I don't know why but in the past year or so I have gained a reputation of handling catastrophe when I am all alone at home. It started last summer with the mouse. Then the dead bird. Fires on the stove. And now trouble with the pipes. Let's just say, I had flashbacks of being a PD at my first overnighter. And I tried hard not to gag.
These are my stories:
1- The mouse
Last summer, I was at home alone waiting for Melanie to come home from school so that the two of us could drive and spend the rest of the day at the hospital. I was checking up on emails and whatever else on my laptop while sitting in my living room. My back was up against the couch facing south. The other couch lies against the west wall, next to my parents' large grandfather clock. There is a space of about 2 feet of bare wall between the two. This small area of wall was on the far edge of my peripherals.
There I was, minding my own business, and I catch the glimpse of something brown race along the wall frame. I started. The only way that I can explain it is that my heart jumped. Just a bit. I stared the wall down, daring it to turn brown again. It didn't, so I returned my attention to what I was doing. The moment after my heart rate returned to normal, it happened again! Although this time, I was faster than the mouse and caught a terrifying glimpse of a tail sticking out from behind the couch!!!
Before I continue my story, I need you to understand something. I am not a baby. I consider myself hardcore. I have dealt with things that make my father cringe, and I think that man can handle just about anything. My emotions were already on edge with the long hospital stay and my sister recovering from a brain injury. London created a pit in my stomach for weeks. This is all to simply say, I was not myself.
So what did I do? Screamed. And ran. And called my mother.
I will forever be in debt to my neighbor, Gene Andersen, who saved me from the tiny mouse. He continues to never let me live it down.
2- The dead bird
A few weeks after the mouse incident, I experience yet another small creature episode. This time, I was not completely home alone. Melanie was at home with me. Why? I can't remember. We were at home for a few hours before heading into the hospital again. Since it was June/July, it was rather warm in the house. I was upstairs getting ready for the day and decided that it might be a good idea to turn on the AC. To set the scene, we have a swamp cooler. It drips in the summer so the cover that would normally be in the ceiling is gone, leaving a square shaft from us to the fan.
I went into the hall and simply turned the dial down to Low. The fan began to turn, but slowly. It sounded like it was stuck. The reason still makes me hurt. I am...a bird killer.
I turned the cooler off after a few seconds, but I thought the problem was created because I had turned the dial the opposite direction than usual. I turned the dial again. The cooler turned on again. It struggled for a moment or two, and then began to spin as usual. A second after it started to spin without obstacle, I heard a small thud a foot away from me. Yes, a small bird had fallen from the sky and now lay dead in the middle of the floor.
What did I do? Gasped. And ran down the stairs to the landing. Melanie heard me and asked what was wrong. I told her simply, "There is a dead bird. On the floor. Upstairs." With her help, we placed the poor bird in the garbage can.
I still hesitate when turning on the AC to this day.
And today's story? You don't need to know any other details besides the fact that I kept reminding myself that I am Harmony, the PD. I am not a plumber.
But I am Hardcore.
And I can do hard things.
