Sunday, June 15, 2008

Pumping Iron

It spit and sputtered and sent out a jettison of bubbles that drifted slowly across the water dispersing into oblivian. And then - silence! No gear grinding, humming noise, gurgling, popping and metal against metal causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. So quiet - you could hear the hum of the air conditioner two doors down. Total quiet - too quiet. The all too familiar hum was gone. The pool pump had taken its last burst of energy and slipped silently to the underworld. A world where broken machinery clutters the landscape like weeds in my flowerbed.

Mr. Wonderful (he's mine) dismantled the sucker and spread the greasy parts across the kitchen table. Why he doesn't use his workshop is beyond my reasoning. I guess he likes to spread his projects around the house just to let me know how busy he is. So, with all his expertise he couldn't put humpty dumpty back in working order again.

Dollar signs loom like skyscrapers in my mind. How much do pool pumps cost? Do we sell our soul to the devil to purchase one? Take out a third mortgage (the second mortgage is to buy gas for the vehicles) on our house? I can't live here without that pool. I need that pool. I deserve that pool.

So off to the pool supply store for the bad news. But soon, oh so soon the humming will start and block out all the other neighborhood noises except for the sirens and we will be back in the swim of things.

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