Dirt, dirt, dirt—globs of orangish clay in piles next to my front sidewalk. The plumber with decades of experience rides a mini front loader digging down to address the problem, How can I live here all these years and not see these pipes? He scoops out large piles of dirt and looks to his hefty helper guy to dig further with the shovel. I am in awe.
For weeks I’m asking plumbers and others about this gurgling slowed down drain problem. This is time- consuming and all- consuming.
I am at the mercy of various plumbers, repair people, and the insurance companies. How true it is that we are all connected. The water system, the electrical systems, the roads. How could we ever think we can make it all alone? How curious that one day last year when granddaughter Carmen was just eight, she said,
“I’d like to thank the people that make the roads. We couldn’t go anywhere if they didn’t make them.”
So true. Later that day we pull up next to a construction site and signal to a guy leaning on a shovel, “We just want to thank you for working on the roads!” I say.
Carmen nods. He looks back and forth at us, shrugs and allows a slight smile.
Carmen nods and smiles at me.
Last week this savvy plumber came out to assess the situation and determined that digging up the ground to replace a piece of pipe, a second time, was needed. Now he is back, just at the time he promised. I notice his shaved head, his twinkling blue eyes genuine and warm. There is even a little gray around the edges of his mustache. I slow down inside.
He explains,
“This root was just 2 feet beyond where it was repaired before but wasn’t visible. I am sure this will solve the problem.”
I feel a growing sense of relief.
He shifts back and forth one leg to another and gets ready to jump down into the hole and cut the pipe with a small rotating saw.
The assistant guy— stands by the orange pit and watches, leaning on his shovel. Recalling Carmen’s comment about thanking the people who make the roads, I stand next to him while he watches the plumber guy cut the pipe with a small, electric rotating saw. That slowed down feeling stays with me. My gratitude grows and I come into the present moment with the extra helper guy.
“Do you own a home?”
I look at him. He’s got short curly hair, a clipped beard, mud on his worn jeans, seems grateful for a little break. He even has orange dirt on the keys hanging from his belt loop.
Suddenly we are just two people thrown together by the moment and I feel camaraderie with him alongside the gratitude.
“If I were to buy a house, I’d move to Carolina.” He says.
“Warmer there.”
“Yes, and less expensive.”
“You’ve got skills to manage your own place if you become a homeowner.”
He nods, glancing at me, then looking down in the hole again.
The plumber climbs out of the hole with a piece of pipe he just cut and a large root.
“Ahhh, there it is!” I say.
“Yep, that’s the problem.”
How grateful I am for just the right guy or gal who appears when most needed and can help the situation. Today I am grateful to the plumber with aplomb. He knew just what to do and did it with grace and confidence.
“I am in awe and grateful to you guys!” I shake my head and feel a great weight lifted. Later that evening I find myself laughing with abandon. Now the water can move freely.