Things I want to keep in mind.

Category: Miscellaneous


I have been dreaming about my mother every night for the last several nights.  In the dream last night, she still had alzheimers but only the early stages.  She could still talk and wanted to drive again.  She was heavier and more mobile in the dream and I kept losing her in the crowd.  Right before I awoke, I had just found her in Target and was horrified to realize that she had driven her car there.

In the dream, she was also angry.  Not at anything in particular, just slamming doors and scowling.

I have also been dreaming about my dad – sometimes he and mom are together, other times he is alone.  In one dream, he was living in a foreign country and I was trying to get him to move back home.   The odd thing about dreams of dad is that he never speaks.  I just know what he is thinking – without him talking.  Odd.  Perhaps because what I miss most about him is the sound of his voice and being able to hear him talk.

We lost my dad 15 years ago.  He had heart surgery and developed infection.  It was sudden and unexpected – truly shocking and heartbreaking for all of us.

We have been losing my mom for about 3 years now.  She has been slowly fading from view.  Losing her is no less heartbreaking but not shocking – just exhausting.  Mourning her loss carries a daily dread that you cannot escape.

It is hard to remember what she used to be.  Maybe that’s why I keep dreaming about her — trying to grasp some semblance of what she was.  It is like trying to hold on to a piece of jello.  It is difficult to hold without squeezing it through your fingers and the warmth of your hand causes it to melt and seep through the cracks, no matter how you try to seal it in.  You can’t stop it from melting but you can’t let it go either.



We all fall down.  In one way or another, at one time or another.  Sometimes, it is literal — we may slip on the ice or trip on a step or slight elevation in the sidewalk.  Other times, it is metaphorical — we get tripped up by a life event or tragedy.  It may be the loss of a loved one, either through the breakup of a relationship or a death; the loss of a job, a home, a car; long or short term illness or injury.  Most of us fall down more than once in a lifetime.

I’ve had several falls, some were big and I stayed down for awhile.  Others were minor stumbles and I didn’t go completely down, I weebled and staggered but remained on my feet.  One of my biggest was in college.  I fell madly in love with a guy – threw all my eggs in that basket and then discovered the basket upended in my lap.  I was down for the count.  It was about three years before I finally began pulling myself together.  As I look back now, I am wondering what I did during those three years?  I fell into a self-induced ruse of using food as my solace/punishment.  What a vicious circle that turned out to be.  Lots of self-loathing, loneliness and depression (and, of course, weight gain!).  But I also lived a reasonable life during that period of time.  I had a couple of decent jobs and made good friends.  I rose up from the ashes eventually.  And what did I learn?  Life and love is not in the bottom of an empty ice cream carton.

I had a dream about that old boyfriend the other night.  In the dream, he looked just like he did in college – tall, gangly, blonde hair, blue eyes, big nose.  In the beginning of the dream, we were laughing and talking.  Then as more people from college entered the scene, he began to ignore me – just like he used to do.  As I awoke, I had that old familiar feeling of regret.  I didn’t regret losing him or the life I now have without him – I regret not standing up for myself at the time.  I wish I had told him to kiss off back in September of 1977 when I realized that he REALLY wasn’t into me.  But instead I fell headlong into the fantasy that if I just waited in the wing, he would eventually love me.   I let myself believe that he was “the one”.  I fell WAY DOWN.

I learned a lot on that fall; how to be aware, how to listen to my instincts.  How to push denial aside and let veracity drive. It was still a few years later, and a few more falls, before I learned that I was not destined to be a doormat.   I could speak and expect to be heard and understood.

Many times, in re-telling the story of my disastrous love debacle, I would say that I lost three years of my life because of it.  In truth, I gained three years of grit.  I found my inner voice.  I learned how to fall down — and roll.


Selfish me

After making such a production over the state of my hair…I am happy to report that my hairstylist was able to cut it into a cute style and I will be traveling unencumbered by either a hat or a bag over my head.  The relief I feel is palpable which is rather ridiculous and vain.  First world problems.  Things could be so much worse.

No hats for me!

First comes the comment: “Be grateful for what you have.”  Then, “Other’s are a lot worse off than you.”  Shame, shame.  Guilt abounds.

My mother came from an era when you were taught to be humble, quiet, self-effacing.  As children, we were told never to brag or be too prideful.  Always think of others who are not as lucky as you.  Put others first and yourself last.  She never said that specifically – it was more by her example.  This is what most women observe and absorb from other women, mothers, sisters, friends, acquaintances – from society in general.

