Consumed by Curiosity

For big mistakes.

Relationships fascinate me; especially those complicated interactions we have with family, friends and ourselves. I’m always analyzing why I acted or reacted in a certain way in an uncomfortable situation, or why someone else behaved the way they did under certain circumstances. 

In my relentless search for answers, I learned something new about myself. 

One bright spring morning I pulled up on the faucet in my bathroom like I do every morning, only on this particular day nothing happened. Water didn’t flow from the brushed nickel fixture. I checked the kitchen faucet and also found no water. Whatever the problem was, it had effected my entire house.

Our home is nestled on a lush tree covered lot tucked in the back of a remote community. We’re surrounded by acres of wild land. Out here in the sticks, our water comes from a deep well next to the house. I’m happy to sacrifice the convenience and reliability of city utilities for my love of nature. That is, until something goes wrong. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often. But when it does, my handy husband Joe, is usually quick to diagnose and fix the problem. But on this Friday morning he happened to be out of town on a business trip and wouldn’t be home until Monday. Being distant from town, we often rely on ourselves to do routine maintenance and make minor repairs. Joe has said, “This lifestyle is not for someone who doesn’t know how to turn a wrench.” 

Rather than pay weekend rates for a plumber, I decided our daughter Niki and I could get by using bottled water until Joe came home. Niki wouldn’t be happy, but then again she was a rebellious teenage at the time, being not-happy with me was the norm.  

I called Joe across time zones for help. He explained how I could temporarily bypass the well’s pressure switch and have water to the house for short periods of time. “Only long enough to brush your teeth or take a one-minute shower,” he warned. It wasn’t fun, or easy, but we weren’t home much that weekend either, because it was horse show weekend. Between Niki’s schooling and showing, we were at the equestrian center more than we were at the house. When home, I’d tried to make our rough digs sound exotic and told Niki we were camping. Needless to say, she wasn’t fooled and treated me to a double dose of her scary blue dagger eyes.   

Sunday afternoon when we arrived home from the horse show, my neighbor called over the cluster of palmetto bushes that separate our yards to say, “Hi.” After the usual pleasantries, I casually mentioned that our well wasn’t working. When he heard we’d gone without running water for three days he insisted on coming right over to take a look. He took the small pressure switch apart and found a tiny, dead lizard inside. From the crispy condition of the reptile’s body we guessed it had touched exposed hot wires inside the box which consequently killed it along with the pressure switch. My neighbor was confident that it would only take a few minutes to replace the unit. If I wanted to go buy the new part, he was happy to do the repair.  

I called the local Ace Hardware and described the type of control switch I wanted to the pleasant woman who answered the phone. She put me on hold to check their inventory. When she returned she assured me that she had just what I needed in her hand. Then she asked, “How far away do you live?” I said, “Twenty minutes. Why, what time do you close?” She hesitated and then said, “Now.” Just then, the wind shifted. Cruelly, my nose burned with the somewhat sweet, but mostly bitter brew of dried sweat and horse manure that permeated my grimy clothes. Now baited by the promise of a luxurious hot bath I desperately wished for running water. Then she said, “Knock when you get here. I’ll wait.” 

When I arrived at the hardware store, my new best friend Stella, was seated on a wooden stool inside the darkened store. Her round face, illuminated by the bright screen of her smart phone, was a shining beacon of hope. As I trotted up to the storefront, she unlocked the door, pushed it open and then welcomed me inside. “Thank you so much for waiting. I really appreciate it,” I said. She smiled and said, “If you need one of these,” she pointed to the small grey box I recognized on the sales counter, “I knew you had no water.”  

The sun peered through the tree line when I arrived back home. Within a few minutes the neighbor had my well repaired. Overflowing with joy, I broke into a happy dance. I bounced around not caring that my goofy, freestyle moves, might tarnish his opinion of me forever. I’d rejoined modern society and had working, indoor plumbing; nothing else mattered. That night I celebrated our free flowing taps, soaking in my garden tub, blanketed in silky peeks of lavender scented bubbles.  

Niki and I recovered from our weekend’s hardships quickly. Life returned to the usual churn and any remnants of our minor sufferings were easily forgotten.   

Then one day, I was working on my computer in my home office. We had our typical Florida summer afternoon thunderstorms. I thought nothing of the usual power blips and short outages. We were never blacked-out for long. The lights had been burning uninterrupted for some time, so I was surprised when I tried to go online and got a blank screen, instead of MSN. A window popped up indicting my computer wasn’t connected to the internet. I played with the connection on my computer to no avail. I climbed underneath my desk to check the router. The tower that should have twinkled with the bright lights of a Christmas tree was gloomily black. Niki came in to my office complaining that the cable was out, she couldn’t watch animal planet and worst of all it was shark week! Niki’s a diehard shark week fan, having never missed a day since she was old enough to command control of the TV’s remote. As far as she was concerned, it couldn’t have been worse if I’d kissed her in public.

