I am having a bit of difficulty ending my novel. At this point, I’m well over the 90,000 word goal, but I’m discovering the challenge of easing my characters into a denouement. Jokingly I told a friend that I’d considered dropping a nuclear bomb on the town the characters reside in. It would be messy, sure, but it would definitely be the end.
To paraphrase what one wise sci-fi author told me in a conversation on Twitter, there’s never really an end. Don’t expect to be able to tie everything up in a nice package with all the loose ends accounted for. That’s not how life works.
He’s right, I know, but that bomb still seems like a plan. Is it too late to change genres? Asking for a friend.
Yesterday (Friday) was the first day in two weeks that Studly Doright and I were able to use the shower in our master bathroom. A water leak in the hot water pipes had us taking sponge baths and ultimately building a temporary shower stall in the garage.
It wasn’t pretty, but Studly had it hooked up directly to the hot water heater, so after nearly a week of sponge baths it felt like heaven.
We’ve now dismantled the structure. There’s no telling what the bits and pieces of our shower will be used for in the future. Let’s just hope they never have to come together to be a shower again. I couldn’t concentrate in there, and the acoustics weren’t great.
Yesterday I left Doright Manor for an appointment with my optometrist. Since her office is on the other side of Tallahassee, I left early so I could have lunch at Sweet Pea Cafe.
As I drove down Lanier Road, going a little over the speed limit, an oncoming car flashed its lights at me. For those not in the know, that’s the universal signal to slow down, usually because there’s a police officer in the vicinity.
As it turned out, the reason for the flashing lights was a sweet little turtle crossing the road. If I hadn’t reduced my speed, I’d likely have run over him. That would’ve been a tragedy. I always brake for turtles.
My beautiful blogging friend, Shirley Blamey, called me via FaceTime from her home in England this afternoon. Her equally beautiful husband, Michael Steeden, joined us on the call. I absolutely love these two—their wit, wisdom, and encouragement have helped buoy me as I attempt to finish my novel during the pandemic.
We’ve enjoyed several FaceTime calls and I’ve become quite comfortable letting these two wonderful people into my life. So comfortable in fact that as I was engaged in conversation I set about the task of hanging some of my delicates up to dry.
All at once I hear Shirley say, “Are those your knickers?”
For some reason I thought my panties weren’t visible on the screen, but sure enough, those were my knickers. I just hope dear Shirley and Mike aren’t permanently scarred by the sight.
Yesterday I wrote about Studly Doright building us a temporary shower to use until plumbers can fix our water leak. I shared a few photos, but they didn’t include the faucets or the handy accessories he added.
One of the most unexpectedly fun parts of having a shower in the garage is the weirdness of being naked in a place where I’ve never been naked before. So, I’m weird and maybe a closeted exhibitionist. At least I’m clean.
When I began writing posts for this blog I needed a nickname for my husband. The first one to pop into my head was Studly Doright, based on a cartoon character from my childhood.
But also in the running was some version of MacGyver after the tv series about a man named MacGyver who, week after week had to solve some problem or series of problems in order to triumph over evil.
Since I couldn’t come up with anything clever based on the MacGyver name, Studly Doright won out, but occasionally I really wish I’d gone with the MacGyver moniker. Like right now.
Those that have read my recent blog posts know that we had a water leak here at Doright Manor. The leak went unnoticed for a day, resulting in wet carpet and calls to the plumber. It took awhile to get a plumber out here, so in the meantime, Studly isolated the problem and turned off the hot water.
That was last Friday, a week ago today. We’ve since had the insurance appraiser pay a visit, as well as assorted plumbers and there’s a game plan in place for repairing the plumbing. Unfortunately they won’t be able to begin work until Tuesday. That means we’re still without hot water. That means no hot showers.
I’ve been heating water on the stove to wash my hair and taking sponge baths, but folks, I was not meant to be a pioneer woman. I might have whined once or twice. Studly has been taking cold showers. He’s whined more than I.
But Studly isn’t a whiner by nature, he’s a problem solver, so yesterday he called me into the garage where a variety of materials had been collected.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“As soon as we get this put together, it’s going to be a shower.”
I knew better than to question his judgement. He tends to get a little defensive if I say too much. Instead, I followed his directions and in about an hour we had a working shower with hot and cold running water.
I didn’t photograph the faucets, so you’ll have to trust me that they were installed on top of the frame. The thing worked perfectly. We both had a hot shower thus eliminating the need for whining.
Now, I texted my kids during the process and my daughter texted this in return:
Yes, Studly didn’t have to MacGyver the whole thing, but his shower has a certain charm that the store bought one doesn’t, and it cost less as well.