February 10, 2008

• Old and frail

  I got a late night call from my sister early this week.  There was a lot of water seeping into the
  basement and my sister didn’t know what to do. 
  I dropped everything and rushed over. 
  I was hoping it wasn’t the finished part of the basement where we had
  just renovated after the summer flood.  It
  had been raining hard throughout the evening and somehow the water must have
  seeped in.  My sister said she’s been
  mopping like crazy but the water just wouldn’t stop. 

  To make a long story short, one of the drainpipes for the eaves
  trough came loose and the water started to puddle around the side of the
  house.  I put it back on but there was a
  huge crack at the bottom of the pipe and the water continued to gush out close
  to the house.  I slid a large plastic tarp
  under the leaky eaves trough drain pipe. 
  This covered the ground and the water drained further away into the
  backyard.  My brother came by later on
  and we shoveled the snow away from the house just to be safe.  After some more mopping, we could tell that
  the water finally stopped coming into the house.  Luckily it was on the unfinished side of the
  basement. 

  Throughout the summer, we had been taking note of the things
  we needed to fix around the house.  The
  garage is starting to sag, I know some of the beams supporting the floors
  probably need to be replaced or strengthen. Every room needs to be renovated.  There’s just so much on the list. 

  Our home was never a fancy house.  It’s a simple 3 bedroom bungalow with one
  bathroom that dated back to the ‘50s.  I’ve
  written about it before in my other blog so I wouldn’t go into it here.  It has served us well over the years.  It was a refuge for an immigrant family
  struggling to make it in this new country.  Now over time, it has started to break
  down.  I’m angry at the house for failing
  after so many years of faithful service. 
  Why now?  I’m angry at all the
  costly options and fixes that we may have to put in.  

  Throughout that evening, my dad was confused and
  nervous.  I would give him quick updates
  on how much water was in the basement and what had happened with the eaves
  trough.  I was cold and soaking wet.  My boots had also failed me.  I was angry at being called out from my nice,
  warm, cozy condo to deal with this mess. 
  I was angry at the house and wanted to sell it right there and then.  He looked confused.  He slowly thumbed through the Yellow Pages
  and said maybe he could call one of these eaves trough repair services.  I nodded my approval. 

  I’m angry at him getting old and frail.  He used to be a take charge type of guy.  He took care of everything.  There was always food on the table and a roof
  over our heads even during the toughest times. 
  He somehow got us through it.  I’m
  angry at the whole aging process and how cruel it can be.  He gave me Strunk’s Elements of Style, the
  Oxford Dictionary and Roget’s Thesaurus when I was in school.  But now he struggles to find the simple words
  and I finish his sentences for him.  I’m
  just angry at time marching on, trampling at everything in sight – no exceptions.   

  • 1:40 PM
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