Looking Out My Back Door - All I can say

It is a good thing you have me to think of these things. It took a long time but I finally have the weather figured out.

For years I have stated that weather forecasters use the dart board method. They follow a probability theory that some ding-bat engineer has worked up into a chart which a graphics specialist transferred to a giant dart board. So the meteorologist is blindfolded, turned in circles until dizzy, pointed toward the board, handed a dart. Wherever it lands, that is the forecast for the day. I used to sneer that the dart never landed on the right square.

All week the meteorologists have predicted sunshine with 0% rain. We’ve had storms with as much as two inches of rain every day. I’m wrong. The forecast is right. I don’t know how I could have missed the obvious all these years. It’s the timing that is flawed. The monsoon will end. Manana.

Made you feel better, didn’t I? Well, somebody has to think of these things.

In case you are thinking to attribute any genius to my mental abilities, I must confess, at times, I’m slow on the uptake.

For about a month my bathroom shower has been slow to drain. By the time I rinse my hair, I’m standing in a couple inches of water. Soapy water. It’s not filthy. But, still . . .

I meant to tell either Josue or Leo that I had a problem, but by the time I saw either of them my shower water backup had fled my brain.

A few days ago, I heard Josue working next door and the proverbial light bulb flickered. “I think my septic tanks must be full or the drain-field saturated with all the rain.” I described the symptoms of my problem and Josue agreed to check the tanks the following day.

Meanwhile, I spent a sleepless night worrying that I would have to replace the entire septic system and drain-field, more money flushed away. Why not? I’ve had to replace everything else in and around and connected with my house, except that and my refrigerator.

The refrigerator sounds like a 747 sitting on the runway, revving engines for take-off. I’ve already scouted out the new models in town.

So it was an easy stretch of my elastic imagination to suppose I’d be faced with a major septic mess.

And with company coming too. I have a friend arriving for a week’s rest and relaxation. I imagined both of us holed up in adjoining rooms in the hotel, eating all our meals at the nearest taco joint.

Josue dug up the septic tanks. Sure enough, both are full. It took a day to locate a sewage pump truck from a neighboring town. “He’ll come tomorrow after he finishes a job south of here.”

It rained. All night and half the day. The man with the pump truck never showed up. The next day was Sunday. Sunday is family and church day. Nobody works. Monday he came and looked at it. “Yep, needs to be pumped.”

Meanwhile, belatedly, I began thinking. It’s only the shower that drains slowly. The kitchen sink is fine. The toilet flushes like a trooper. When the men laid new tile in the bathroom, they snagged a bucket (literally) of old hair out of the shower drain pipe. Suppose they loosened enough hairs that a gob fell back and clogged the small opening through the mesh. The men hadn’t cleaned the whole drain pipe, just what they could reach.

Leo told me, “Yvonne was ill. She lost hair by handfuls.”

Lani added, “She had long hair.”

Eventually the sun will shine. Wednesday the pumper guy with truck and tank arrived. Today Josue will snake out the shower drain pipe and remove the rest of the tangled mess. As long as the pipes are exposed, he’ll also make sure the drain-field pipe is clear of debris.

Again, the sky rained all night. Rained until noon. My back yard looks like a lagoon. The weather forecast for the week ahead is sunny skies, same as the forecast for the week behind.

In my next life I’m going to be a meteorologist. I’ve studied on a different method for predicting.

Instead of throwing darts at a board, I’ll walk out my door. If the sun is shining, I’ll say, “Rain is on the way.” If I get wet, I’ll say, “Sunshine soon.” It’s all in the timing.

Between the now and the then of this life and my next life, I’ll try to locate the sky faucets.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].