I have mixed emotions about being ashamed of wanting to feel good about my hair and letting something like that dominate so much of my focus.  I can feel the shame bubbling right at the surface and the other side of me (the selfish side?) wants to shout, “just shut up!”.

Selfish me wants to have nice clothes, cute shoes, attractive hair, nicely painted fingernails, pretty bras, underwear that feels silky and looks sexy.   Selfish me wants to buy pretty jewelry and matching accessories, including belt, purse and jacket.  Humble me rarely allows such things.

So, I fret over my hair.  That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry that some people have no hair and that some people have it so much worse than I do….

It isn’t JUST hair…..

I have a great hairstylist. (For the sake of privacy, I shall call her Susie.)  Nine out of ten times, she is spot-on with the cut and style I ask for.  Last week, was that one out of ten times it just didn’t work out.

I am amazed at how obsessed I am with the state of my hair.  I think about it all day.  Every time I pass a reflective surface, I look and am horrified.  I have a follow-up appointment tomorrow to get it “fixed” but until then I am sick with worry.  What if I am doomed to look like Betty Rubble forever?

In one week, I will be going on vacation.  I cannot be seen in Hawaii with this hair.  I have a backup plan – a hat perhaps?  Which is another blog altogether because I don’t look good in hats either.  There are women who can wear hats — even plain old baseball hats — and look charming.  I’m not one of those.  If my hair was long, I could just pull it up or throw it into a ponytail – but no, it’s short.  Shorter than I had intended when I went in for a little trim.  I need to be able to style my hair and feel good about the resulting appearance as I go out the door and into the world.  I’m fairly certain that no one cares about my hairstyle but I DO.

I am confident that my stylist can cut it into a cute pixie — I’ve been scouring pinterest for example photos and possible styles.  Truth is, I was confident she could trim it into the style of the last photos I brought in….now, I am having doubts.  What if this wasn’t a fluke?  What if I need to find a new stylist?  Horrors!

Deciding to find a new stylist is right up there with deciding to find a new gynecologist – you have that same level of trust and loyalty.  I’ve been going to this stylist for about 10 years.  She only works part-time and has limited appointments available.  I went to someone new once and felt as though I had committed adultery.  The whole time she was cutting my hair – I felt nauseous.  Then, who should I run into on that very day at Target?  My regular stylist!  Not only that, the new stylist did a horrible bit of butchery and I had to go back to Susie to get it “fixed”.   But she took me back and my transgression was never mentioned again.

So – I will trust “Susie” to be able to make amends and somehow transform this hideousness into something a little more manageable.  Wish me luck.

And no, this is not me, but this is what I feel like……Image result for bad hair day hairstyles for short hair


A mother’s tears

Kevin said, “I didn’t have an UNhappy childhood.”

Mom (Rebecca) with tear filled eyes replied, “It wasn’t as good as I thought it was.”

This line struck home with me.  Of course, my eyes were filled with tears also.

The quotes are from the series This is Us on HBO.  If you haven’t seen it, you should give it a look.  The series is about adult triplets raised by two loving parents.  The characters struggle through day-to-day life issues and there are flashbacks to their childhood to show the connection with the struggle.  I like the show because there are so many real-life, true to life, obstacles.  The characters have flaws that don’t just miraculously disappear when brought to light – as in real life, the struggle with those “demons” can be endless.  And, of course, despite it all, the characters love each other but everything isn’t “perfect”.

Meanwhile, back at the quote from the mom – this is something I think most mom’s eventually feel.  We want to believe that we gave our children a happy and wonderful childhood.  We remember working so hard to try to ensure that they would have wonderful memories of holidays, family dinners, campouts and vacations and that they wouldn’t need counseling when they get older.  Or Rehab.  We tried to pay attention to every little thing, all the little nuances of their personalities, trying to anticipate any problem that may arise.  We tried to plan fun activities that they might enjoy; dance, sports, band, choir.  We tried to teach them to be confident, to believe in themselves, to feel good about themselves, to be strong and have courage in the face of bullies and any other adversity.  I can remember very clearly trying to remain conscious of all of those different things that I knew to be important for a happy childhood.  But, alas, it wasn’t as good as I thought it was.

