Lemons

This was not the perfect weekend for Mr. Comfortable and me. The weather suddenly turned much cooler which is never a good thing for me. Mr. C wasn’t feeling particularly perky. Even the dogs seemed grumpy. My younger son, Pete, celebrated his birthday on Thursday which was very nice. He, his girlfriend, and her daughter had dinner here and I didn’t do any cooking! I’d made my son Bam’s Lemon Pound Cake 1 which he loves. Little did I know that those lemons would be the beginning of a weekend of lemons. And when life gives you lemons it seems you get a lot of lemons!

As a surprise for Pete’s birthday his girlfriend, Andi, came up with the idea of gathering a few of his close friends for a camping trip. I thought this was daring (insane) since the overnight lows were going to be in the low 40’s but they’re young. But in order to pull off the surprise Andi needed my help.

On Friday I had to get Pete to come over for several hours so Andi could make the long trip to pick up his friends, set up the campsite, and drop her younger daughter off at her aunt’s house. Since he wasn’t working Pete would question why Andi was sneaking equipment into the car and disappearing for long stretches. Getting Pete to my house is always easy. He helps Mr. Comfortable and me on an almost daily basis so asking him to come by wasn’t suspicious.

I told Mr. Comfortable that he had to act as if he were feeling really awful. This isn’t uncommon since his cancer diagnosis, so once again, there was nothing to arouse Pete’s suspicion. And for me to request Pete’s help with some of the more painful (for me) household chores is nothing new. So I sent Pete a text telling him his dad was feeling sick and I was in a lot of pain and needed help with some things. And, as expected, Pete showed up quickly.

That’s when the lemons began slinking into the house.

Before Pete arrived I’d scratched Remy vigorously to make sure there was plenty of loose hair on the carpet. Oh, yes, it was devious and Remy loved it! When Pete got to the house I told him I needed him to vacuum because Remy had inconsiderately shed everywhere! Don’t feel bad for Remy. He was in on the plan.

The lemons were moving in for the kill but I didn’t yet know it.

Pete vacuumed, as he always does, very thoroughly. And while he was vacuuming next to the entertainment center the vacuum touched something. There was an immediate loud noise and a very bright, large spark. But the vacuum was still running so we didn’t think much of it. We were naïve.

It turns out that the T.V. in the living room and the one in our bedroom are on the same breaker and the short or whatever it was had electrocuted both. At first we thought it had only executed the living room set but we soon discovered that it was more double homicide than a simple murder.

Mr. Comfortable and I only watch about 2 hours of television a day so losing the T.V.’s shouldn’t have been a big deal. But I realized, shortly after the untimely deaths of both T.V.’s, that I like to watch television when I have to take breaks from whatever I’m really doing. Unfortunately, this is more often than I’d realized. Sure, it’s just 5 minutes here and 10 minutes there but, without the television I was reduced to stretching out and staring at the floor. Watching the carpet is not stimulating.

By this time the lemons were covering their little lemon mouths to stifle the giggles. Creating mayhem, it seems, is some kind of perverse lemon hobby.

I was terrified. I knew that, without the distraction of some drama on T.V. Mr. Comfortable was going to start a conversation with me. Please don’t think I’m being mean. It’s just that Mr. Comfortable thinks that chats about quantum physics are understandable. Normal, even. I’m still trying to adjust to the idea that stars make noise.

I distracted Mr. Comfortable by suggesting he look into the innards of one of the sets to see if he could repair the. They’re the same brand so the means of death for one would be the means of death for the other. And it worked! He took one of them apart, found the problem, and then wandered off to find a replacement part online. And thus, Friday ended.

But the lemons weren’t happy. Blowing up two televisions should have satisfied them but they had more chaos up their sleeves (or wherever lemons keep their scrawny lemon arms).

Most Saturdays we take our dogs for a play date with a large group of other dogs. It’s the place the Birthday party was held. I thought getting the boys out to play and giving Mr. Comfortable and me a break with friends would be more than welcome.

The lemons had obviously been plotting all night.

Mr. Comfortable went to get ready to go and, shortly thereafter, came stomping out of the bedroom yelling something about hot water. I discovered it was the lack of hot water that had him stomping and yelling. There wasn’t any.

Naturally I had to turn on the water in the kitchen to prove to myself that there was really hot water. There had to be. I’m very partial to hot water for things like showering and doing dishes. Alas, there was no hot water in the kitchen either.

By this time the lemons were rolling on the floor, tears of maniacal joy flowing down their yellow faces.

The hot water heater would not stay on. A flood of water was cascading down the pipe that leads from the well to the tank, which made the heater decide that it should turn off to prevent fire and electrocution of any curious humans who might investigate. The lemons probably hadn’t counted on a self-controlled water heater.

After several calls to money-hungry repairmen I found one who would actually come, sans fee, to inspect the heater. The obvious problem was the water streaming down the sides of the tank. The real question was why was there water cascading over the top of the tank like some small-scale Niagara.

We were informed that when the hot water heater was installed a mere 4 years ago, the installer used steel nipples to join two sections of pipe. One longer section coming from the well and the other, shorter one leading into the tank were connected directly above the heater. Steel rusts. Rusty steel doesn’t hold things together well.

The lemons were, by this time, were clutching their sides and gasping “Stop! I’m going to pee!”

I’m calling the company that installed our hot water heater in the morning. They will have to repair the pipes, free-of-charge, or deal with my wrath. Mr. Comfortable has referred to me as “The Hulk” from time to time as getting me mad is a bad idea.

Mr. C assures me that the part needed to repair one of the sets will be here by Wednesday which probably means Friday. In the meantime Pete gave us one of the televisions he had at his house. Pete is a big believer in having a lot of extras of nearly everything, except hot water heaters.

The lemons weren’t happy that things were going to work out in spite of their best efforts to annihilate our joy with life. And it wasn’t going to get better for them. I cut the little buggers in halves and made lemonade!

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Author: Elizabeth

I'm a wife, mom, and grandma (known as Bam) who loves cooking, baking, gardening, and all things that go into making a cozy coop for my brood. I have a disability so you may pick up tips on how to do things when some things just don't work right!

6 thoughts on “Lemons”

  1. First off, I’m so sorry about your husbands diagnosis. I had to deal with the pain of my granny diagnosis rest her soul, so I know it’s not easy. And for those appliances, something is going on, like it’s the revenge of appliances. I kid you not, just the other day, another blogger had the same thing happen to her. I thought for a minute I mixed up post.

    Liked by 1 person

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