An Accumulation of Little Things
“When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it.”
My response to a family emergency, a cancer diagnosis, or a friend suddenly on her own? I am calm and reliable, making appointments, cooking meals, and holding space for tears and words. I compile long to-do lists and ensure everything is under control.
I am much the same with disruptions to routine, a sick pet, or a leaky pipe - unless they all happen in a short time frame, piling on each other until I feel overwhelmed.
Is this anything to do with ageing? No, not really. The accumulation of little things has always been my undoing. What I can attribute to ageing is my response. In my younger years, I would most likely have lost it - raging, tears, blaming. These days, the accumulation of little things exhausts me; all I want to do is hibernate until everything is resolved.
The thing is, I don’t usually recognize the build up until the pile of little things begins tilting precariously, about to tumble to the ground. And this week, it came crashing down.
Let me tell you about my week.
The week started with eager anticipation on Thanksgiving weekend, awaiting the arrival of my oldest daughter and granddaughter, coming for a week-long visit. We spent the morning tidying the house, putting fresh sheets on the bed, child-proofing, and installing a baby gate at the top of the stairs. Our last task was rounding up the cats, Boogs and Milo, and making them comfortable downstairs. We settle Boogs in my office and Milo in the laundry room. Diego, my daughter’s Pyrenees/Mastiff gets far too excited when he sees them. However, the cats want nothing to do with him and howl and snarl, attacking him. You would think that might be a deterrent, but his fur is so thick that he thinks this is a game. As Boogs snuggles in on my chair overlooking the backyard, I think this quiet time might be good for him. He has been limping badly for over a week, and the vet has prescribed rest and pain medication.
Within an hour of their arrival, my granddaughter’s belongings are strewn over the dining room table. Toys are scattered across the living room floor. We scramble every few minutes to move yet another item out of her grasp. She is ten months old and walking, and everything is a curiosity. It is unbelievable how much stuff babies need and how, when they start walking, their world widens far beyond our safety preparations.
Monday, we head off for Thanksgiving dinner at my sister-in-law’s. My stomach is queasy as I think of socializing with twenty-three family members. I am not good in large groups, even if they are family. And I am the last woman standing, the only one in our family who has not had covid. But the gathering is filled with laughter, memories and delight at seeing each other. I hug everyone. I feel relaxed driving home later that evening.
Tuesday morning and Boogs is still limping. I make a vet appointment for Friday. Diego discovers how to open the baby gate and barrels down the stairs to bark at the closed office and laundry room doors. We receive an invitation to our younger daughter’s for dinner on Friday night. I always look forward to family dinners with our kids. But I was not looking forward to the rush hour drive, knowing the usual 45-minute drive would be double that in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
So are you starting to feel a bit antsy as you read this? Well, guess what? There is more - in fact, the worst is yet to come!
On Wednesday, I notice the discolouration on the baseboard between the dining room and the kitchen has gotten worse. It is wet. I feel the wall; it also feels damp. I call our management company. Did I think we needed a plumber or restoration work? Both, I say.
Thursday morning, Boogs is walking on three legs, now putting no pressure on his back right leg. My daughter is out. I love having my granddaughter all to myself, but she has more energy than I do! The restoration company calls; they will come by after dinner. No, I reply, that is not convenient. My son-in-law is arriving, and we have dinner plans.
Friday morning and Diego continues to open the baby gate. My knees are aching from playing on the floor with my granddaughter. I take Boogs back to the vet. After x-rays and a $500 vet bill, I am told that our 17-year-old cat has severe muscle deterioration in his right back leg. She suspects it is from nerve damage. I head home, thrilled to be spending more time with my granddaughter.
Mid-afternoon, two technicians from the restoration company arrive. They pull out a moisture meter and use wide blue tape to mark off the dampness. The tape extends halfway into the kitchen, three feet up the wall and down the hall. They suspect a leak in a kitchen pipe or, more likely, in piping under the floor. I am stunned. The technician says they can start ripping up the floor and opening the wall immediately.
It is now late on a Friday afternoon. We will be babysitting a curious, mobile baby all day Saturday. Diego continues to open the baby gate, but now just lies downstairs hoping to catch a glimpse of a cat. Boogs fights me tooth and nail as I try and administer his pain medication by syringe. The thought of a ripped up floor and wall has me on the verge of tears.
The technician looks at me and says gently, would you like us to come on Monday instead? Yes, I nod. They leave, wishing me a good weekend.
Saturday morning, and I am curled up in a blanket on the balcony. Diego is stretched out at my feet, enjoying the cool breeze. The kids head home tomorrow. The cats will be able to roam the house again. The new medication Boogs is on will hopefully soon make a difference. The plumber and restoration technician will be wrapping up repairs by Wednesday. Life will be back to normal, I think, with fingers crossed!