gurgling blue whales and economic swans of Paradise
I hope that this week finds you happy and healthy. Here, all is well. Nazy and I have agreed that we’re ‘settled’. Things are completely unpacked: except for the overflow in storage somewhere in Anaheim. We’re enjoying the massive American kitchen machinery. There’s even a garbage disposal.
“... which was not permitted in Switzerland because they pollute the water table,” I observed as I flicked the on-switch. The under-sink disposal began to grind and vibrate.
“Dan!” Nazy interrupted. “That sounds almost lewd.”
“I can’t hear you!” I shouted over the cacophony. I turned it off when I saw that it wasn’t not draining,”
“Celery? Artichoke?” Nazy queried as she examined the bubbling swamp emerging in the sink. “You know that you shouldn’t put..”
“You left the celery in the sink, Nazy. In the sink that has the garbage disposal. So..”
“You knew, Dan..”
I was wracked with indecision. Should I pursue the ‘stupidity’ excuse? (“I really didn’t know, my dear?&rdquo
Would the ‘it’s not my fault’ ploy succeed? (“You put the celery in the sink, so..&rdquo. Perhaps the ‘begging for forgiveness’ strategy was best. (“I am so, so very, very sorry. I simply screwed up.&rdquo I opted for the even if (as unlikely as it seems) ‘I made a mistake’,
“... that did not cause this particular problem, Nazy. Celery or artichoke would wrap around the blades and the motor would heat up and freeze. In contrast, this is a drainage problem that can be easily fixed with a plunger.”
“Easily fixed?”
“Of course. If I just had a plunger.” I said - before embarking on a drive to the hardware store. I returned with ...
“... a world class plunger, my dear. Watch this!” Appropriately, I plunged the device into the swamp and applied my own mighty muscles to the task. There was a satisfying gurgle and then water began to spurt out of the detergent holder and up into the adjacent sink. The guest toilet ‘burped’. The swamp did not drain.
“I hope we can get this cleared before the alligators discover it,” I thought.
“Now what are you going to do?” Nazy asked.
“I’m going to wait.” I replied. “The water will slowly drain and then we will try again. And, Nazy?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful if you have to flush the toilet.”
“Careful? What does that mean?”
While waiting for the bog to drain, I responded to a Skype call from Darius. He described his current research.
“All I have to do is replicate the work that the Department of Commerce did to predict future population. I need to use their methodology between 1950 until 1980. (They didn’t generate the stats during that time, but I need the information for my paper.) I’m in the 1970’s now.”
“The Department of Commerce has an army of economists and statisticians that do this work...”
“That’s right. Sometimes they even explain how they arrived at their conclusions..”
“But you are trying to reproduce the work done by hundreds...”
“... thousands, Dad.”
“... at a cost of millions..”
“... billions, Dad.”
“Hmm.” I replied. Cogently. “You want to do in three weeks what it took them 30 years...”
“They’re the federal government, Dad.”
“Right, Dar. Seems easy enough.”
Hanging up, I bravely decided to return to the kitchen. On the way, I noticed the nook (or perhaps it was the cranny) under the stairs. Before we moved in, I thought this would be wasted space. I had underestimated Nazy: she realized that the space was an ideal location for The Martin Family Swans - and a large vase full of gladiolus and birds of paradise.
Aside: The flowers were picked up at the Santa Barbara farmers market. The price was especially unbelievable for someone from Zurich. a dozen glads for $6. (And 10 birds of paradise for $5.) And.. Nazy claims that the ‘nook’ should be considered an ‘alcove’.
As I arrived in the kitchen, I heard a loud bubbly gurgle emanate from the under the sink.
“A ‘bubbly gurgle’, Dan?” Nazy asked.
“Well... a noise that was roughly the sound you’d expect when someone opened the door on a submerged submarine.”
“Dan..”
“Or when a digestively-challenged blue whale..”
“That’s enough.”
“In any case, Nazy. The sink is fixed. Or, more accurately: I have fixed the sink.”
Calling my bluff, Nazy started the dishwasher. Everything worked fine for abut 4 minutes. Then water began to accumulate in the sink (which didn’t have an emergency drain). Quickly arranging a bucket brigade, Nazy and I watered the window boxes with dishwasher run-off. As we scrambled, a loud ‘whoosh’ marked rapid evacuation of the sink. Ominously, it reminded me of the way the ocean recedes just before a tsunami hits. However, in spite of my concerns, no subsequent backlog was detected. The kitchen plumbing problems had been fixed.
“And who,” the reader asked, “fixed the problem?”
“C’est Moi?” I reply - relying on my knowledge of he musical Camelot.
We also (helped) celebrate Melika’s birthday this week. In an amazing miscue, she and Tom were actually in Santa Barbara. (They’ve spent the previous weekends in Cancun, Aspen, Mammoth and Los Angeles.) Nazy found some nifty candles that blazed with colorful flames. Friends of Mel and Tom barbecued a great selection of pork, beef and bison ribs.
Melika marked her birthday by moving to a new law firm. Luckily, she’ll still be working from Santa Barbara (mostly). We’re really happy that we get to see so much of her and Mitra (and Stefan and Tom.)
Newsflash: Nazy found that a pond has formed in the cabinet under the sink. Luckily, the deepest part pooled where she was storing the paper towels - so a flood into the kitchen was prevented. She also found a sign that said: “Do not use this sink. It leaks.”