The list of inconveniences began to mount. I couldn’t get my email or check the weather for the current temperature, one of my indulgent quirks. My scheduled website update couldn’t be done. My afternoon plan to search the web for images of Tuscan landscapes for a new commission, would have to wait. How would I survive without my Facebook fix of puppies swarming their owners’ videos? My Google Plus, LinkedIn, Pinterest and Goodreads notifications would be lost in space without a dock to call home. No Pandora! No music. That was worse than no air-conditioning in August! In my head, I ran through all the internet applications I used and was amazed how many I accessed on a daily basis. The wealth of information I’d blindly depended on and the worldwide reach I’d grown so fond of, were now gone. The more I thought about it, the more restless I became. I was anxious, isolated and cut off from ̶̶ well from everything.  

This called for swift action. I’d call the cable company, explain our dire situation and rant loud and long enough for them to send a repairman out immediately. I’d Google Verizon to get the customer service phone number. But wait. No internet. Shit! No phone book either. Is there even a number to call information anymore, I wondered? It didn’t matter. We had no phone service. Dam that so called money saving bundle I fell for. My head began to throb. I swore I heard a distant beep now and again. I tried my cell phone. Without the internet powered booster, the M-Cell, there was no signal. Shit. Shit. Shit!

Of course Joe was out of town. He was relaxing in a five star hotel with cloud-soft pillows, housekeeping to make his bed and working internet service. 

The silence was deafening, the stillness profound. My to-do list screamed for attention. And yet I was paralyzed, powerless to-do anything. With my Girl Scout skills, I was better equipped to handle being in a leaky kayak without a paddle adrift in the black waters of our gator infested Everglades then face a blank screen.      

That darn beep sounded again. 

I dropped my useless cell phone on the desk and stepped out into the hallway to go search for the source of the persistent noise. After a few minutes I found myself sweating in the garage, staring at the Verizon FiOS service box. The beep was accompanied by a flashing red light indicating that the backup battery was exhausted and needed to be replaced. By dumb luck, I followed the power box’s electrical cord to an outlet and found it plugged into one with a ground fault interrupter. Could it be that easy? The nearby lightning strikes earlier in the day must have blown the GFI. With the simple push of a small button on the outlet, the breaker reset. Magically the red warning light went out and the assertive beep went silent as a satisfied puppy. Our service was thankfully restored.  

    

Back inside the house I stopped by Niki’s room. She was happily watching TV and cuddling with her sleeping dog while, learning what makes the bull shark the most aggressive apex predator. In the office I settled into my desk chair and found my own comfort level restored by the pulsing green lights on the internet router. 

For several minutes I sat there charmed by the lights, lulled as surely as if they’d been the drowsy flames of a dying camp fire. Then my eyes wandered over to my page long list and the respite came to an abrupt end. I started at the top with- post new class dates on my website. The remainder of my workday was routine. I spent it absorbed in my efforts to whittle away at the rest of my list and didn’t spare another thought on my morning troubles.

It wasn’t until sometime later, during one of my long morning walks when most of my contemplative thinking occurs, that I reflected back on that day. With the clarity of passing time, I poured over my irrational, knee-jerk reaction, to being without access to the world beyond my wooded cul-de-sac.

Then it hit me like a wet washcloth to the face. That awkward moment when you surprise yourself, and are doubly shocked it’s still possible to surprise yourself. I thought I was tough. After all, I delivered two children, I went first into the Aliens vs Predator ride (okay, in my dreams) and I braved three miserable days without running water. But the real blow wasn’t that I’m not so tough. The real offense came from admitting a seemingly innocent, modern convenience was my Achilles heel. 

Bottom line, I was willing to go three days without running water, but not half an hour without the internet. You might be surprised at your own reaction under such circumstances. It’s a strange world we live in when creature comforts are trumped by virtual connectivity. A world in which shampooing your hair is secondary to checking your email. When no running water is bearable, while missing videos of dim-wits on pogo-sticks jumping onto treadmills, is not. 

In my defense, there’s nothing better than a good belly laugh. And if there’s a winning combination that delivers laugh-out-loud fun every time, it’s definitely, pogo-sticks vs. treadmills. 

I’m left wondering what my next revelation will be and when it might occur? I can only hope there are more enlightening nuggets about our ever evolving relationships and how we adapt to our rapidly changing world, to glean from the experience. 

Live in the moment,

Lisa