Living life alone is filled with new and nerve-wracking experiences. Over the years, Rick and I developed our own areas of expertise.

I was the Molly Maid service, baker and decorator while hubby did the hardest of the work, I will admit. Yard work and house repairs and major industrial-sized jobs fell on his capable shoulders.

You never know how much someone contributes until they are gone, and I am quickly learning that Rick did so much around the house that I have huge work boots to fill. Last week I was put to the test with my first house emergency.

On a recent sunny fall morning, I was awoken by my dogs Roxy and Hank and my hostile feral cat, Floyd, all looking wide-eyed and panicked. Okay I thought, this is going to be bad. Dragging myself out of bed, I looked into the hall and saw the hardwood gleaming unnaturally, like a sheet of glass. Springing off the bed, Floyd jumped in front of me twitching and flexing his paws and claws as he slunk down the hall. Both dogs stood to one side looking slightly perplexed and wary, a sign of things to come.

Gingerly making my way out of the bedroom, I thought at first that my old canine friend Roxy had had an accident. Since she is a diabetic dog, whose vision is now next to non-existent, I restrained myself from shrieking and instead patted her old head as she looked up, dazed and happily confused. The closer I got to the disaster scene, the more I realized that water was spilling into the hall from the bathroom.

Looking down, I cautiously entered the washroom which contained a lake of water. Bath mats sat in soggy lumps, squishing beneath my feet as I made my way to the toilet which, to my horror, was filled to overflowing and the source of the flooding. Running down the hall to call a plumber, I stopped in my wet tracks and decided that I could fix this; girl power to the rescue.

Grabbing the plunger, I used it as intended, and may I say I did a grand job. Standing with water halfway up my ankles, I took a mop and started to clean up the mess. Still half asleep, I threw towels on the floor and as fast as they went down they were soaked and tossed into the bathtub. I am sure there was a better way than the towel toss to clean up the mess but it eluded me at the time.

Mission accomplished, the floor was dry and the toilet was working to perfection. Feeling empowered, I went to put on the kettle and remembered the pile of waterlogged towels and mats and walked upstairs. Actually I sauntered up and closed the shower doors and went down to the kitchen to feed the now calmer group of animals.

Sitting with my morning coffee and my family of pets, I realized I had passed hurdle number one in tackling the job myself without calling a plumber, family or friends. Then I sat and thought of Rick and how every day in so many different ways he was missed and treasured.

Stepping back into life, I shook myself and saw all the yard work and all the small jobs that I had just not seen before through my cloud of grief. I decided the best tribute I could give Rick would be keeping the property tidy and the house in one piece.

Just no more floods please.

Categories: Columns, Ramblin' Ruth
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