Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
☼ ☼ ☼
Fast forward a week or two.
I was lying in bed one night watching a DVD, Michael dozing lightly beside me, when
it occurred to me out of the blue that our brand new cisterns were positioned, not only dir-
ectly over our bedroom, but squarely over my side of the bed.
If the roof collapsed I'd be crushed in an instant. And it wouldn't be a softly-lit death
scene with violins and pretty speeches—I'd be flattened like a doormat.
This image, which I decided not to share with Michael, kept me wide awake and fo-
cused on our bedroom ceiling with laser-like intensity for several evenings. Occasionally
I would drop off only to wake up in a cold sweat. Destruction, I was certain, lurked just
above me. And let's not forget that the five hundred thread-count sheet set I'd chosen with
such loving care would also be completely trashed.
I tried to reason with myself, an exercise that invariably sounds more feasible on paper
than in practice. But, to be honest, if I've reached the point where I
need
to reason with
myself, I've progressed beyond the cozy realm of logic into some fuzzy purgatory of para-
noia.
I considered creeping into the living room for some much-needed shut-eye. Or to one
of the downstairs bedrooms. But I decided against it, mainly because explanations would
be required the following morning and frankly I wasn't up to explaining anything.
I was too exhausted.
☼ ☼ ☼
By the time Michael's sister, Maria, and her friend Jennifer came down for a visit a few
months later, I had learned to appreciate our new cisterns in all their glory.
The girls were giddily enjoying a break from the joys of motherhood (both have young
children), and everything was peachy.
Until Maria decided to wash her hair.
There she was in the downstairs shower, lathering away, gazing wistfully down our hill
towards the ocean, when—guess what?
The water shut off.
Jennifer, napping in the next room, heard Maria's cry of distress and came running to
her friend's rescue. Within a couple of minutes Jennifer was bounding up the stairs to tell
us the big news.
Unfortunately Michael wasn't home—he'd gone to the hardware store to pick up some
garden-related gadget or other.
“Maria's in the shower and there's no water,” Jennifer blurted out as soon as I emerged
from the bedroom.
How embarrassing, I thought. And then of course it hit me.
Search WWH ::
Custom Search