Remember how my last post was about construction? It’s on-going (both creatively in my writing and physically in my city), and last Wednesday I got a solid reminder of that fact.
I slid on a new pair of shoes and took my now-usual route to work, avoiding the front-of-my-apartment construction by going out the back way, traversing the temporary water pipes and sidestepping the cones and “sidewalk closed” signs to get to the bus stop. I managed to step around the water gushing from the bus-stop construction site, although I kept checking the band-aid I’d put on to pre-empt any new-shoe blisters.
I was feeling pretty good after I caught the earlier bus and the train was there right when I got to my transfer so I didn’t have to wait. I settled in, getting through a few pages of the book I’m currently reading, Awkward: A Detour, as the train rumbled along the track. And I had good tunes on my iPod–what could be better? I just had to cross the expanse of grass behind the bank on the same block as my building since the sidewalk is closed, due to–you guessed it–construction.
I was a little worried because the grass is usually dewy and these were new shoes, but I didn’t want to walk a mile out of my way in order to get to work, being a big believer in “the shortest path between two points is a straight line.” But I was more concerned with switching the song on my iPod and wasn’t fully paying attention when my foot sunk into something squishy. And watery. And muddy.
I stepped, full-foot over the top of my shoe, into a hidden mud puddle. I say hidden not just because I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see it, but because it was one of those puddles that only appear when you step in it, remaining camouflaged the rest of the time by a false cover of grass.*
I don’t remember what song came on my iPod next, but it was something apropos, like “Drive” by The Cars or “Mama Said” by the Shirelles.
Thank goodness I had been running early that day because I was now squish-limping in to work (after pouring mud out of my shoe) so I could head to the bathroom to wash off my feet. The irony of what I had just been reading about awkwardness wasn’t lost on me. Don’t worry, I took a picture first.
One of the things I liked about these shoes before I bought them was the intricate detailing of the braided detail on the top, but that detailing meant so many nooks and crannies into which muddy water could collect. The mud had a pungent earth smell that didn’t wash off as easily, so I wore my spare, “in case of emergencies” shoes most of the day and planned to finish cleaning them off at home. It was a busy day and I was grateful to have an open evening to write and work on other things around my apartment (including washing said shoes).
So, you can imagine my disappointment when I went to turn on the water and the faucet sputtered and shot air but no water came out. They’re putting in new water mains on my block, which has led to less-than-spectacular** water pressure of late, and which apparently caused this shut-off.
The building manager didn’t have any idea how long we would be without water, but, thankfully, a friend messaged me to ask if I was free to meet up for dinner and a much-needed beer. It could not have been better timing. And the water came back on pretty quickly, which was nice.
Other positives since last I posted:
I found this at the grocery store! There were two–TWO!–with my name spelled correctly in the same store. That never happens with anything labeled with people’s names, not because my name is so rare; it’s the opposite. Or they’ll have Sara but not Sarah.
My cousin got married last weekend, which meant fun time with the family. Lots of dancing. A fair amount of getting lost.
And two friends are getting married today, one of whom I’ll be witnessing say “I do.” Happy weddings, Tara and Jessica! Oh, and rainbow chip frosting is coming back, as Tara (and a few others) pointed out! Just in time for Pride weekend.
Also in time for Pride weekend, the SCOTUS ruled that love is love and marriage is for everyone, and now it feels like anything is possible. As I watched The Birdcage that evening, I thought about how, in the future, people born now won’t understand why the central charade is even necessary, and even though that might greatly alter how the movie is viewed, I couldn’t be happier that we’ve made such strides toward equality. We still have work to do, but I feel more hopeful than ever that we can–and will–move in that direction. Awkward though it may be.
*A foliage facade, if you will. Facilage?