Drip, drip, drip

The kids are home from school today, but instead of doing fun things, they'll be waiting while Mama tries to convince the insurance adjuster that our dirty laundry was on that closet floor and therefore needs to be part of the settlement.

This is the fallout from Thursday's toilet catastrophe. Apparently, after a routine flush, the toilet never got the signal that it was full. The water dutifully kept running, and by the time it was discovered — at a point in another room, 15 feet and three walls away from the actual toilet itself — nearly $10,000 in damage had been done.

Where there was Pergo and carpet, there is now bare concrete. Where there was peace and quiet, now there are fans, roaring. I like sleeping with the sound of a fan, but this one is a little extreme.

But where there is disaster, there is The Wife, who kept her head even as she sloshed her way through our bedroom. After it was determined that towels weren't going to cut it, the first phone call went to a friend knowledgeable about house stuff. He said her next call needed to be to the insurance company. Barely an hour after the initial discovery, the fans and dehumidifers were roaring. This prevented even more damage and more disruption. I shudder to think
of what would have happened if it had been me left in charge while she was somewhere off working.

And because she's smart like that, where there could have been a seriously bad weekend, there was instead Easter, and a great time. We took the kids fishing yesterday. Didn't catch a thing, but it was worth the time anyway. And Saturday, we were distracted by the news from a distant dog show, where Champion Dog 2 won big ribbons for being the best in her breed and one of the top 10 of nearly 650 entries overall.

And in a couple of hours, the fans will be gone, and we'll be able to hear the usual chaos again.

Turn the key to the left

For most of January, I was in Australia. For most of February, I was in North Carolina. Suffice to say those two places are separated by a lot more than 10,000 miles and a really big ocean. Suffice also to say that neither of those places is home.

My calendar shows no items in green type this week. This means no trips. No airport parking, no expense reports, no Planter's Fruit and Nut Trail Mix. I have become inexplicably addicted to Planter's Fruit and Nut Trail Mix -- but I only eat it at airports. Don't ask me why, because I just won't have a good answer. Traveling for business requires a certain level of obsessive-compulsive disorder. It's important to do things the same way, every time. Traveling is unnatural enough as it is; the routine is the reality, and any deviation from the routine can cause enough of a wrinkle in the space-time continuum to drive you completely over the edge.

For the next 10 days or so, blessedly, none of that matters. I'm home, and doing Home Things. Sunday was one of those glorious This-Is-Why-We-Live-in-Florida days. Clear, bright, 72 degrees. The Boy and I detailed my car. I took a short but rewarding motorcycle ride. The Wife was looking glorious, as she always does. Just a wonderful day, the kind of day I wish I could go to File --> Save As and recover from a folder whenever I needed to recharge.

For the rest of this week, I'll commute back and forth to The Office. Cool mornings lie ahead; it'll be Thursday before it'll be warm enough to make motorcycle commuting practical. Catching up on the inevitable work that piles up when I'm out will keep me busy during the day. Home-cooked meals (for a change) will keep me fed during the evening. It's going to be a good week. I hope yours will be, too.