The importance of water and the state of my apartment complex is such that I keep at least one 2.5-gallon of water in my laundry room for just such emergencies as I find myself in right now. When I flushed the toilet and didn’t hear the familiar sound of rushing water to refill the tank. A sound that my conscious mind ignores or rather dismisses as “background noise,” where I only acknowledge its absence rather than its presence.
Seeking a second opinion, I quickly turned on the bathroom faucet only to hear the gasping, dying breaths of plumbing that brings forth no water. On route to the laundry room to retrieve the stored water, I paused for a futile moment to check the kitchen sink, knowing before I turn the handle that dry faucet breath, rather than water, will spew.
I retrieved the stored water, carried it to the kitchen sink and washed my hands, followed by washing my dishes. About 40 minutes after my discovery of temporary water loss, the Ozarka natural spring water truck arrived to deliver one of my neighbor’s two large containers of water. How convenient! The delivery guy’s arms were ripped with well-defined muscles. My former Tanzanian students could teach him how to carry it on his head.
Was it just 72 hours ago I’d preached about the importance of water? Less than 24 hours ago I’d shared an excerpt about my Peace Corps experience, which ended with my dilemma that there was no running water. Life is imitating art. Reality means a trip to the grocery store to buy another 2.5-gallon of water. I’ve still not learned to carry it on my head.