Yikes! Now I really need that vacation
| Thursday, Jul 09 2009 05:03 PM
Last Updated Friday, Jul 10 2009 10:49 AM
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As you read this, I am gripping a kayak paddle or a can of beer or some other implement of summer idleness. At least I hope I am, because getting myself into position to vacate the premises for cooler, greener climes about killed me.
If summer vacations are overrated -- and I'm not saying they are -- it's because the run-up to that long-awaited day of escape can be an exhausting succession of small ordeals.
It started with the leaky faucet. It wasn't just a drip -- it was a thread-thin but steady stream. Over the course of a 10-day vacation, that leak might have wasted the equivalent of an acre of Mendota tomatoes (or Delta smelt, depending how you feel about it). Ignoring that faucet wouldn't merely be expensive, it would be morally repugnant.
Hiring a plumber, even for such a simple job, might cost roughly the same as dinner for four at the Mendocino Grille. But the consequences of not hiring a plumber -- and attempting the job myself -- might cost me more.
"We can do this," said my friend, with whom I'd just enjoyed a long Saturday lunch at Luigi's.
"I believe in plumbers," I said.
"Oh, come on," he said. "Shut off the water and get me a wrench. Watch how easy this is."
A couple of grunts and our little problem had become a substantially bigger problem. We went to the home-improvement store with a longer parts list than we'd anticipated. Some parts fit, some didn't, and as the afternoon wore on, it became apparent that plumbers really do earn their pay. A very capable one came calling two days later.
My other pre-vacation crisis also involved water, or lack thereof. Two large swaths of backyard lawn had turned crispy brown almost overnight. This told me that (1) at least some sprinklers weren't working properly, and (2) if I let things go much longer, with a likely string 105-degree days ahead, I'd return from vacation to find a miniature replica of the Oklahoma panhandle, circa 1936.
Sprinklers I can actually fix, having worked in the landscaping profession back in the days when my knees were fully functional. But I'd practically been working dawn to dusk at the office, making sure things would be adequately covered in my absence. Frankly, I didn't feel like repairing PVC pipes by the light of the moon, so I called my man Florencio, who called his man Emilio.
"Many problems," Emilio told me.
Yes, many problems, not the least of which was the resident golden retriever's fondness for attacking and killing sprinkler heads as they pop out of the ground. It wasn't enough that Molly and her 15-pound co-conspirator had acid-bleached most of the lawn, they had apparently decided to defend our vulnerable family from that modern suburban scourge, the black-plastic spitting gopher.
Originally, I'd planned on hiring Emilio just to replace the two bad solenoids in the control box, but I ended up giving the green light to much more, as long as he promised to throw in behavioral therapy for my four-legged sprinkler-eater.
Then there was our vacation vehicle -- my 10-year-old SUV. This would be a 1,200-mile round trip in a conveyance with more than 110,000 miles on the odometer. I brought it to John Axt, my philosopher-mechanic, for a pre-vacation once-over: lube and oil, belts and hoses, fluids and filters, brakes and battery, the whole thing. All systems go.
We were finally ready to roll, but I'd spent so much money trying to assure myself we'd be OK, I now realized we'd have to cut out some stuff to make up the difference.
How about a family fast, kids? Nothing but water for 10 days. Think of the cleansing effect. That was not well received. How about peanut butter and jelly in the hotel room instead of steak and seafood in the Chart Room? Not appreciated either.
Maybe I'll make it a dad-only fast. Starting soon. Like, right after this beer.
E-mail Robert Price at rprice@bakersfield.com. He's also at www.stubblebuzz.com and twitter.com/stubblebuzz.
