LETTERS FROM HOME: PLUMBING THE DEPTHS OF HOW THINGS REALLY WORK

April 12, 2001

Dear Pat,

In history's great plagues, one common denominator has been present: poor plumbing.

The Black Plague, typhus fever, typhoid fever and the dysentery blamed for the failure of many of the Crusades were all caused by poor sanitation. The municipal water and sewage systems we have today were built in reaction to the deadly outbreaks of cholera in the 19th century.

Thank God for plumbers. They understand our ebbs and flows, insure the arrival of life-giving water and the departure of that which our bodies do not require, and bail us out when the dripping faucets of life threaten our sanity. Given a choice between Baryshnikov and a plumber, Diane Sawyer once observed, she would choose a plumber.

Our house has a fickle toilet. The last time it refused to flush, the plumber had to special order a fill valve. We knew what to do because life out at DC's family cabin occasionally gets rustic.

Who knew that the same function that flicking the handle on a toilet performs can be accomplished with a bucket of water? I didn't. How divorced from the way things really work we are because we activate TV networks and satellite transmissions with the touch of a button, we stoke our furnace or summon a cooling breeze with a forefinger, we turn a handle or two in the bathtub and suddenly jet streams of warm water return us to the womb. Like gods we are, but gods who need help on the ground when things break down.

This time the water in the same toilet wouldn't stop running, and the hot water valve on the bathtub was leaking. DC and I tried unsuccessfully to fix the bathtub and knew better than to mess with the toilet. I just turned off the water and waited.

The wait was required not because it takes a long time to get a plumber in Cape Girardeau. It's just that DC wanted to clean the house before the plumbers came.

Our housekeeping has been a bit lax lately, what with washing all the walls and windows and curtains in an unsuccessful attempt at ridding the house of the odor of the corned beef dinner that suffered an unfortunate fate -- cremation -- last month. We've tried everything -- cleaning, boiling vinegar, burning incense, smudging the kitchen with burning sage -- to exorcise the smell, but it hangs around like the Ghost of St. Patrick's Day Past.

Bucket in hand, we spent a week reacquainting ourselves with the way a toilet really works.

What I especially like about plumbers is that you can count on them to easily fix a problem that has been nagging you for weeks, slowly reminding you of your incompetence in these matters. Drip ... drip ... drip ... drip. This time, the fill valve miraculously fit, and the bathtub leak was plugged in no time, though the faucet was declared an antique in danger of outliving its usefulness.

Another thing you can count on a plumber for is leaving you with a bathroom joke. One of the plumbers said his German uncle still uses an outhouse, even though his home has indoor plumbing. He says when he was growing up people went to the bathroom outdoors and ate indoors, the plumber said. Now they go to the bathroom indoors and eat out.

I cleaned it up a bit.

Love, Sam