Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Domestic Culture, or A leaky room of her own

On Monday, we found streak of mold growing in the back of our closet. Apparently, an errant shelf screw had found not a wall stud, but a bathroom pipe. (Oops!) So much for the elaborate closet system that Adam and I proudly installed all by ourselves last fall. We called a plumber. We called a carpenter. We whacked out the rotten bit of drywall and draped hanging clothes all over the house.

I carted off the photo albums. (Thankfully, these weren't damaged, but they'd been doing a boffo job of hiding the streak.) I sat at my desk and tried to calculate what these emergency repairs might cost. Staring up at the ceiling, I decided my estimate was too low. Because there, in the ceiling plaster, was proof of a giant new leak.

On Tuesday night, I was alone and lonely and our farmhouse was awash with ghosts. Like mute party guests, they floated in corners, wearing my slacks and Adam's suits.

Unnerved by the silence (and the leaks), I blasted this CD and was startled by how quickly the ghosts and the anxieties disappeared. The right song and a pair of high-heeled boots moved me to dance, first in the kitchen, and then all over the house.

Was feeling giddy, feeling tall. Feeling a little crazy. And deeply, deeply happy.

So that's my writing formula this week: Boots. EFO. Inexplicable energy.

6 Comments:

At 5:56 PM, Blogger Professor Dyke said...

Yikes about the mold! Everytime I hear a mold story I can't help but think of Andrew Hudgins' poem, "Green Inside the Door."

 
At 6:26 PM, Blogger YelloCello said...

Mold is decidedly an unpleasant thing to have lurking on one's living space. Prof. Dyke, can you point me to the right Hudgins' collection to find "Green Against the Door"? I couldn't locate it on the web.

 
At 10:34 PM, Blogger What Now? said...

Ick, so sorry to hear about all of the domestic leakiness. In our first year in our current house, three of our radiators all decided to spring major, gushing leaks at 6:30 a.m. the day after Christmas--no fun. We got the plumber to come out and fix things, but somehow as part of this simultaneous eruption of our heating system, a week later I looked up at the dining room ceiling and realized that there was a huge bulge in it, which turned out to be water pooling. At this point we were out of money, so even though we were having a huge house-warming party the next week, we just patched up the bulge and left it there in all of its ugliness for well over a year before finally getting it fixed.

All of which is to say--you have my sympathies on the leaky problems!

 
At 11:17 PM, Blogger bitchphd said...

Mold very very bad. Having nicked the pipe with diy project, awful. Condolences.

 
At 4:11 AM, Blogger Professor Dyke said...

The Andrew Hudgins' poem is from his collection titled The Never-Ending. He teaches in Ohio, which sort of makes him AHFO. Hee.

 
At 3:39 PM, Blogger YelloCello said...

What Now and Prof. B, thank you for your words of sympathy! With luck, we may be have use of the MOLD-FREE closet by Sunday night. The leak in the roof is another story. The handyguy can't fix it until it stops raining... The way the weather's been around here, I'm starting to think that we should dismantle the house for parts and commence building an ark!

Prof. Dyke, thanks for the AHFO tip. Will look up the collection, because I'm intrigued and because I liked the skunk poem you recommended a few weeks ago.

 

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