So, it brings me to tears.  It looked so different in my head than it actually played out.  I don’t think my children had an “unhappy” childhood.  Lord, I hope they had happy moments, good memories that emerge unsolicited like a sliver of light at sunrise. I know I do.  When I see a little child with a doll, or in cowboy boots,  or a little girl with curly long hair, or a smiling child with bucked teeth, or without teeth.  When I hear little kids laughing and playing together – or fighting and not playing very well together at all.  I remember rocking each of them to sleep.  I remember sitting in the stands watching them play a sport or at a band concert.  I remember each and every graduation, each heartbreak, each triumph.  Through the lens of time passed, things are so golden with just a small blurred edge — like a hazy dream.

Naturally, I can’t help but think of my own childhood.  I think of all the things I felt I missed, the things I needed from my mother that were never quite within my grasp.  I have no doubt that she made the same efforts that I did, felt the same anxiety and desire for things to be perfect.  Maybe she came to the same realization – that things weren’t as good as she thought they were either.

As Rebecca said to Kevin, “We had our happy moments together, I just know it.  I feel it in my soul.” To which Kevin replied, “I hope so.”  More tears.

Type A

Type A personality.  If you knew me in high school or college, you would never have guessed.  I wonder, is it possible to grow into a Type A personality?  According to most of the articles I’ve read, the personality type is inborn and does not change.  Perhaps it was just lying dormant until I hit my late 20’s, early 30’s?  Up until that point, I was quite laidback (bordering on lazy) and flitted between different dreams and goals — hoping that someone would make all my decisions for me, tell me what to do.  Basically, hiding.

I had some successes during my early years but gave up fairly quickly if things didn’t look like they were going to end perfectly.  “Unfortunately, because they are so passionate, and because true success takes patience, any sort of early failure easily discourages them. They are likely to pack up and change careers in a heartbeat.”  For example, in high school I loved playing basketball and had true potential.  I went to college specifically so I could continue playing.  I also enjoyed college and it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be, initially.  Then, after a few small “failures”, I began to lose desire, fear disapproval, and eventually became ineligible and flunked out of school.  The sad truth is not that I couldn’t do the work, but that I wouldn’t.  (If I could have one “do-over”, that would be it; to go back to school and finish.)

After that, I flailed like a fish on dry land for several years.  In my mid-twenties, I got a job as a 9-1-1 dispatcher and “bing”; it hit with full force – Type A transformation.  Over the years, I have become more and more controlling, rigid and impatient with inefficiency!

The theory describes Type A individuals as outgoing, ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status-conscious, sensitive, impatient, anxious, proactive, and concerned with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving “workaholics”. They push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence.

I could easily have become a workaholic except that I had four kids and I just didn’t have the time or energy.  I left the job at 911 because I needed a “day job”; one that would provide more time for my children.  The jobs I’ve had since being a 911 dispatcher were often simple jobs that I made more complicated by trying to achieve something greater than just answering the phone and taking notes at meetings.  I struggled with the inefficiencies of typical office politics and idiocy.  “They have trouble understanding the stupidity of others. They don’t believe themselves to necessarily be exceptionally gifted or genius. So why is it that they are competent when almost everyone else seems like a moron?” 

Those jobs were just a means of earning an income — certainly not a “career” and by no means anything with status or potential for greatness.  Working beneath your ability is difficult when you are Type A — so you perform your duties to the extreme, above and beyond what is necessary.  You feel abused and belittled; unfulfilled.

Fast forward to retirement.

“If you have a Type A personality, transitioning to retirement may be especially difficult. After you retire, you will no longer have an impressive job title or management responsibilities. Job status will no longer matter. You will be on the same level as any other retiree. You are more likely to feel lost or adrift due to a lack of purpose, structure, and responsibility.” How to Successfully Retire If You Have a Type A Personality – Dave Hughes

The good news?  Because I didn’t have an “impressive job title”, my job status hasn’t changed much since retirement.  Yes, I do feel adrift sometimes but I also feel free from the drudgery, the frustration and the anger.  There is freedom to choose my direction.  Retirement isn’t just rolling with the flow – although there is an awful lot of that!  Type A’s need a plan, a list, a goal – no matter how small.   The difficulty comes in letting go of the time management structure.  There is so much time and every moment of the day does NOT need to be plotted out.

