All the news that is fit to print.....

It is interesting what will set off a firestorm of letters to the editor in our local newspaper.

Let's take stock of our situation for a moment. We are experiencing the worst recession since the Great Depression. The government is bleeding a river of money to irresponsible companies that failed to plan past next week in the rush to capture excess profits today. Our infrastructure is in need of deep repair. We are losing jobs by the hundreds of thousands, the stock market is crashing, and people are losing their homes. There is a lot to be justifiably angry or upset or worried about.

But here in Kansas City, everything is apparently still up to date, judging by the concerns being voiced most vociferously in the Unfettered Letters section of the online version of our local paper. Not for us the weighty matters that are dragging down the rest of the country. No indeed.

Instead, the things that worry us the most, judging by the number of letters and responses generated, are bad drivers and where the mayor's wife spends her time. The only thing that would generate more talking points would be the relocation of the daily crossword puzzle, a mistake I hope never to see again in my lifetime. [There are people on staff at the Star still in therapy over that debacle.]

Isn't it interesting how it is often the matters of the mundane that drive people over the edge? I find it curious that people can take losing half their 401(k) in stride, then melt down over someone cutting them off in traffic, delaying their forward progress by a full quarter of a second. We can watch natural disasters and war and insurrections on the evening news and then have dinner as if it had nothing to do with us. But let the mayor's wife set up shop in city hall, and all functioning will cease until she is dealt with.

Missouri has something called the Sunshine Law, which actually pertains to open government, especially with regard to meetings and document availability to the public. I would, however, forgive anyone for thinking that it refers to the sunshine which usually melts the as yet uncleared snow from the city streets days after it has fallen, because that is the sunshine that gets the most media attention around here. [And let me just share with you, it will be days of angry commentary before the furor fades after each snowfall.]

Why is it, I wonder, that the large catastrophes can be dealt with calmly, with equanimity, but the small things send us into orbit? What is it about human nature that allows us to handle the disaster, but not the irritant?

Speaking for myself, I cannot explain it, but I know it is absolutely true. I can handle any number of major catastrophes, but give me a series of small events, nothing moments when taken by themselves, but put them together in a bunch, and I will go straight off the cliff. Call the men in their little white coats, because you might as well just take me away now.

I have observed people with a paper cut whining as if they had cut off their arm, while a person battling cancer will insist there is no problem. Kill a column in the comic strip section, and you will deal with letters for months. Record the highest murder rate in years in KC, and we yawn and seem to think that is just business as usual.

I think it is sort of like a mosquito buzzing around your head. It's a small bug, barely big enough to notice, but the amount of irritation it generates is unbounded. We have whole industries devoted to its eradication. While mosquitoes aren't the worst scourge to smote the earth, they are certainly annoying enough to keep you indoors at dusk, and feeling crabby about it. It doesn't change the world, but it changes your world, which is, of course, the whole point.

Ironically, this tendency to overreact, while firmly reserved for our own use, is something that most people find nearly intolerable in others. Phrases such as, "Get a grip," "Making a mountain out of a molehill," or "Chill out," are little more than alternate ways to say, "You are over-reacting, and it's annoying me." They are dismissive phrases, a way of letting the other person know that not only is that issue not important to the listener, it's not important, period.

No where is this strange tendency of people to come unglued over the most trivial of issues exemplified more clearly than in the retail world. My son, Mr. Customer Service himself, used to work at Krispy Kreme. He loved the job, enjoyed his co-workers, and had a good time most nights while he was there. It was a great part time opportunity for him in high school to learn work ethic, as well as hone some people skills.

He would, however, periodically come home completely flummoxed over the vagaries of people's whims and personalities. Among other issues, he once had his very life threatened, because the glaze on the original doughnut he was serving was not evenly spread. On another notable occasion, he had a tray of drinks thrown back in his face by a woman angry that her box of doughnuts didn't get to her fast enough. You may think these are isolated incidents, but I can assure you, they weren't. He had dozens of similar tales from the years he worked there, each one more idiotic than the next.

He now works part time while going to college in the Little Town on the Prairie with the Big Inferiority Complex. He makes sub sandwiches, and he works the bar rush over the two weekend nights. As the economy has gone downhill, he has reported that the level of civility has fallen along with it, until, in recent weeks, they are forced to call the police on a nightly, if not several times a night, basis. He has recently had a chair thrown at him which hit him in the back. He has had people threaten him with a knife, throw things at him, and be verbally abusive to him.

