A Crazy Start to the Holiday Weekend

Gary left at 5 AM to check on some work being done by his team in Beverly Hills. I stayed in bed, but the phone rang at 7 AM. It was Mom calling to ask what day it was. She thought it was Tuesday and she had an early doctor's appointment. Of course, my answer was, "No and no." I reminded her it was Saturday and even if it had been Tuesday, she didn't have a doctor's appointment. She seemed satisfied and said, "I guess I'll go downstairs and join Jack for breakfast." I fluffed my pillows and invited Vanna dog onto the bed.

At 7:45, the doorbell rang. Vanna went nuts, barking as she tore off the bed and down the hall. I threw on my bathrobe and rushed after her, nearly tripping over Poudre cat who was sitting in front of the bedroom door and refused to move as Vanna dashed by him.

I opened the front door to greet Bob, ex-husband of my neighbor, Betsy. Bob is a short, stout man in his 60's who always wears a hard hat and safety glasses - the original "Bob the Builder." Bob told me he was helping his son put in a concrete walkway along the side of Betsy's house. He wanted permission to cut a water pipe that he feared might be ours. I listened, squinting, and feeling aware of my disheveled appearance and Vanna's ardent sniffing of Bob's left leg.

When Bob finished explaining, I said, "You'll have to talk with Gary, but he's working today." What I was thinking was, "Only Gary or a plumber is qualified to talk with you - not me. And I'm sorry my dog is sniffing you as if you have a tri-tip in your left pocket."

Bob seemed a bit dismayed, so I said, "Let me call Gary and see if he can talk to you right now." Bob thought that was a good idea but said he didn't want to come inside my house because he had been digging in the dirt. I reassured him that I didn't want him in the house; I just wanted to get my cell phone and bring it outside. Vanna tired of sniffing Bob's leg and took off to check out other enticing odors in the front yard. After a brief conversation with Gary, Bob handed the phone back to me whereupon Gary told me he was returning home to handle Bob's issues.

I was alarmed. If Gary was coming home from LA to deal with Bob's plumbing problem, the solution might be expensive for us. Sure enough, Gary called me back to explain, and it was potentially scary. We might have a big problem if the pipe had to be moved. I sat down in the bedroom to meditate.

Gary was all business when he arrived home, talking about plumbing (Greek to me) with Bob and his son, using big, daunting tools and slamming doors. I was tempted to go back to bed and hide under the covers, but it was too hot.

After three hours of anxiety and trepidation, we discovered the plumbing issue wasn't ours - THANK GOD - and Gary gave Bob sincere moral support. WHEW! I was given the "all-clear" to shower and wash my hair. In the shower, I said a prayer and reminded myself that it's the little things in life - showers, washing your hair and not paying $10,000 for plumbing repairs - that are so precious.

By 1 PM, the outdoor temperature had climbed to 92 in the shade. Gary was sweating out the college football games, either in the living room with a fan or in the "cigar bar" (garage) without so much as a cross-draft. I found relief in our bedroom - the only room with air-conditioning - and conjured up many reasons to hang out back there, including ironing, cleaning out drawers and petting the intelligent cats who clearly understand it's the best place in the house to rest on a hot day. Meanwhile, our plans for spending the evening with our kids changed and we had the rest of the day to ourselves.

The heat finally got to Gary around 3 PM and he decided to take a cool bath. Afterwards he couldn't take any more heat and didn't want to be roped into helping with my cleaning projects in our air-conditioned bedroom, so he suggested we go see a movie. With so many football games on TV, I thought it was a miracle and immediately agreed.

After seeing The Simpsons (Gary's choice, enough said) and dining at The Yard House, we were home by 8 PM. The phone was ringing as we turned the key in the front door lock. It was Mom calling to ask what day it was. "It's Saturday, and it's 8 PM and we're turning on the USC football game." She yelled to Jack, a USC alum, to switch on the TV and find the game. I heard an alarm going off in the background - a clock beeping that started softly and increased steadily in volume and frequency. Mom said she didn't hear it till the beeping was really loud. I told her there had to be a button on the clock to push, but she couldn't figure it out. The beeping finally stopped, and then started again about two minutes later. Same routine - Mom didn't know what to do. After the fourth or fifth time, I was freaking out.

"Mom, you have to turn off this alarm noise," I said.

"It doesn't bother me," she replied

I asked, "How long have you been hearing it?"

"I don't know, probably several hours," she said with a sigh. I told her I would call the front desk and ask them to come and stop the alarm. "STOP THE MADNESS," I thought. Obviously this was my control issue, but I couldn't help myself. We shared a loving farewell and she said, "Honey, one more thing. Can you tell me what day it is?" At least I knew the answer, which is more than I could say about my conversation with Bob at the beginning of the day.