From Texas to Disney to Camp

Eight days ago I woke up in Texas and hopped in the jeep with a ton of stuff. Stuff I thought I’d need along the way or at the end of my journey. Today, I reached the end, here in North Carolina, at the camp. I fell straight asleep last night, with only my pillows and teddy bear around me, leaving the rest to be unpacked today.

You’d be amazed how much a jeep wrangler actually holds, when it has to. I’ve dragged everything out, and it’s sitting on the bedroom floor of my room here in my cottage I share with one other person nestled snug inside the village that is at the tail end of camp. That was a seriously long sentence, but it’s where I am. Most resident camps have one or two permanent houses, with the “permanent” part being dodgy. This one has a full village, sturdy and new, clean and well made, ready to house year-round and visiting staff whenever they are needed. They are bright, cheerful and cozy, not to mention well equipped.

And they have a view of the camp, overlooking the horsepower garage and drifting down into main camp, a short walk away. There are even golf carts parked outside, to help the staff move through camp when they are carrying things, but I’ll try to walk more than I drive, because the place isn’t that huge.

Anyway, I came in last night, verging on midnight, and I wasn’t certain how well marked it would be. And the answer is that it is highly visible, through tasteful lighting that glows in the trees. Even in the dark you can’t miss the water tower painted like a hot air balloon with the camp logo on it. The second driveway is just as easy to find, which is marvelous. Getting settled in here over the weekend will be nice and easy and give me a chance to find my footing. Spending a week at Walt Disney World had me all revved up, and now I get a calm time to switch gears.

Disney was great, of course. I had rented a huge house over six months ago, when I was still in Iraq, so we’d have plenty of space to share with and avoid each other when we weren’t at the parks. We all haven’t been in one place in years and years. My big brother moved to Pennsylvania, and when he and his family came down to Texas to visit, I was in Iraq, so it was a nice time to enjoy each other. The parks were crowded as heck, though, but that’s to be expected since everyone and their brother were on vacation from school. It was still lots of fun and we all just waited our turns in line.

I’ll get pictures of camp and pictures from Disney up soon. I am in the middle of the woods though, and bandwidth is difficult at best. I’m now using a wireless network card through my cell phone company to try and connect, but I might have to put an amplifier on it to get a better signal. We’ll figure it all out though, as the time comes. Meanwhile, I’m off to unpack…

Up on the roof top drip drip drip

There is just something about this family, major holidays and broken appliances. One year it’s the microwave. Another year it’s the entire kitchen. And this year… it’s the freaking hot water heater. We have such good luck in other ways, but I’d really prefer this appliance/holiday chaos went away also.

This morning when I finally went downstairs, long after the heathens I live with had completed their start of the day routines, I stepped outside to get a soda out of the beer fridge. You know, that’s the refrigerator where you put all the beer and other stuff, so you’re never without a cold drink. No food, just drinks. Okay, maybe some condiments, but that’s it.

So when I was coming back in, I noticed water dripping from this little pvc pipe that was sticking out of the wall about four inches above the ground. Now I’ve spent a lot of time in this house, both when I was a kid and recently, and I’ve never seen water, or anything else for that matter, come out of that pipe. Color me confused.

I put my head inside and hollered for my dad, because well, I haven’t been here forever, so I don’t know everything. The conversation went something like this:

“What’s that pipe for?”

“Dunno. It’s leaking though.”

“Yep. That’s why I called you out here. Got any ideas on what it could be?”

“Not really, Keir.”

And that’s when the last of the information was used up, because apparently he hasn’t seen anything other than a bumble bee checking out some real estate come out of that pipe, either.

Turns out that pipe is the hot water heater drain pan overflow. The stupid hot water heater drain valve has decided that today is a good day to die. I disagree, but apparently my vote is unimportant. So I spent some time in the attic, on the phone, in the attic, on the phone, in the attic, on the internet, and on the phone trying to get a consensus on what we should do. My Dad, whom I love, is not the most mechanically inclined. Neither am I. The one who IS mechanically inclined, by comparison, resides in Pittsburgh. Way to help out the family by moving, Bro.

Anyway, a little brass cap with a Teflon washer was put (oh no you don’t Mr. Spellcheck, I’ll use a lowercase “t” in teflon all I want, thankyouverymuch) on the valve stem and the driiiiiiiiiiiiiiip driiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip driiiiiiiiiiiiiips were thought to be coming to an end. But in reality they became driiiiip driiiip driiiip, which became drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip shortly thereafter. And naturally, five minutes before Home Depot and Lowes closed for the night, it became dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip. Greeeaaaaaaat.

Frankly, I think appliances around here don’t like the holidays because we make them do extra work. I can’t blame them, but seriously, get with the program. Give me a warning BEFORE the parts stores close, so I can give you the love you need.

So Christmas Eve will find my Dad cruising to the hardware store and me in ratty old clothes as we drain the tank and swap out the valves. Because this adventure has to happen early in the morning, just in case something else is wrong, and we can still get parts. On the plus side, though, I did fix the furnace while I was up there, so that’s one appliance which isn’t going to give out on us tomorrow.

They're all gonna laugh at me

So apparently I’m pretty effing funny when I get mad. And there is nothing worse than being pissed off and having people laugh at you, or with you, or both, because it really kills a good rant. That’s when I go slam a door or something, because people aren’t taking me and my anger seriously.

This week I was in the kitchen and my Dad, who goes by the assumed name “Dad” here in Story Hour, asked me something stupid. I’m sure it was a valid question to him, and he expected a rational answer. But to me, it was the dumbest thing ever, and it set me off in a major way. He didn’t know what hit him, at first, and he just stood there, pinned to the floor, debating between standing there and trying to talk me down off the ledge or fleeing out the back door in terror. He did neither of those, as it turns out.

In my defense, I’d given everyone fair warning that it was going to be a horrendously horrible, no good, very bad day as I was experiencing wicked bad tummy pains. They didn’t believe me, apparently. Stupid them.

And now I’m standing in the kitchen slamming dishes around and just going off on Dad. I don’t shout, though I do get a wee bit more vocal. I also tighten up the vocabulary and pull out the five dollar words as they convey my sentiments much more precisely than the fifty-cent words do. I imagine it’s pretty disconcerting to be raged at by a walking dictionary. You probably don’t know whether to fight back or stop and look the word up to figure out what I said.

Everyone in my family possesses an oversized vocabulary, though, so Dad knew what I was saying. And there, in mid-rant, I’d say about ten minutes in, I look at him and he’s laughing so hard tears are escaping him. He’s stopped clutching the door knob in terror and is now holding onto it for support to keep from keeling over from the belly laughs that have gripped him mercilessly while I continue spewing words at a thousand miles an hour.

I just shook my head and gave up.

Tonight though, I’m in one of the most exclusive of retailers – Tarjay (Target, you moron) – shopping with my Mom and I decide to relate the frustration I was feeling about not being able to go on a proper rant. Only I had to stop telling her because she’s leaning over the cart, clutching it for support and gasping for breath between the belly laughs that are now holding her hostage. I thought I was going to have to leave her there, sitting on an industrial sized bag of doggy kibble, or slumped over the cart, but she eventually pulled it together.

That “leave no man behind” crap is fine in Iraq, but in my family, you’re on your own if you’re just gonna laugh at me.