These people are not angry because their lives are in disarray, except tangentially, perhaps. These are people who snap because the meat wasn't arranged on their sandwich they way they like it. What are we to make of that?

It is a wonder that some of these banks and other Wall Street firms haven't seen violent episodes played out in their lobbies over the last few months. Certainly, there is some evidence that the concern exists, at any rate. I have gone into a number of business places recently and found I had to sign in and get a visitor's pass, then be escorted to the office where I was going. Fear of others is permeating our entire culture - we connect virtually, but not in person.

And yet, it seems, all this security is largely unnecessary. Most people accept the loss of their retirement with calm resignation. It's the Starbucks barista making their caffeinated beverage incorrectly that forces us to peel them off the ceiling.

There has been a recent spate of letters to the editor regarding the inability of the average Kansas City area driver to locate their signal lights when turning or changing lanes. A fair amount of speculation has been generated regarding the intention of these drivers, along with some humorous commentary online about mind reading.

Another hot button issue seems to surround the ideal distance between cars at a stop light, with anecdotal evidence being produced as to the efficacy of each position. There are dozens of letters, all deadly serious, debating the relative merits of four way stops, police patrols, and the prevailing speed on the freeway. Each response generates a flurry of further commentary, each writer providing evidence as to why their particular point of view is more correct than any other.

Waiting for our leadership in Washington to solve the problem of peace in the Middle East, or the economic disaster we are currently experiencing, or even the natural disasters that await us, merits barely a comment. But bring up the mayor's wife, and it will generate days of hot debate. [I realize there is never going to be peace in the Middle East, but you get my point.]

The human psyche is an interesting thing. It allows us to overlook the log in our own eye, in favor of carping about the splinter in someone else's, all the while, never acknowledging that it may be us that is blind.

The Dress

Okay, just had to add one more thought on the day. Among the things I expect from the next four years is a parade of interesting outfits from our new First Lady.

I think Michelle is a snappy dresser on a good day, and with her lovely figure and beautiful smile, she can carry off outfits most people couldn't dream of getting away with. For the first time, perhaps since Jackie Kennedy, we have a First Lady who has her own sense of style, and who isn't afraid to be herself. When she has a hit, she is spectacular, and I look forward to seeing what she comes up with.

But seriously. When she misses? Wow.

Today, for the swearing in, she hit a home run, in my book. She looked amazing in that outfit - absolutely stunning.

It almost erased the vision of her on election night. [Let's just not even go there. I'm still having nightmares.]

Tonight, well, hm. Back in the desert, are we? I mean, if you know you are going to be dancing, should you really consider a floor length gown with a train that you will then have to manhandle every thirty seconds?

I think the next four years will be a boon for young American designers. I think we are about to see a whole different world of fashion, led by a First Lady who obviously loves bold colors and exciting patterns and contemporary styles. Whether it's good or bad on any given day, it certainly is going to be interesting.

American Dream....

As I sit and watch the coverage of the inaugural this morning, I am fascinated and amazed and genuinely proud to be an American citizen, as I have been on every inauguration day, whether the man being sworn in was my choice or not. Each time a new administration has been installed, I have been struck at what an amazing process the transition of power is in our country. This time around, there are millions of people on the National Mall, with more people still pouring in. And yet, there is no violence, no fighting, no bitterness amongst the crowd.

The enthusiasm that seems to be emanating from the crowd almost makes the man at the center of it all irrelevant. This is the greatest thing about our democracy, I've always thought. No matter who has won and who has lost, on this day, all Americans watch our government change hands peacefully, and we are allowed to see the outgoing President and the incoming President meet and embrace the future together. That is the message that America sends to our detractors, and the thing that makes us strong. However divided our house may be in private, we can come together for the good of this nation and its people.

I hope that the excitement and enthusiasm of this day will help buoy us up in the months and years to come, when the newness of change has worn away, and the sameness of our problems continue to press down upon us. I hope that in the dark days that are surely to come, the hope of this day will continue to uplift a nation already weary.