When I first retired, I was so thrilled to have all of this time to write to my hearts’ content.  I could write another play, a memoir, a novel!!!  However, writing as a type A can be difficult.  I will spend hours searching for topics.  I will spend two thirds of that time in an internal battle over whether or not I should be writing at all.  If it isn’t done perfectly, it isn’t worth doing.  Blah, blah, blah.  Can type A personalities also have OCD and ADD?  I wonder…

Quotes in italics are from the article: The 25 Things That People With Type A Do – Paul Hudson

Tips and tricks – part one

I have been alive for 59 years and 4 months.  Hard to believe.  It has been a long road of learning, changing and updating.  Here is a golden review:

Lesson 1 – life is transition.  Nothing remains the same, no matter how hard you try to squeeze it into the little plastic box.  People enter and exit your life on their own timetable and at their whim.  Not much you can control about that – other than how you deal with your gain and loss.  There’s always a chance they will cycle back through at some later point, but there is also the chance that they won’t.  Be open for both possibilities.

Lesson 2 – Motherhood is not easy.  Babies are adorable, cuddly, soft and warm.  They will love you forever.  That is not in dispute.  BUT they are also a lifelong commitment of pooping, puking, crying, keeping you up at night, making you worry from dawn till dusk.  There will be illnesses, trips to the principal’s office, fighting, injuries with trips to the ER, an endless array of financial needs (shoes, clothes, costumes, science fair projects, sports uniforms, dancing shoes, pianos, band instruments, braces, winter coats, summer gear, vacations, school trips), as a mom you are “on” 24/7.  It’s easier with a partner who can (and will) tag in when you are spent.  Someone who is there for the long haul and will learn how to anticipate the needs of said infant/child as well as you do or a close facsimile.  **See lesson 3 part 2

Lesson 3 – Partnership in a relationship is never 50/50.  Each person brings their own skillset to the relationship.  In the household, there will be a division of labor that works for each couple.  This division is constantly under revision, depending on the situation, and both partners must be flexible, vigilant and mindful.  Small examples:  If you make a mess, clean up after yourself.  Simple lesson for children AND adults.  This includes dribbles on the toilet seat.  Dads, teach your little boys (by example) to look before they flush and wipe up after themselves.  Hair in the sink or the shower drain?  Clean it out BEFORE you leave the bathroom.  Cooking meals – what works?  Who comes home first?  If one cooks, the other cleans up.  Cooking together can be fun too.  Yard work – what works?   Every “job” requires effort and elbow-grease BUT also provides opportunity for togetherness.  The key point is that both parties are fully aware that this is a partnership – the desire to play an active role is important.

Lesson 3, part 2 – Partnership in a relationship changes drastically when offspring are born.  It is unavoidable.  Mom becomes a guernsey cow (or it can feel that way) feeding and in total focus on the new family member.  Dad may feel neglected.  It’s up to both of you to modify how you view your relationship, and how you contribute to maintaining your relationship.  The partnership is now a UNIT.  There will be diapers to change, books to read, extra laundry and cleanup.  If you thought your life was in constant motion before, welcome to the hurricane.   The dance has changed but it is possible to continue building your relationship/family.  Again, flexibility is paramount.  Dad’s need to participate in the care of the child – a father’s bond is as important as the mother’s.  The best bonding mechanism is when dads have an active role; feeding, changing, bathing, rocking, reading.  Moms need to let dad “in” – he will do things differently than you do.  That’s the way it works, and works best.   Child-rearing is difficult.  Work hard to find the middle road, always.  And it doesn’t stop with infancy and toddlerhood – dads need to continue feeding, reading, transporting (pickup or drop-off at daycare, school, sport/dance practices, etc. etc.), cooking, shopping, cutting hair, learning to braid hair, etc. etc.  Remember: The division of labor is constantly under revision.

Lesson 4 – Pregnancy is a crapshoot.  Some people can get pregnant on a wink and a smile.  Others require IVF or other fertility assistance.   Every pregnancy is different.  Some women claim they never felt better than when they were pregnant.  Some women have just the cutest little basketball belly and from the back, you can’t even tell they are pregnant.  That was not me.  I felt like shit for the first trimester and into the second.  Constantly nauseated and looking for something to eat that would settle my stomach and make me feel better.  I gained far too much weight!  The last thing I ever felt like eating was salad or vegetables.  Bread, pasta and potatoes were my only saving grace.  I was a huge pregnant woman – big everywhere.  Toward the end, I had a huge round face and swollen ankles.  From the back, I looked like Sasquatch.   In regards to my heavy weight gain, my obstetrician (a man) said, “Well, you’re the one who has to lose it”.   And he was right…

To be continued….more lessons ahead.

