Last Friday about a quarter of our power went out. One of our kitchen lights, an entire bathroom, Sam/Jack and Quinn’s rooms, and assorted basement lights and outlets just stopped working. We checked our circuit board and were unable to flip the switch back. Us being us, we didn’t bother to do anything about it until Monday. Then we called the electrician who was finally able to come on Friday morning.


I don’t know why, but more often than not, we never have a simple fix. I was in semi-constant fear when we lived in California that something unfixable would break in our house there. We were always finding things that had been jerry-rigged in such a way that there was no easy fix for it. Like our water pipe back in the Oakland house that emptied into the neighbor’s system. Like our sewer system breaking so that the neighborhood’s main line had to be fixed. (The special feature on that was a week of showering at the gym and going to the bathroom at the gas station TWO BLOCKS AWAY!)


Or when we lived in Alaska and our water heater basically exploded filling the house with smoke in such a way that I was concerned that I, Sam, baby Jack, Cassidy and the two cats would suffer irreversible brain damage (lucky Alex was at work). And then after finally getting in touch with the landlord and getting the okay to get a new water heater, we found out that the hatch to the water heater room was too small to actually get a water heater into or out of. Don’t ask.


Today, a third-generation electrician spent three hours fixing a wire that had gone bad in the walls, after telling me, “I’ve never seen THIS before.”


The houses change, but the luck doesn’t. Someday I’m going to move into a brand new house will brand new wiring and pipes and with enormous doorways and halls. And then it will probably burn down.



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