The most thought provoking comment I have read about the inauguration of the first president of African-American heritage was the observation that white America may not be as racist as black Americans have always believed. As black Americans see and hear the support of people of all races and backgrounds for a man they thought was theirs alone, I hope it opens the eyes and the hearts and the minds of people on all sides to the possibility that we can get beyond race and color in this nation.

For me, Barack Obama's family is a microcosm of the America I know. His white mother, his black father, his half Asian sister - all are part of the America I love. I hope that his ability to transcend the racial divide will help this nation do the same. His upbringing as a black man in a white family has given him insight that few in positions of power have ever had. I wonder if that is part of his apparent ability and desire to see issues from more than one perspective? Certainly part of the hope I feel this day is that we will be led by someone who isn't afraid to consider that there is another point of view, another solution, an alternative not yet considered.

I give President Bush a great deal of credit for the smooth transition, and his gracious and almost unprecedented cooperation with the incoming administration. I don't think anyone should underestimate the importance of that willingness to open the lines of communication with the man who will supplant him in the Oval Office.

Because of his generosity, Barack Obama's team will be able to go from the swearing in and address to follow straight to the White House to begin their work. There is no hole, no weakness, no confusion on display for the enemies of this nation to exploit. I think that may be George Bush's greatest act as President, and the one that keeps us safest. If he had not been so generous, we would have a government in temporary disarray, and that is something I don't think any of us should want to contemplate.

George Bush will be remembered for many things. But the legacy that is most important to him, I suspect, is the one to which he has dedicated his presidency - the safety of this nation, and its people. For me, the way he has best exemplified this desire is his gracious leave-taking of his post. I have never doubted that he loves this country, and did his best to keep us safe. As he steps off the world stage and into his private life, I wish he and Laura a long and happy post-Presidential life.

I hope that this new day will be the first of many good days to come for this nation and for its people. For all our sakes, I wish that the presidency of Barack Obama will have unprecedented success, because anything else will be disastrous for us all. It is a rare thing to know that you are watching history being made. Today Barack Obama steps into the pages of history, and brings us with him.

On dreams

The opinion I am about to express will enrage many on all sides. I respect your right to disagree with my conclusions, but also ask that you make sure you have really considered why, and that your own disagreement is rooted in facts and solutions. If it is, I welcome the open and honest debate, because that is the only way we will ever change the things that most need changing.

In a little over 24 hours, this nation will have a new leader in charge. When Barack Obama takes the oath of office to become our 44th president, history will be made. It is impossible for me, on the day dedicated to celebrating the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., to ignore the symbolism and ironies involved in the inauguration to come tomorrow. As I sit here thinking about it all this morning, I really do have to wonder, did King really believe in his own dream that he sold to his followers, and in time, most of this nation?

Barack Obama will make his vow to protect and defend this nation on the steps of a building that was built by slaves. He and his family will take up residence in the White House, where just a few years ago the only black residents were servants of a master they could never have imagined would share the color of their skin. When King inspired his audience with his dream about seeing the mountaintop, I find it hard to imagine that he truly thought it would happen so soon, and that so many white people, especially our youth, would be there to help make it happen.

The legacy of King, a man imperfect as all humans are, has on occasion been sullied by his human foibles and failings. Everything from infidelity to plagiarism have been bandied about, and his own children are now in court fighting each other over the record that their parents have left behind. But in the final analysis, his contribution can not be tarnished, because without his dream, and his actions that backed it up, tomorrow would not have arrived so soon. And speaking as the parent of two children of mixed races, I am happy to know that they are now seeing a man much like themselves achieve what would have been unthinkable just a few short years ago, and their dreams will not be limited by something that is only skin deep.

So I have to ask myself - how are we honoring the legacy of a man who espoused hard work, education, and dedication to a cause, a cause for which he was willing, and ultimately did, give his life, by taking the day off to sleep late, eat out, watch bad television or go to the mall? Instead of having our children in school learning about the civil rights movement led by King, they are out of school, doing little of value, and not thinking about what this day means at all.

There are a few celebrations, of course, scattered around town. The talking heads on the local and national news are mentioning it, especially in light of the inauguration tomorrow. The symbolism is inescapable, and I think most Americans, from the whole rainbow of ethnic backgrounds, feel a certain amount of satisfaction, if not pride, in the fact that being half African-American was not an impediment to the election of Barack Obama. Some would say the very fact that a mixed race man from Hawaii, born to a white woman from Kansas and a black man from Kenya, raised largely by white grandparents, and married to an African-American woman, is evidence that the dream has been accomplished, and there is nothing more to do.

