I went to bed last night knowing that the dawn would bring sorrow and heartache. Sort of like the condemned man who can hear a guy whistling a happy song as he drives nails while building the gallows from which the condemned will hang in the morning. Strike one was another day apart from my Ann. Strike two was I was going to spend a good part of the day at Hershey Park (HP). The final strike and also just as unavoidable was that I would once again have to crawl under the kitchen sink and try to unclog the unclogable.
Note: Merriam-Webster defines "oxymoron" as: a combination of contradictory or incongruous words. I'd like to point out to you that I consider "a good part of the day at Hershey Park" to be very oxymoronic. No part of the day is "good" when at Hershey Park, except for the tram ride from the park to my car.
As is typically the case, Seth and I were up and running behind schedule immediately. We stopped for breakfast, picked up his friend Michael, stopped at Grandpops to abscond with his cell phone and charger and headed to Hershey Park. Walked directly to the voucher exchange line, got our tickets and walked directly into the park. This is too easy. The boys went directly to Storm Runner and rode twice within 20-minutes. Then it was on to the rest of "Hershey Park Happy". After a short while I separated myself from the boys and took off on my own. I had a leisurely stroll through the Boardwalk and Water Park. My feat hurt so I decide to throw caution to the wind remove my shoes and low cut socks which are pretty wild when one considers exactly whose feet they were on and dove feet first into the Wave Pool. I stayed far from any waves being created in this man made sea because I didn't have a swim suit on, the head life guard only let me in because I swore and signed an affidavit stating I would not get wet above my knees because I didn't have "proper swimming attire" on and because I had just finish watching "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel and who knows what danger lurks beyond the breakers.
After standing in ankle deep, cool water for 15-minutes I work up a powerful thirst. Being who I am and not being able to help myself, I brought along my refillable mug that I either picked up from a trash can at HP or bought for a dime at some yard sale. In past years HP would gladly refill these for 99-cents plus 6-cents for the governor of the Commonwealth. But not this year! This year HP decided that locals who were doing this were costing Hershey Entertainment tens of dollars each year in soda sales and so they upped the ante to $1.69 plus a dime for the governor of the Commonwealth. This is just another reason why I detest HP. Number one on that list is the $10 parking fee but that's another blog.
I did get a refill on my kettle-corn for the $2.25 refill price but I guess they some how knew when they scanned my admission ticket that I had legitimately bought the first fill up four years ago. I linked up with Seth for a few moments before he went to meet more of his friends. With the new found sense of adventure stirring deep with in me, I set out across the park. I jumped on the Dry Gulch Railroad, tramped to the tram and the went to see a show. By this time I was beat so I called Seth and said I was headed home.
Now like the first few moments of the morning when the condemned man awakens, he probably has two things on his mind that aren't connected with ropes or falling. He is thinking wheres the bathroom and what's for breakfast. Me I'm thinking, BLT's for supper and how fast can I get home. Then as unexpectedly and suddenly as a lightning strike a voice in the back of my head located somewhere between my ears whispered, "kitchen sink". So just like the dead man walking, going up the steps to the gallows, I went home, cleared out the stuff beneath the sink and once again attacked the plumbing. My friend Scott stopped in and we are in agreement, so it must be so, that any charges from a plumber are justified and warranted regardless of what they are.
I buried the full length of my heavy duty snake not once but twice and each time I retrieved copious amounts of the blackest, slickest, nastiest stuff this side of a Gulf oil slick. It was so bad that the towels I used to wipe the snake off are still burning with a strange yellow-blue-orange flame in my fire pit. But like the Susquehanna River, my drain is flowing free.
I was so happy and Scott was so happy with my being happy that we immediately knocked a hole in my kitchen wall and installed a new outlet so I can change my house phones. Plumbing, electrical work what does tomorrow hold? Maybe a deck or a new bedroom? One never knows.
So all in all it was almost a perfect day in spite of HP and the sink. Only having Ann here to share in the madness could I have achieved perfection.
I pray your days in Lourdes are as near perfect as mine in 17103. - DD
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