explored the possibilities . . . art, life, love . . . in three words
Saturday, December 13, 2008
. . . made no art
yesterday. . . didn't even get down to the basement except to put away Christmas decoration boxes and hid Christmas presents. Yesterday morning I was absolutely bent on fixing my kitchen sink drain and garbage disposal. It has been screwed up since Thanksgiving and it needs to be fixed. The last time I called a plumber for this problem, he came out, pushed the little red button under the disposal unit and charged me $65. (I have fixed innumberable garbage disposals in my many houses. . . I just forgot about the rest button that time.) Well, I tried all the usual stuff, with the little crank thing and the reset button, but nothing. To the internet: if you hear the motor when you turn on the disposal, then something is stuck in the rotors. That's my problem. As well as a slow drain. First the plunger and unclogging the drain. That went okay. But what a nasty dirty stinky job. . . no wonder plumbers charge what they do. I could barely control my gag reflex. Per the internet: if the little wrench thing doesn't work, or you don't have one, get a wooden broomstick and stick it in the disposal and force the rotors to turn. Okay, although I had the wrench, it wasn't doing the trick, so I tried the broomstick. Still, motor sounds for a while, then stops, still no churning of the rotors. Suffice it to say that this went on all morning. I gave up. Temporarily.
Just as I was headed down to the studio, Stef called and asked if I could pick up Betsy. She was apparently sick, had thrown up at her "school" and had to go home. Within the hour. It takes almost that long to get to where she goes to school. When I got there, she met me at the door, bouncing around in glee. She got in the car and asked if we could go to Wendy's for chicken nuggets. Obviously the child wasn't too sick if she could stomach that food. I asked her about throwing up. She told me somebody's dad had brought in "barfy" barbeque for lunch, and she didn't like it so she threw up. But she was feeling fine. Then to the bookstore, where we picked up a few Berenstain Bears books, then to the grocery store for supplies, then to my house where we made cookies, then read all the books. A great afternoon.
Betsy has become a little "potty-mouth". . . not bad language, just a lot of information about her bodily functions and why and how and where things go into her body and come out again. The subject of poop came up time and time again. Like, "Did you know that I pooped on Joey's head?" (Wild laughter ensued.) I don't know how her mother and father deal with this, but I tended to either ignore it, take it seriously and pretend to be grossed out, or discuss with her scientifically the process of eating, processing and elimination of her food. Thank goodness she's only four. . . I could make up a lot of stuff and not be questioned too closely on the accuracy of the information.
Well, this post has been kind of disgusting. . . repairing garbage disposals and the gastrointestinal system of my granddaughter. Back down to the studio today. . .