I would disagree. In fact, I will step gingerly out onto a very delicate limb, to state what I think is inescapably obvious, if unpopular and politically incorrect to mention. One of the biggest challenges we face in this country today is the failure of the African-American community, and by extension, all of us, to raise successful men. When there are more young black men in jail than in college, we cannot escape the recognition that a failure of epic proportions is in progress. While some in the African-American community are satisfied to blame the past, or racism, and too many in the white community are quick to lay the blame in stereotypical form, I think the reasons are irrelevant.

No matter what the cause, the crisis is in the present, and the future is dependent on solutions that must be put into place right now. I believe the primary failure is systemic, and it is the African-American community that must save itself now. Whatever the cause, whatever the background, whatever history has or has not done, the time is too short and the need too urgent, to waste time worrying about whose fault it is, or what has or hasn't been done to fix it. They cannot look to anyone else to provide the solutions, because too few who need the help will listen to anyone, much less someone outside their own community. The isolation that seems to be felt by the most disenfranchised is the very thing that keeps them from recognizing or embracing the experience that has lifted others out of poverty, and put them on the path to success.

The past is dismissed as out of touch and out of date, but too few examples in the present seem to resonate with them to show the way, either. When Bill Cosby talks about responsibility, they excoriate him for speaking his mind. For every Oprah Winfrey that speaks of the road to success, they embrace another artist who espouses violence as the solution to their conflicts. When they feel nothing but hopelessness, and jail seems inevitable, there is no incentive to try for something more.

They lack role models who believe that to achieve, you must stay in school, put your nose to the grindstone and get an education. Too few people are telling them that without that education, they will be limited in the opportunities to get a good job. Without the financial stability of secure employment, there is no incentive to be responsible for your family, and give back to those less fortunate than yourself. The cycle of poverty is not just laziness, as the cynical would have us believe. It is an epidemic of failure, systemwide, but whose eradication must begin in the home, and extend throughout the community.

There is no quick fix to poverty - it is a way of life, no matter what your color or ethnic background. For the African-American community, unless they embrace solutions, and soon, they will find that they have exchanged the shackles of slavery for the shackles of the penitentiary, and it is a dead end street.

There is an irony that was well demonstrated by the show, "The Jeffersons," which I watched when I was young. [Note to Hollywood - it's not only the African-American community that watches the so called African-American shows. Fresh Prince of Bel Air has a following of kids of every hue, and Will Smith is an actor that appeals to people in every economic and racial class. I was a rural farm kid in Minnesota, and still managed to open my mind to The Jeffersons. Kids want to experience different things, and they don't really care what color of skin they are watching.]

The whole premise of The Jeffersons revolved around the move of the Jeffersons from the working class neighborhood of Archie Bunker to the high end penthouse world inhabited by the wealthy and successful. This comedy show was a parody of the wealthy, in many ways, and came complete with the newly successful black family hiring a black maid. I think that was a more revealing statement than was probably intended - the single most important symbol of their success seemed to be the black maid they could afford to hire, who ultimately bossed them around.

In the real world, money brings privilege, and the first privilege it usually brings is a move to a better neighborhood. The problem comes when there is no backward glance, no support of those still there, no leadership on how to make that leap. If you have been successful, you must go back and help others, you must show the roadmap for success, you must push and prod and manhandle, if necessary, in order to bring more people with you.

Barack Obama was never a part of the ghetto culture in America. Although he has lived a variety of experiences, he has less in common with an African-American in the slums of Chicago than he does with suburban parents in most major cities. But Obama made a choice a long time ago to take his education and his knowledge and his experiences, and spend some time in the darkness, live the life, walk the walk, and try to make a difference in the community where hope is fragile and education is scorned. That he has gone beyond that life, and is now experiencing the mountaintop, should be embraced and lauded, not only for his personal achievement, but for the role model he is providing.

While some have criticized him for not enrolling his children in the DC public schools, I would have been disappointed in him if he had. He values education, and if he doesn't value success for his own children, then how can I imagine he will value it for mine? His children have a rare example in their own home - a two parent family that, from all appearances, are loving and caring and supportive of each other. He has criticized the culture of hate and violence and irresponsibility that pervades the inner city, and he has called each American to begin with themselves to make the changes needed to make this country a better place for everyone.