Breaking the circle of idiocy

As a society, we complain far too much. As a person, I complain far too much. Why do we expect perfection out of an ordinary day?

It’s always something (as Roseanne Roseannadanna used to say). If it snows, it is either too much or too little. If it’s cold, its too cold. We take a trip and complain that we have to wait too long for our flight, or cab, or train. We stay in a hotel and it isn’t clean enough, the staff isn’t friendly enough, the room isn’t big enough. Our own house is never clean enough, big enough or pretty enough. Our car isn’t new enough, clean enough or big enough. (Notice how many times things are never BIG enough? We aim for BIG, better, BEST – that is the end goal; having the biggest and best of everything – and if we don’t…well, we complain about it.)

Complaining is a habit. One that we can break but it takes an effort. I’ve become aware of my complaining habit a number of times and have thought of ways to change it but it is so easy to revert back to complaining. Old habits die hard, right? This is what I call the circle of idiocy. We know we should change, we make a plan for change but through our oblivious nature, we slip right back into our comfort zone, what we know best.

THIS time around, I am trying to look at things the way my grandsons do. If you want to know how to stop complaining, look at how a toddler views the world. A car is just a car – it can go fast or slow. A house is warm and cozy. Christmas trees are beautiful because of the lights. The snow is fantastic! Mud is even better! It is fun to get wet in the rain.

Of course, the difference is that toddlers don’t have to worry about driving in inclement weather, or shoveling snow, or getting sopping wet before work, or buying Christmas gifts. They have all of their needs met by someone else. Still, the innocence, joy and nonjudgmental way of a toddler’s life view can be emulated, at least in part – there can be a happy medium. While we all have obligations and daily drudgery, we can try to avoid allowing the discontent to rule the day.

Here’s a mantra: “What Would A Toddler Say?”

Adult: Oh, I’m so fat, I can’t fit anything. Uhhhhh.
Toddler: I love blue, I’ll wear blue.

Adult: Shit, it snowed AGAIN!
Toddler: Oh, it’s so pretty. Can I play?

Adult: I have so much to do today, I just want to sleep in.
Toddler: I love breakfast. I think I’ll have eggs.

Okay…that’s over-simplified but in reality most of the negative things that we ruminate over are brought on by ourselves so we have the power to minimize their hold over us. I’m going to try…

Side-bar: if you don’t know a toddler to use as an example, think of your dog or cat. What would they do? Do they complain about anything?


It is just two weeks until Christmas.  The month of December is always filled with parties and gatherings.  It seems as though every day is booked.  As a retiree, it is much less so but there are still Christmas-y things to do and attend.  There are gifts to buy, cookies to bake, friends to greet and grandkids to play with – it is a very FULL season!  It is a season filled with rituals.

I remember the days of Christmas programs, “Santa” parties Iwhere Santa arrives and hands out gifts!) and family parties.  Christmas shopping was daunting, always trying to find great and desired gifts (in equal numbers) and trying to get that dollar to stretch…  Nowadays, my immediate family draws names for our gift exchange and I am so grateful.  It is so much easier! You can buy one NICE gift for just ONE person.  There isn’t the usual pressure of finding multiple gifts, for multiple people and staying within your budget.  Of course, as a mom, I can’t bear not to get my kids SOMETHING but it is usually something small; socks, a serving bowl, a gift card, a screwdriver.  And the main staple for the stocking – a new toothbrush!  The gift shopping ritual and the toothbrush in the stocking ritual…

In my larger, extended family, we have a white elephant gift exchange.  Some people make gifts, some buy real gifts, some buy gag gifts and during the exchange, you can steal a gift.  It is a fun way to give and receive and there is no pressure to find the perfect gift for that difficult person who has everything!  The gift giving ritual…

When we first started gathering for this annual Christmas party, the rule was that your gift MUST be hand-made.  This was difficult for those who don’t build, sew, knit/crochet, or have some special artistic talent.  (Most of us do, but we just don’t feel that confident in our skills or have the time to come up with an idea and then throw it together on time!)  Eventually, the party evolved to being able to BUY something that was hand-made.  Currently, it is free-flowing: build it or buy it, whatever works for you!  The roll with the flow ritual…

There are those in the family who are extremely creative and talented.  Each year, those are the coveted gifts and you can easily identify them because they are wrapped in newspaper and bailing twine and they are LARGE and an odd shape.  My cousin, Charlie, builds something new and different every year.  Could be a bench, or a hall tree, or a basket made of rope and antlers.  Beautiful.  My uncle, Dib, is a welder and he will make some brave, new creation also.  Both usually incorporate horseshoes – a family trademark.  The creative artists’ ritual…

