the planet!), Sal cleaned the smaller tank.  That was an unpleasant chore.  First, we pumped out most of the water that was still at the bottom (and all sludgy).  Then Sal climbed inside.  Once inside, she began to scrub the bottom so that the sump pump, as it continued to suck out the contents, would catch the sludge and get it out, too.  Amazingly, this technique worked and our smaller tank is now clean.

Imagery: Peter Pumpkineater and his wife.

Sal, on the other hand, took the immediate first shower after.  And the second.

Despite mewling like a kitten/pussy, I stayed dirty and finished up with a few things before taking shower #3, 4 and 5.  And hour later, I was contemplating #6 and #7….just for the sheer pleasure of it.

For the record and those who are curious, the system broke because the heat tape failed.  I had the entire length of ‘system’ heat-taped, from the cistern to the house, over 100 feet and several different separate tapes.  All was left still intact except for the pump on which I had two separate heat tapes.  And yet, the pump had clearly split from ice expansion.

I cursed the pump and all the people associated with it.  But, as it turns out, it was not entirely the pump’s fault.  When I got everything apart I wanted to know what happened and so I put the heat tapes in the freezer and turned them on.  They WON’T actually go on unless the built-in thermo-switch recognizes freezing temperature (thus the odd use of the freezer).  Lo and behold, my tapes went stupid and recognized nothing.  Twenty minutes left in the freezer did NOT turn them on.  That means that they were NOT working when the pump froze.  Plugged in, lights indicating ‘on’ and yet….NOT on.

$450 and a helluva lot of work.  Well, mystery solved anyway.  AND me, Sal and the smaller tank are now extra clean!

Now….to find that damn pea!

Incy wincy Sally went up our water route
Down came the rain and washed our Sally out
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain
Now incy wincy Sally goes up the route again

OK….that rhyme was a bit of a stretch….the sun hasn’t come out.  But Sal is going back up today anyway.

You see…….the pipeline is a kilometer long (give or take a few feet).  It lies along the side of the steep ravine that contains the creek.  At the top of the ravine, there is a little pool and, in that little pool, there sits a pick-up strainer device that captures the water and sends it down the long 1″ pipe that terminates at our cisterns.  To get there the pipe goes downhill from an elevation of 120 feet to the beach and then runs along a natural rock wall for the greater distance to our place.  But it also has to ‘climb’ back up to get to our elevation at about 70 feet.  Basically, we have  50 feet of ‘head’ over almost 1000 yards/meters.  And water runs downhill.  ‘Should work!’

Or so one might think…………………….sometimes water defies gravity and it’s own fluid nature and just sits there.  And it acts in this recalcitrant way more often than you would think.  We have theories about this miracle of physics but not much else. ‘It’s clogged with sediment.’  ‘It’s air in the lines’.  ‘ It just takes time. Give it a day’. ‘The pickup is sucking air’. ‘Animals ate through the pipe!’ ‘A tree musta fallen on the line.’ 

Interestingly, all of the above wild guesses have manifested as true over the years…some more than others (only once did an animal chew through the line).  But…you never know which one it is until you ‘walk the line’.  Ergo, Sal goes bushwhacking.

The one that boggles my mind is the ‘give it a day’ suggestion.  Water is halfway down the hill.  A valve is opened at the bottom – about two hundred feet away – and we wait a day!!????  How does that make any sense?  Go ahead – I dare ya – get a pipe 200 feet long and pour a bucket of water down it…does it take a day or so to flow out the bottom?  Of course not!  And yet….that has been the best solution most of the time…..

The process requires going to the top to clear the pick-up and then, to ensure none of the mystery pipe gremlins are at work, one heads down-pipe to the first ball-valve and diverter and it is opened.  If water comes out there, then the top section is deemed clear.  And down goes Incy Wincy to the next diverter and repeats the exercise.

Yesterday, Sally went to the top and then to the next two diverters.  All good.  The third one was then opened and it did NOT run water.  Sal waited for a bit and declared a gremlin and came down.

“Maybe there is air in the line?  Or sediment?  Or maybe a tree fell on it. Most likely it’s still frozen somewhere.”  We have a habit of running through the list of possible causes every time as if that might help in some way.  It never does.  The only answer is to ‘walk the line’.

“I’m going to try again.” 

“Good idea.  Careful of your knees.  And while you are out there, look for more logs.  Ya did good yesterday.  And, oh yeah….what are you making for dinner tonight?”

The stream froze up.  But that’s to be expected.  It’s why we have cisterns – so any interruptions from the stream do not interfere immediately with our lives.

But the pump at the house also froze up (despite miles of heat tape and completely wrapped in insulation!).  But, well, it’s only money.  Just get a pump.  Put it in.  Back to normal.  Pump is being purchased tomorrow, delivered Thursday.

But, when the bloody pump froze up, it allowed all the water in the cisterns to flow out undetected.  One day I was siphoning water from the tank into carry totes, the next I was sucking air.  I climbed up and looked in, “Hey, Sal!  No water!  We are empty!  Both tanks!”

“What do we do?” 

“Well, I have no idea where in the system there is a leak so I guess we start looking for it and go from there.”

So, yesterday we took the system apart.  Even tho I knew the pump had broken, I did not see the hole in it (at the bottom side) and so, of course, we started at the other end.  Disconnected fillers, filters, ball valves, hoses, insulation and heat tape.  Took all day.  Found nothing wrong.  No holes.  Pulled out my little air compressor and pressurized the line.  It was intact.  All the precautions worked except for the efforts spent on the pump.