As we stand on the threshold of history, it is fitting that the day before the inauguration would be a day dedicated to the celebration of The Dream. I hope and pray that Barack Obama will provide a new voice and new leadership, not only in the African-American community, to be sure, but especially there. I hope his example of education, service, hard work, and a little bit of luck, is one which will show all of our nation's children the path to a better land, one with the promise of a future, and the fulfillment of the dreams of every one of us for our future generations.

If he succeeds in that, he will be able to look back at his place in history and know he has made a contribution worth honoring. Martin Luther King, Jr. would expect nothing more, and the people of this nation deserve nothing less. Barack Obama is the exemplar of the American dream come to life - in his death, King was the martyr that made it possible.

No matter which side of the political spectrum you fall into, celebrate today the living dream of our founding fathers - a country where any child, no matter what their circumstances, can dare to dream, and have it come true.

Tanked

The entire country is drunk on the excitement of the inauguration, it seems, which is coming up this week. So I am going to do us all a favor, and not say another word about it.

See, aren't you glad you turned to my blog this fine day? Not only do I provide witty and uplifting commentary, I am even non-partisan. [That is as opposed to bi-partisan, the latest Washington buzz phrase.]

Instead of politics, I'm going to take up the topic of toilets. Although some cynics would make the claim that there is a certain amount of common ground, I will not take the plunge.

As I may have mentioned once or 1,000 times, I am not the luckiest of souls to ever walk the earth. If it can go wrong, for some reason, it usually does in my world. I don't really know why it is that way, but that seems to be my fate. So it should come as no surprise to anyone to learn that my toilet in the upstairs bathroom, the least visible area of the house for me, would break down for absolutely no good reason, and I would be left up a creek without a paddle. [See how topical I can be? It's a gift, but I try to stay modest about it all.]

It all started innocently enough, as most disasters do. I was in the kitchen, once again wrestling with that age old question, WHAT do I make for dinner, when my eldest child informed me that he was tired of the wet bathroom floor. Since his younger sister was out of town, and had been for several days, I didn't think it took a brain surgeon to figure out where the fault lay, and said so. I added the obvious solution to the problem, but that didn't satisfy him. He said, "Well, the water isn't really by the tub, it's more across from the toilet, actually."

I was becoming quite alarmed at this point, since for the water to be in front of the toilet, it would have to travel rather a ways. So, with a rising note of hysteria creeping into my voice, I inquired as to exactly how much water we were talking about. To which he replied, "Well, there isn't an inch of water standing on the floor, but there is quite a bit."

Hm. Water standing on the floor, especially when used in conjunction with the words, "quite a bit," is not something that any homeowner wants to hear. Ever. So I hustled up the stairs to investigate, expecting to see a few damp spots on the floor, and deliver a lecture about responsibility. Instead, what I found was Lake Huron, (for those who do not get my oblique humor, that is a takeoff on "Here on" the floor,) and it precipitated immediate action.

First, I turned off the water supply, twisting the shut off valve as tight as I could to be sure no more water could possibly escape the pipe and add to the raging current coursing across the bathroom floor. More on this later, rest assured.

Then I ran for the towel supply, which I keep handy at all times for eventualities such as this. In your life, you may not have a huge supply of ragged towels, kept handy for the disaster which is sure to befall you at any moment. In my life, it's a requirement. Thus, I grabbed my handy stash, and ran back upstairs to sop up the mess. All the wet towels into the bathtub, soak up more water, and then I finally got down to the floor, dry, a little the worse for the wear, but hopefully salvageable.

Then began the process of determining the cause of this immense disaster. I started feeling around on the bottom of the tank, to see if it was wet. I have no idea, at this moment, why I leaped to the conclusion I did, but for some ridiculous reason, I assumed the problem was the water intake pipe going into the tank. I thought it may have failed, so decided to just take the whole works apart and see what was going on. Evidently, I was not thinking too clearly, because although I did think to flush the toilet and get some water out of the tank, I didn't dry the bottom, leaving a good inch of water that wouldn't go out through the drain.

