parched.

Lately, we’ve been having some problems with the water. As in, there is none. As in, Saturday afternoon -- yes, the very same Saturday afternoon three unsuspecting souls showed up for a lovely little visit to Chez Nip ‘N Tuck, expecting a cozy retreat in the woods, and maybe, I don’t know, a WORKING TOILET -- our water pump broke.

What is a water pump?

Clearly, it is that rusting, gnarly thing buried three thousand feet under the ground, in a carefully hidden and randomly selected corner of the backyard.

And how is it possible that a water pump will break, be replaced, break again, freeze, be replaced, leak, break again, be replaced for a third time, and still, incredibly, not do the one thing it purports to be able to do?

i.e. PUMP. WATER. TO THE HOUSE?

It is possible because we live on an island. And because we live on an island, these things take time. There are special plumbers that need to take special boats from a far away place called the MAINLAND. Not to mention the special parts that need to be ordered from special pump warehouses, or the special landladies quietly residing in special states just south of the Mason-Dixon.

But living without plumbing is fun! It’s just like camping! Besides, if the pump hadn’t broken, I might never have discovered that it only takes FIVE GALLONS OF WATER poured into a bucket and thrown violently into the toilet bowl to force it to flush! (For a quick video demonstration, and a catchy little jingle, see here. And then call Hannah and tell her she was right.)

Also, if the pump hadn’t broken, and I could do things like shower once in a while, I might not be sitting here, typing with egg yolk in my hair. Although, to be honest, I suspect that has more to do with the fact that I was put in charge of making breakfast this morning, a rare reversal of domestic roles that I suspect, after today’s performance, will never happen again.

Or at least not until we have running water.