I went back, removed the pump and THEN saw the hole.  “That must have been it.  Look at that!  That’s a Grundfoss and the one recommended by Andrew Sheret.  But it has a real cheap, pot-metal adapter plate and that sucker folded up like a pancake.  Plastic in-line ball valves fared better.  Bloody waste of money, this!  And fuss and bother.  Never buy a Grundfoss!”

Our first pump failure was a Gould pump – the ‘BEST’ pump made.  It failed after ten years but, to be fair, it was not til I took it apart that I discovered why:  sediment build up.  The pump was fine but clogged up.  And now it was all apart and I had a new Grundfoss on the way.  I left the Gould in a bucket, installed the G’foss and away we went to the showers.  It was all good.

Until last week.  Down went the G’foss.  So, now I have two pumps-in-parts buckets and another new intact one coming.  We may get this fixed yet!

But – and here is the point of this blog – even if I get the system running, we have no water in the cisterns.  Even a new pump can’t pump water not there.

“I’m going up!”

“Sal!  It’s freezing.  It’s raining.  The stream is likely frozen at least in some places.  What can you do?”

“I can try.  I can see if the pick-up is blocked.  I can wiggle pipes to see if they are solid with ice.  I can try.  No?”

“I think the odds of success are slim but there is no point having a pump delivered if we can’t get water so…..yeah….I think it is a good idea….don’t try fixing things…just suss it out.”

She left in the rain.  She has her walkie-talkie.  A few minutes later she called, “I am gonna be a few extra minutes.  I saw a great log.  Don’t wanna miss it.  Gonna get it and tie it up for later.”

She’s got the right attitude, that’s for sure.  And she’s gonna need it.  There was a last minute cancellation and the hospital called and asked Sal if she wanted in earlier.  She said yes.  She goes in for a knee replacement Feb 7th.  We then reside in CR for 6 weeks while she goes through knee-physio.

What we have here is a woman whose knees are so bad they moved her up the awaiting-surgery list.  In the meantime, she is bushwhacking her way up the frozen creek to see if she can get us some water.

I dunno….isn’t there a medal or statue or trophy or something for partners like that? 

Oh yeah….one more fun thing for the almost-70’s to do when bored or NOT quilting….when we were checking the system, we had to check the tanks.  To really check the tanks, someone should go inside.  The whole at the top is NOT generous.  I can’t get in.  But Sal can.  So, she lowered herself into one 800 gallon black tank and sloshed about in 8 inches of water and ice.  She checked it out with a flashlight.  It was good.  And she was ready to go into the big tank next to it but it is taller than she is so once in, she would have trouble getting out.

“I think we should tip it over.  Then you can crawl in.”

“Good idea.  I do not like the thought of having the opening too high for me to reach.”

“By the way, Sal, after this….what are you making for dinner?”

I confess that it is still hard for me to think of myself as a senior.  But I am now 72 – that is senior. You’d think I’d ‘get it’ by now but I kinda think I am in a bit of denial.  I still attempt to do what I did and then have to rediscover (midway through the task) that I STILL can’t do that anymore!

I.e., last year I would carry two five gallon fuel totes full to the brim up the 50 odd stairs without stopping.  Of course, I collapsed at the top but I got there without stopping.  Today?  I stop twice…..and still collapse at the top.

Is there really so much difference from 71 to 72?  I actually think the difference showed up at 70 but I kinda pretended otherwise for a couple of years.  I can’t pretend anymore.  Old is old.  I think (for me, anyway) old age set in at 70.  Of course, I have jogging, golfing, vegan-ish friends who gave up alcohol and ‘everything bad’ and seem like they are going strong.  They smile alla time and are always going hiking or cross-country skiing and all that kinda stuff and they pretend they are happy.

They really bug me.

I am not a happy-hiker type of guy….carrying a water bottle?  Wearing a Fit-bit.  Walking is just too slow.  Dull.  I am still more of a moto-crosser kinda guy.  Ya know?  Or even a golf-cart….in a pinch….

Anyway, the point is that living OTG gets a bit more difficult as one ages.  Everyone likely knows that…but, it is NOT that the chores can’t be done.  They can.  And, to be honest, they can still be done rather easily (so what if I stopped twice?  It only took an extra minute for me to stop and rest).  The point is really just that: age slows you down but everything can still be done.  And we are still doing it.  I just gotta accept that I am even slower in 2021 than I was in 2020.

More to the point: Sal has to accept the fact that I am even slower than before.

So, what does that look like?  Well, today was book-club day.  But everyone around is snowed in with downed systems and fires that need tending……..and well, in the old days they would still boat through the sleet and slog through the snow to eat quinoa and talk about sad books.  Not today.  The somewhat senior-oriented book club reasonably postponed book club.  THAT is age acknowledgment.  THAT is sane.

I had a fun thing to do a few days ago.  It was below freezing, the wind was way up and I had to get back in the dark (and it turned out to be snowing, too) in a small boat.  I thought about it and cancelled.  Sanity prevailed.  But….well, that is not the ‘old me’.   A couple years ago, I would have gone….mostly out of a sense of macho….none of which is in evidence these days.  The loss of macho?  Or is it sanity?  I dunno….

I had to carry some stuff down a frozen ramp the other day.  If I fell, going in to the drink was likely.  So, like an old man, I slid down the ramp on my butt.  No macho required but I did need to change my jeans.

And so it goes.  Creeping decrepitude.  An erosion of ego, a curtailing of courage, a blocked bravado.  Old man, thy name is pussy.