I have no excuse - sometimes I am just an idiot. [Just in case you know someone who may or may not be named Dave, please do not tell him I made that confession. I would never hear the end of it. If he were real. Which he isn't, of course.]

Two truly interesting pieces of information came out of that little exercise. The first thing I learned was that the shut off valve had not shut off all the way. The second piece of information was that the tank was no longer bolted to the stool.

That was the moment I realized I had much bigger problems, and the fill valve was the least of my worries. Because the entire tank went sideways on the stool, and water once again seemed to be everywhere.

I assure you, I was gobsmacked.

A toilet tank does not ordinarily come unbolted, to the best of my knowledge, and I simply couldn't make sense of a freestanding tank sitting askew in my bathroom with water flowing through the holes where the bolts should be. I determined that one of them was actually down on the floor underneath the tank, while the other was still hanging on by a thread.

The dam of saturated towels were, at this point, merely a diversion in the stream, serving no effective purpose. On the contrary, they were actually making the situation worse, by spreading the water further afield. The water depth was not an inch, I will grant him that, but it was as close as you can get. In short, we were experiencing a flood, and what was worse, it was getting deeper by the minute.

Naturally, there was an additional wrinkle, just in case the whole situation wasn't quite bad enough. The water flowing from the tank with such abandon was filled with the residue of a bleach cleaning tablet which I had popped into the tank a month or so previously. It is the only time I have ever used one of those tablets, and I can assure you, I will never be so foolish as to take the chance on doing it again. I don't know if it was coincidence or what, but I am deeply suspicious about the whole thing, I can tell you.

So, to bring us all up to speed, I am now standing in the middle of a bona fide flood in an upstairs bathroom, which is not only not improving, but getting worse. Super. Another SNAFU for us.

Just to make things a little more fun, at that moment I suddenly realized that the fill pipe, which was theoretically turned off by the shutoff valve, was, in fact, dripping at a rather speedy rate, and water continued to flow. ARGH. I knew then that the situation called for crisis management, and I finally came to the only conclusion I could. Time to turn off the water main, obviously.

I raced down the stairs, barely giving my concerned mother a fleeting glance backward, as she tried to ask what was happening. In fine form, I delivered the only statement that seemed appropriate at that moment. "I HATE MY LIFE." The pronouncement did not make my mother feel a rush of pride, I must admit, and I do feel bad about that. Sorry mom. Sometimes, you just gotta vent.

I turned off the new water main shut off valve, feeling a small rush of pleasure that my previous water catastrophe had resulted in a better outcome this time, only to realize that it, too, was leaking. But it was leaking on the basement floor, not the bathroom floor, and I was prepared to live with that problem in the short term, in favor of staunching the flow in the bathroom.

Next, I ran upstairs and tried to figure out what was wrong, but none of it made sense to me any longer. I realized, stressed out as I was, that it was time to call in the professionals. I had done my best, but it wasn't good enough, and the time had come to hire someone who would be able to fix the entire situation.

I called my usual plumber, who, predictably, [did I mention this was Friday afternoon, about 5:30, right after New Year's?] was out of town, with no back up. Super. Things going exactly as you would expect. I explained I had no water and several people in the house, to which they said, "Well, call a plumber."

Okayyyyy. I thought that was what I did.

Then I called my handyman, whom I call upon in times of distress, to come and save me from myself. No answer. This has become a catastrophe now, as we have no water, and we have the entire weekend stretching ahead of us.

My 82 year old mother is always game for fixing things. I think it was her example that made me realize that I can do anything around here that I really have to. She and I have fixed faucets and outlet switches and all sorts of stuff, and we are the original Ms. Fixit crowd.

Mom and I took off for the store to buy a new shut off valve, so at least we could staunch the flow of water onto the floor. That was the thing that had to be done first, and I was all for getting the process underway.

You may know this already, but I was extremely surprised to learn that there are many, many different shut off valve sizes out there. I am not really sure why they can't just make pipes a standard size, but apparently that's one more thing that doesn't make sense in this world. As mom and I stood there contemplating the increasingly out of control situation, my handyman guy, Kevin, called me. At last, something going my way.

He came immediately, fixed up the problem, and was gone with $39 of the best spent dollars I've ever paid, almost before we knew it. The problem was solved, the shut off valve worked, glory, hallelujah, life was good.