According to the rules of stealing, each gift can only be stolen twice so everyone has to strategically plan how they will steal a gift and actually be able to win possession of it.  There is some serious plotting between couples or in families.  We draw numbers to determine the order of opening gifts so that is an added obstacle in tactics and maneuvering as everyone gets into position to snag the gifts on the final steal.  The thief’s ritual… 

Each year, I make an afghan.  I start it in the spring and work on it throughout the year.  I am usually crocheting the last few rows the week of the party.  In a normal year, I will also crochet other afghans depending on how many babies are born into our family that year.  Crocheting is the one thing I can do. The crocheting ritual…

An afghan is a silly little thing.  It can be used on chilly nights – a lap blanket while watching TV or an extra cover on a bed.  With the advent of soft, furry, warm throw blankets, the crocheted afghan is becoming an “old” thing, fast approaching extinction. As I crochet each blanket, I am aware that it is something that will likely be tossed aside, used for a dog bed, put away in a storage box, or given to goodwill at some future time.  I will never know one way or the other.  However, I do take pleasure choosing the yarn and trying new patterns.  Of course, when I see the finished product, I see all of the little mistakes that no one else would notice.  I don’t view it as something beautiful or wonderful – but as something I “finished”.  Aren’t we always hypercritical of our own work?  The worrying ritual…

I’ve lost track of the number of afghans I’ve made but I’m proud of them just the same.  I suppose it is the same for any hand-made gift.  People don’t save things as they used to – myself included.  But I do have the afghans that my grandmother made for me.  Perhaps it isn’t so silly after all.  Years from now, I will be gone and someone will be saying, “oh yes, Bobaloo made that back in the day…”  The memory ritual…

Like holy water…

“When the well is dry, we know the worth of water” Benjamin Franklin

I can attest to that.  On Saturday afternoon, our water stopped working.  We didn’t know if it was the pump in the well or if the well had gone dry.  A frightening proposition – since digging a new well would be very expensive and not very convenient – at all.  Replacing a pump could be expensive as well but wouldn’t involve excavation of our yard and trying to find water!

I am very lucky. My husband is a fix-it-guy.  He knows a thing or two about a thing or two.  And if he doesn’t know, he can figure it out.  He exhausted every avenue he could think of to get the water back on.  Time to call in the big guns.  Just up the hill from my home lives my uncle, the plumber/fix it guy.  If you call him, you don’t have to wait hours for his arrival.  Within minutes, he cheerfully arrives at my door.  He goes through the same steps my husband did and determines it is probably the pump.  Also, luckily, we know a family of excavators – they installed the first pump – they are moments away as well.  We were not placed on a waiting list, we didn’t have to make an appointment.  They arrived on Monday morning and two hours later, we had a new pump and water running freely!

We spent exactly 44 hours (and a few minutes) without water.  Until you are “waterless”, you have no idea how much you rely on it.  You can drink bottled water – a lot of people do – but there is washing dishes, clothes, your hands, brushing your teeth, taking a shower and most importantly: flushing the toilet!  FLUSHING THE TOILET!  You can do without a lot of things…but you really do need to flush that toilet.

Countless times, you walk to the sink and turn on the water – nothing.  Then you remember.  You also begin to monitor, very carefully, how much fluid you consume and how often you will be vacating your bladder.  Things you, normally, wouldn’t give a second thought.  (And we won’t even talk about vacating anything else!)  And since you don’t “flush” with each use (saving on water use), the bathroom takes on an unpleasant urinary type odor.  Too much information? Sorry – wanted to give you the full effect.

I am also very fortunate in that I live across the field from my sister.  As soon as we knew we would be without water for awhile, my husband loaded up our truck with every receptacle we owned and filled them at her house.  We had jugs available in each bathroom for “flushing”.   On day 2, I was able to shower in her lovely new and very warm bathroom.  If we had been without water for any length of time, they would graciously have opened their home and bathroom to us for as long as we needed.

My husband and I were elated to have our water back on.  We looked at the water with renewed adoration.  I sang a happy tune as I did a load of laundry.  He took a nice long hot shower and washed twice!  We are so grateful for our water.   Even more grateful for our wonderful neighbors!!!  THAT is why we live here.