Injured Digits and Bathroom Woes

Sitting for a quiet moment and treating myself to another cup of coffee. The storm came through last night, banging the steel roof and the wind blew in sighs and gasps, whipping the water around. No damages occurred unless you count the men's room. Someone left the door open and the light on. It is full of giant mosquitoes and the floor is a little flooded. Some of my smaller trees had some bent branches. I feel for Oklahoma.

I harvested strawberries and asparagus this morning and noted that my beans and my corn are erupting form the ground. The tiny peaches on my trees doubled in size overnight. I spent the entire morning weeding a garden.

I am tired. He Who Tows had a tooth emergency yesterday. Men do not handle pain well. His tooth was bothering him last week, but he refused my offer to make an appointment with the dentist. Men are also incapable of securing an appointment. I ignored my better judgement and did not make an appointment anyway. He held his jaw all weekend and kept me awake Sunday night with his constant moaning. I got as much sleep as I usually get through my bouts of insomnia, but this was different. With insomnia, it is a quiet, solitary event. Leading to great breakthroughs of insight. The moaning and moving around he did was hellish. Like sitting up with a colicky baby. At first you are sympathetic, but as the hours pile up and you start to doze, only to be abruptly pulled from sweet slumber by someone you love .....  well, lest just say that love and hatred are closely related.

It didn't help that the phone rang at 12:45. A would be camper launched into a tirade when I answered. She had used the night check-in and wanted her check back. Said she had tried to shower and there was no water, only a trickle. And, according to her, she really needed a shower. I apologized for her bad experience, although I knew the water pressure to be fine. I mentioned that we have two bath houses and asked which one she used. "The only damn one I saw on the map." " I couldn't even get wet." she said. "Someone should be in this office at all hours! You need to go check this shower!" I asked again which bath house she used and suggested she try the other one, since she has already checked in.

By now I have drifted to the door of the office and see her headlamps shining in the office window. I suppose she thought I would appear in my night shirt, check in hand, at the door. I told her I could either destroy her check or send it to her via USPS. Her answer to using the other bath house was that she had already been wet and had to dry off and was not going through "that" again. I wanted to ask how she had gotten wet if there was no water pressure, but didn't. I just listened. Now she is telling me that the hot water was not sufficient to even get her hair washed ..........

She stopped here, thinking to spend the night, took a shower and decided that she wanted to continue her journey, but wanted her money back. I bet she tried to stick her hand into the night drop box and got a surprise splinter that would account for her indignant behavior. All she had to do was say that she decided to move on and I would have put my clothes on and gone out to give her money back, less the cost of a shower. I did check the shower and it was fine. My hot water will burn your skin off if you aren't careful. Has to be hot, as it services the showers, as well as the laundry facilities and my living quarters. Never have I had anyone complain that the water would not get hot. Even when I have my church group of tents as far as the eye can see.

The men's room was not without puzzles to ponder this weekend. There were two rolls of toilet tissue right there by the toilet. Visible, easy to see, with-in reach. So, why, I wonder was the roll of paper towels that is normally mounted on the wall by the sink, for the drying of wet hands (for those of us who actually wash our hands after using the facilities) on the back of the toilet? Always strikes fear in the heart of He Who Plumbs to see this. Paper towels do not flush well. Not to worry, the user was kind enough to leave them in the small trash can by the toilet ....... over flowing. Lucky me.

My tipless finger is back in use! Never would guess some of the meat is missing unless you run a finger over it and feel the little divot left there. I had been missing that index finger. But yesterday I injured the middle finger on my right hand. I was using the hammer this time. I was trying to pound a trellis into the ground to denote the Killdeer eggs.

The hammer missed my target and flew out of my hand and was falling to the ground ........... directly towards Hildy's eggs. I deflected it with my hand and the claw hit my finger, clawing a chunk out of it. Hildy's eggs are intact. But this is my main weeding digit! I don't know how I would have lived with the guilt had I crushed those eggs and killed the baby Killdeer!