I wish I could say everyone lived happily ever after. Or maybe even just The End. But you knew that wouldn't be it. That is too easy, too quick, too uncomplicated. No, there is a follow up.

About a week after Lake Huron dried up, my eldest son, the one who seems to love to deliver bad news lately, came into my office where I was working and announced, "Mom. You aren't going to like this at all." Augh. [Second caveat. Whenever one of your very own offspring announces to you that there is something you aren't going to like, you should always assume that you will absolutely hate it.]

Obviously, I said the only thing I could to that. "What's wrong now?"

"Well," he said, "there seems to be water all over the floor in the upstairs bathroom again." WHAT???? If you are a Snoopy fan, you will remember how occasionally, when Linus was really surprised about something, all his little hairs would stand on end. That is how I felt upon hearing my son utter those dreadful words.

My hair stood on end.

I ran upstairs, briefly pausing to thank him for at least notifying me this time, and sure enough, the bathroom was soaked once again. Augh. Now what?

I felt around, thinking that surely it would be something simple, but nothing obvious came to mind. I simply couldn't understand what was going on, because there seemed to be water everywhere this time. I looked at the bolts, and they were securely in place. I looked at the fill valve, and it was dampish, but not dripping. I simply didn't understand, so I opened the cover, and saw that a plunger may not come amiss.

Not being entirely sure, I flushed. The water started to rise, and rise and rise, and showed no sign of stopping, when I finally reached down and turned the shut off valve.

You were expecting me to say it was broken again, weren't you? See. Now you know how I feel. But you would be wrong, because, as always, the surprise was on me, and it actually worked.

The water rose to the very top of the bowl, and it stopped. I heaved a sigh of relief, then realized that I would have to try to plunge without overflowing the water. That was going to be an interesting trick, but I ever so carefully put the plunger in, and somehow, some way, I managed to give it a small plunge, and flush. Down the water went.

As I stood there watching, however, it occurred to me that even with the toilet plugged, it never should have gotten so high. I lifted off the tank cover, and glanced inside, but the water level was at the bottom, of course, and I reached down to turn the valve back on.

I watched the water rising slowly, and listening to it, thought it sounded a little odd. I couldn't quite understand what the problem was, and was about to put the cover on the tank, when I realized that the float had popped up, but the water was still running. It ran and ran, and before I knew it, it was almost flowing over the top, before I reached down to shut off the valve again.

So that was the answer. The stupid fill valve wasn't working. Simple fix, easy answer, no need to take anything much apart, simple to take care of. Now that I knew what was wrong, I would be able to fix it in no time.

I went to the hardware store a day or so later, leaving the water shut off in the meantime, of course, and everyone under orders not to use that toilet. Eventually, I got the little rubber washer that wears out, brought it home, and expected it to be taken care of in minutes.

Not so fast.

I replaced the old washer, put the fill valve back together, turned on the water, and waited with anticipation. Only to find that once again, the float popped up, and the water remained free flowing.

Augh.

I couldn't deal with it right then, so off went the water once again [that new shut off valve had quite the workout] and it sat for another couple of days. After a great deal of consideration and contemplation, I selected the new fill valve that I thought would give me the greatest security, and later in the day, went home to install it.

I assembled the fill valve, and then turned on the water once again. I waited with anticipation, watching the bottom of the tank with the sort of rapt attention usually reserved for rock stars or the President-elect.

I wish I could say this was the end of the story. I wish all had been well. Alas, it was not. Because of course that valve was leaking around the bottom of the tank, and no matter how much I tightened it, no matter how many ways I tried to make it work, it refused. It was a failure. I was incapable of installing a simple valve that a five year old could handle without trouble.

It was demoralizing. I quit on it, deciding that tomorrow was another day. I may not be Scarlett O'Hara, but I certainly am Irish, and if it worked for her, it can work for me, too.

Of course, that was a book, and this is real life, so obviously, it still leaked this morning. Which is when I decided that the valve was the weak link instead of me. [See, I'm putting that whole reframing resolution to good use.] I hustled off to the hardware store once again, procured yet another fill valve, brought it home, assembled and installed, and then?

IT WORKED! YAY!

They say persistence is a virtue, but if it is, it's only because you have no choice. But I can tell you one thing that I have learned. If you are going to take the plunge and do your own toilet repairs, make sure your tank is bolted on, and your shut off valve works.