Life Without Plumbing: The Chaos, The Beauty

Welcome home, selves. No running water for you!

Vienna, Matthew and I made it back from Denver in one piece, but just barely. I spent the flight with my green hoodie cinched tight round my face like a dying vampire, hunched over the tray table trying to sleep through wicked chills and the pulse in my eyes.

Actually, maybe I was the only one struggling. Matthew and Vienna were cheerful-to-raucous while waiting for the carseat to come thumping off the conveyor belt; I was the one considering a nap on the airport floor. I knew I had a fever and was praying Vienna and Matthew wouldn’t get sick. I figured we’d all be fine if we could just get home to our quirky old apartment, flop into bed, and fly under the radar for a quiet little while.

Cue the landlady’s note on our apartment door.

Don’t use sinks. Don’t use toilet.

Plumbers here all week.

See can of Febreeze and sweets on counter.

We are on day four of having no shower, sink, or toilet. Or day five? It’s all starting to run together.

There’s this Jenga’ed  mountain of dishes teetering against the kitchen wall.  Obviously I smell and my hair looks – um – shabby chic? The cloth diapers are ripening fragrantly.  Vienna, a new scoocher fiercely committed to dust bunny digestion, cannot be let on the floor at all. I’m pretty lasses-faire about germs, but even I realize how disgusting the possibilities are right now.

I swallow my pride and ask my neighbors, several times a day, if I can please use their toilet. Sometimes nobody’s home and Vienna and I walk to the library to, you know, see a man about a dog. Matthew and I have spot-bathed in whatever sinks were available to us, and Vienna has just had wipes-baths.

Regarding the injection of noise, chaos, and clomping around of workmen into my desperation for rest, God has provided amazingly. He’s been maximizing Vienna’s every nap. To paraphrase His famous parable about the lilies of the valley, she has woken not, neither has she stirred, not for the sawzall cutting tile by her bedroom door nor for polka music blasted from the bathroom. In fact, I think she likes the polka music.

And I thought I would hate being sick with strangers in the house. Don’t you just want to bum around in sweatpants when you’re sick, and not wear your contacts so you can sleep on demand, and watch Cosby Show episodes all day without anybody around?

But it’s been kind of cozy. Vienna and I have more or less holed up in the bedroom. We play and read on the bed, listen to the Hillsong worship station on Pandora, and do some mild dancing when we’re feelin’ it. We drift in and out of naps. I nurse her for long, sweet sessions that don’t end for errands, laundry, or cooking because hey, that’s all a lost cause at the moment.

Life feels simpler.

When energetic, we poke our heads out. I chat with the plumbers while Vienna peers at their grout trowels, copper pipes, and drills. Marco’s daughter is the same age as mine. Juan is a long-practiced dad, who helped me baby-Heimlich a broccoli stem out of Vienna’s throat last night. Then we bonded over World War II trivia and I hear about his newest baby boy.

One day it all got to be too much, though, and I was going to cry from exhaustion and frustration and oh, yeah, I was still sick. I Phoned-a-Friend, she let me into her house (oo, running water!), and we had the loveliest chat while Vienna took one nap without construction clamor.

Life feels more relational.

Don’t’ get me wrong. Life also feels a heck of lot dirtier and less convenient. I’ll name no names, but somebody in this apartment peed in a vase in the middle of the night. If you ever come over here after reading this, you will NOT encounter this item. Promise.

At our church there’s an ongoing campaign to build wells in areas without clean water. You know what? I’m suddenly paying attention. I wasn’t before, to be honest. But now, I’ve actually been thirsty. I’ve been unable to wash my dishes or cook a lot of my food. And I know I could go to the neighbors or down the street if I really needed clean water.

How do people survive without any access to clean water at all?

A lot don’t survive. And now I care. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it yet, but I’m starting with caring.

So, anyway, these are some of the things I’m learning during this feverish and filthy phase of life. When it’s all over, I think we’re going to have a Plumby New Pipes Party. You may come. There will be lots of clean dishes and fresh tap water, no cut flowers, and no polka.