Wheaton’s Way

As we reach the end of 2021, I have begun to reflect on the past 12 months so I can figure out what I’ll be listing as New Year’s resolutions for 2022.

Starting my Christmas shopping in February is a given. I cannot believe, considering all I know, that I still left it to the last minute this year. On 23 Dec. I clocked about 16,000 steps on my Apple Watch and fell through the front door of the house on throbbing feet, ready to sleep until 1 Jan.

A subheading for that resolution will be ‘Expect the unexpected’. I had my week before Christmas all planned out – and then the fun really began.

I’ll be the first to admit that my memory ain’t as great as it used to be, but I’d swear that I’ve never had so many curve balls thrown at me in such a short period of time as happened in those seven days.

Around the 18th, I had an air-conditioning unit that wasn’t cooling. Inconvenient, but the service company I use is great, and they went out the same day to sort it. Although a top-up of Freon had it going again, it looked as though there was a leak, which wasn’t going to magically repair itself. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d worry about those tomorrow (i.e. 2022).

On the morning of the 21st, a toilet in the house decided to officially stage a protest. Despite plungers and pleading, it stubbornly refused to cooperate. It was time to bring in the professionals.

Easier said than done. Several unsuccessful phone calls later, I was beginning to think that all the plumbers on the island had booked a charter flight together. Maybe they were at a conference in Vegas, covering topics like ‘Ballcock vs. Float-cup: A discussion’ and ‘The reality of virtual pipes’.

Finally, I got an inside scoop from a friend and the first of three tradespeople showed up that day. Let’s call him the Plumber of Christmas Past, particularly as he was already familiar with this house and headed straight to the pipe that he reckoned was the issue.

It took about 30 minutes for him to a) Identify the problem; and b) Announce that he knew the tool it would require, but his was broken.

Thus, he made a call to a work colleague, who couldn’t make it that day, but would be out first thing the next morning.

That same night, the air-conditioning went on the blink for the second time. Out came the service guy again. Different leak; more Freon; madam would need a new air-handler in a couple of months. Super.

Bright and early on the 22nd, the Plumber of Christmas Present arrived at the house. He had been brought up to speed by his predecessor, and got to work with the electric snake. He seemed pretty confident, so I managed to breathe and go out to the supermarket. That didn’t last for long.

My phone rang before I made it down the aisle of cough syrups and foot cream.

“Hi ma’am. I got as far as 45 feet, which is the limit of my snake, and I still haven’t hit the blockage,” he said. Of course. Heaven forbid it would be an easy solution in the busiest week of the year.

The good news was that he had a connection with a third company that could take over in the afternoon, and they had a snake capable of reaching halfway across the island. (That’s a slight exaggeration, but it was long.)

The Plumber of Christmas Future appeared at 1pm, and he was about as sombre as the ghost in the classic Dickens story. The whole toilet was going to have to be removed from its position and based on the reports from the previous gentlemen, he wasn’t able to guarantee me a positive resolution.

I see a plunger, sitting useless, and a toilet, carefully preserved; if these shadows remain unaltered, the pipes will not be cleared, and all that.

On the one hand, I desperately needed to get out and catch the shops before they closed, but on the other, I couldn’t concentrate on anything until I knew whether or not we would be flushing with happy abandon by the night.

I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say the job took a few hours; he had to drive off and return with an underground camera; and even though he was eventually able to fix the issue, he said that there seemed to be a bigger problem with the pipes that would have to be addressed. Hence, the Plumber of Christmas Future.

The toilet had to be put in place, followed by a cleanup operation, but at least now I could get back to finishing my gift-buying. Plus, my bestie/housemate Lynne and I had to get the house ready for Christmas Day, as the whole family was coming around.

Not so fast, Wheaton.

On Christmas Eve morning, I went into the separate dining room to start getting the tablecloth arranged, put out the plates, decide on a centrepiece etc., then stopped dead in my tracks. There was a big stain on my favourite cream couch. One of the cats had been sick all over it.

This. Was. Not. Happening.

In a panic, I called my cleaning company, and – unbelievably – they said they could get someone to me in a few hours. Fate had seen fit to smile upon my unhappy situation.

The man showed up with what looked like blue ‘Star Wars’ droid and made his way to the sofa. I pointed out the electrical outlets and left him to it… which was a mistake. I’d just managed to grab a roll of wrapping paper in order to catch up with my Christmas to-do list, when I heard him calling for me.

“Ma’am, no power,” he said, holding up his electrical cable.

“Are you sure?” I asked, while at the same time plugging in a light with no result. “Okay, go with that outlet instead,” indicating the other end of the room.

“I tried them all,” he replied. “None of them work.”

I felt like I was losing my mind. The ceiling fans were on, the wall lamps were on… what the heck?

At the same time, my mother – sitting in the living room – asked me if I knew why the WiFi was suddenly out.

“Clearly, the house is possessed,” was the first answer that sprang to mind, followed by advice to grab only what she needed so we could run for our lives.

Just before I hired someone who specialised in the paranormal, I made a trip to the fuse box. It’s a witty choice of words on my part, as ‘trip’ is exactly what had happened. I guess the Force was not flowing through the outlets in that room when the cleaner plugged in R2-D2, and the fuse had done its job.

I snapped it back into place; we went with a couple of different outlets; and the man was back in business.

By the end of this rollercoaster day – not to mention the days that had gone before it – I was remarkably calm… energised, even. It was the realisation that all the shopping had been done, toilets were flushing, air-conditioning was blowing cold, and there was no trace of cat puke on the couch. Life was good.

I sat down to inflate the mammoth Christmas ornaments that I planned to hang from the ceiling above the dinner table. It had to be done by hand, and the first one was putting up a fight. It took me 20 minutes to complete it, and I had eight to do.

“Lynne, where is the cable for the electric pump?” I asked, thinking there had to be a better way.

“No idea,” she said, weighed down by dinner plates she was carrying from the kitchen while trying to avoid tripping over cats.

The only cable I could find was the car charger. So, I could either end up with forearms like Popeye, or go and sit in the car to save a lot of time and energy.

I chose the latter. At 11:45pm on Christmas Eve, I was sitting in Lynne’s Kia Soul, listening to festive songs on the radio over the hum of the pump while watching the ornaments spring to life like huge red airbags.

Finally, I felt it was now – officially – the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.