Water Splashing Merrily: So, Why am I Not Smiling?

One of the nice things about owning your own house is that you don't have to depend on the landlord to get things fixed.

One of the drawbacks about owning your own house is that you can't depend on the landlord to get things fixed.

I own the house I live in, and generally like getting things done without having to go through a landlord. Last night, I'd have cheerfully called maintenance and walked away.

Actually, it was 'early this morning.' I'd been up later than usual, getting a 'due Friday morning' piece done. Around midnight I was diligently working at that piece, and heard the washing machine go into its rinse cycle. Nothing odd about that. I generally set it so that it starts using water after I've washed up.

Somewhat later I remembered that I didn't have laundry to do.

And I was still hearing the washing machine going through its rinse cycle.

Or, more accurately, I was still hearing water rushing through the pipes toward the washing machine.

Not "to:" "toward." About a foot short of the machine, the water was splashing merrily out the end of a broken pipe.

The washer and dryer are on the ground floor, off the kitchen. The water there was almost an inch deep. It's an old house, so most of the water stayed at one end of the kitchen before wending its way through the wall and into the basement.

I'll let you know how this turns out, next week.

Upper-Midwest Enthusiasm and the Loonfoot Economy

Mark Bjornson, Mayor of Loonfoot Falls, gave his state of the city report this week. He said that Loonfoot Falls' economy could be worse. In fact, he added, in a burst of upper-Midwest enthusiasm, it's not too bad off.

He pointed out that Loonfoot Basin Power, health care, and agriculture are either what he called recession-proof, or not doing badly at all.

It's not all beer and lutefisk, of course. We've got the same higher fuel prices and lower housing values that the rest of the country has. But it could be worse. Loonfoot Falls property values were never what, say, Miami had. But they haven't fallen all that much, either.

It sounds like I'm bragging, and maybe I am. But this isn't the worst place to live, and it's nice to hear someone say so.

Not everybody sees things the way Mayor Bjornson does. There are the guys who were laid off at the turkey plant, and I've heard that the hospital is planning to cut hours or staff. I've also heard that they're looking at adding a new wing: something doesn't add up there.

On the up side, Loonfoot Falls needs a new sewage plant, so there will be jobs open when the ground thaws this spring. But, somebody's going to have to pay the contractor, which means more city taxes or levies. And nobody likes to pay taxes.

I think I'll just say that the economy in Loonfoot Falls could be worse, and leave it at that.

I Love This Place: I Really Do

That's me, as sketched at my desk by one of my co-workers yesterday afternoon.

My office at the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette is part of the upstairs coffee room.

In the summer, it's a little on the warm side. Air conditioning is a luxury which wasn't extended past the editorial room, at the front of the second floor.

Yesterday, though, was one of those days when it's about ninety in the shade. No clouds. No wind to disturb the serene contemplations of a fly which sat on the coffee room windowsill. The room was warm: a soft, enfolding warmth which gently discouraged, rather than forbade, strenuous activity.

The offices were quiet, except for the sonorous droning of the fan behind my chair.

I sat, gazing now at my computer's screen, then at the contemplative fly, and beyond,: to the azure abyss in which, perhaps, I would find inspiration for this week's column. And, throughout this journey of the mind from a blank screen toward infinity, the fan droned.

I fell asleep.

Candace Kane, the advertising assistant, drew that sketch during coffee break. I have to admit that she caught the moment quite well. My boss, Mr. Johnson, agreed.

Then he and I had a serious talk. I get to keep my job, and my office. Mr. Johnson says he'll see about getting air conditioning into the rest of the second floor. I believe him. We had our talk in the coffee room, after the break, and it hadn't gotten any cooler.

A Burger, Fries, and Frustration

Small town America is supposed to be a bucolic abode of bliss: a sort of Brigadoon, far removed from the frantic pace of the outside world.

Don't believe it.

With a deadline today, and an editor (hi, boss!), breathing down my neck, I needed a break, and a meal. I had about fifteen minutes for both. The solution was obvious: go out, get a burger and fries, and eat at my desk.

There was a line at the drive-through, which I'd expected.

Then, whoever was in the car ahead of me opened a meaningful dialog with the checkout guy. It must have been complicated. The driver grabbed several different pieces of air, apparently showing how much coffee or pop she wanted.

Then menus started changing hands. I counted three different sheets that the guy at the window handed out, and two booklets. I'm pretty sure one of the sheets was the children's menu.

I was checked the clock. I had another five minutes before I had to be back at my desk.

Some sort of decision seemed to have been reached. Two menus and a booklet went back inside. The checkout guy's profile disappeared from the window.

Time passed.

I now had three minutes left.

Finally, her order got handed out. From the size of the package, I think she got a burger and a small coffee.

I made it back to my desk, only two minutes late.

With stress like this, I might as well be living in Manhattan.