Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Fuck grout

Reposted from somewhere else because I suck. Like a vacuum cleaner.

I'm just now back online after running home so that B's stepdad, Al, could hack a hole in our bathroom wall. All we asked was that he take off the wall sink so that he could replace it with the pretty pedestal sink we bought when the bathroom was done being retiled. He had to replace the water valves that come out of the wall and then affix to the taps because the standard valve size is not the same size as it was in 1942. Fine. He forgot or misunderstood or something about the bathtub, and he thought we were getting a new tub instead of just new handles and a faucet. When he opened the access panel to do that stuff, we discovered that the hot water pipe is really corroded. Really corroded = all white and blue. Fortunately, it's a 100% copper pipe. I mean, I guess. Copper is good, I think.

So Al didn't have the tools to do whatever it is that he needs to do that stuff, and he has to come back later. Instead, he decides that the sink drain pipe needs to be replaced and he'll do that just now instead of doing the bathtub faucet, et al., right now. He pulled off the tile from the wall (no problem, it has to come off before the new tile goes on) all the way from the water valves to the floor. He used a box cutter to cut through the feltboard or whatever it is ceiling in the basement so that he could see the drain pipe better since it wasn't cooperating. There's a joist in the way, apparently, and everything is fit in nice and tight.

We have no bathroom sink, no water to the bathtub, and we have to wear shoes to use the toilet because there are particles of all kinds all over the place. We knew that we couldn't use the shower while the tiling was in progress, but Al cut off all water to the bathtub. We knew that having the sink gone from just before to just after the tiling work would mean brushing our teeth and whatnot in the kitchen. However, we have to start showering at Natalie's (of ultrasound/baby skull fame) a day earlier than planned. That also means that we can't wash our hands in the bathroom at all and that all grooming must be done in the kitchen.

And when I arrived home today, I ran inside to drop off my stuff and pee (for the last time shoeless), and when I went back out to clean up some stuff before Karen and Al arrived, I found Quid sitting on the back step. Outside. And Muggle ran around the corner. Of the garage. The kitchen screen had broken, and they both got out of the house.

The kitchen, mind you, has three windows: the one over the sink that's a pain to use and has not yet had its screen replaced for the year, the one with the screen that got damaged last year and still has its storm up, and the one with the newly broken screen. With the door open and the top of the one window open, we might be able to get enough of a cross breeze for Brooke to avoid heatstroke while cooking all of the damn vegetables the farm is sending us this summer.

I've been taking window pictures and bathroom pictures, and I'll be sure to post them for the general gawking public.


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