It is the day after Christmas and the hardware
store was packed, much to my surprise. I had
to replace that toilet handle.
Top was off. Water off a quarter turn. Flush.
Unhook the two chains. Put in new handle rod.
Take out and bend to fit. Back in and tighten.
Attach chains. Water on. Test flush. Oops, tank
refill not triggered. Hook chains in different holes
to adjust pull. Tank refills. Another miracle for
the record books. A ten minute repair instead of
hours. (The kitchen sink faucet is starting to
fail; that will be next. What are the chances of
me being in another country before it does? Not
good.) I am a Mr. Fix-it out of necessity, certainly
not by design. The older I get, the less fixing I
want to do. (But we do.) We had our standard
weekday breakfast and breakfast brew today.
She gave me a sweet three ounce espresso
cup. It is a great red. It will get its first use in a
matter of moments. As will the coffee press
that came with it. I’ve wanted a small press
forever. I can’t wait. (Do I need a coffee!) I’m
back; I didn’t wait. For my first use, I tried four
ounces of water to a good scoop of fresh
coarse ground espresso. Four minute brew,
with some absorption gave me a full 3 oz.
cup. Just what I needed. Lovely indeed.
(I should have had a double. Next time.)
Now I’m thinking dinner. I’ll probably use the
Brussels sprouts I had planned to us this
weekend but didn’t. (I still need a manicure.)
Which reminds me. A while back I was
pulling out of a shopping area near us when I
noticed a new sign, “Polish Room.” I thought
that was odd but how quaint. I didn’t think we
had a large enough Polish population to
support a local Polish club. When I got home
I told her that the old nail spa is gone, it is
now the Polish Room. She laughed at me
and snorted, “No, silly, Polish Room, not
Polish Room. New owners.” Perception is not
everything; it is something. And often wrong.
I thought for sure it was a club of some sort.
If perception is something; truth is everything.
Christmas ended yesterday for some. For
others it continues. And continues. Truth.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)