B-O-B, Queen of Plumbers

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The morning glory that blooms more than a week after the vine has been cut off.  And spiderwebs everywhere.)

Gratitude List

1. The morning mist in the hollow, covering everything like a veil.

2. Dozens of dew-bejeweled spiderwebs scattered across the lawn this morning, layer upon layer of gossamer strands, so thickly laid each makes a little cloth of web.
“Mom!  It looks like bits of ice all over the place!”
Like a personal message for me, from the heart of the Mystery: Don’t forget.  Everything is connected.  You are part of the web.  Part of the cloth.

3. The chipping sparrows twittering in their nest.  Fledglings, soon.  One of the benefits of poor Fredthecat’s encroaching arthritis is that I no longer fly into a panic whenever a nestful of little ones learns to fly.

4. Me and my trusty plumber’s snake Nyoka–we conquered the clog in the outside pipe that leads to the septic system, just like the guy showed us four years ago.

Shove, shove, shove, twist.  (Half an hour of twist and shove and grunt and growl.  Okay, and swear.  Just a teensy-tiny little bit.  Under my breath.)

“Hey Mom!  Do you want to be a member of my Animal Rescue Club?”

Twist, grunt, sweat.  

The water begins to slowly recede–SHOVE, shoveshoveshove, TWIST!  G-glub.  Sigh, in comes the water again, and more to boot.

“Hey Mom!  Your code name in the club is Bee-Oh-Bee.”

Twisttiwisttwist, shove.
Sploot: Nyoka uncoils and splashes kitchen sink goop into my hair.  Um.  Yuck.

“Great!  Bob!  I am Bob!”

“Mo-o-om.  Not Bob.  Bee-Oh-Bee.”

“Oh.  Okay.  But I like Bob better.”

Twi-i-i-i-st.  Shove, shove.

“You can’t be in the club if you change things.”

(“Little dictator.“)
“Okay.  Bee-Oh-Bee.  That’s me!”

Fizzzzzz.  Bubbles on the surface.  Shove?  Twist?  G-g-glug.  Gurgle.  Whoosh.  

Peek.  Yup, the water is gone!

“I AM BOB (Bee-Oh-Bee), Queen of Plumbers!”

5. So, the Animal Rescue Club.  I am grateful for the Animal Rescue Club and its Darling Dictator.

Knocking on the bathroom door, where I am getting out of the shower, having washed the cloggulus from my Super Plumbing Job from my hair and fingernails: “Mom, you need to come see the clubhouse.  If your chair is too small, I can help you fix it with pillows and stuff.”

This is a great club.  They even help you with the seating arrangements.

I am toweling off.  “Can you please come in soon?  Fred is looking around for a lap to sit on.  Even though Fred used to kill animals, he can still be a member of the club because he doesn’t do it very much anymore.  And he kind of likes the red blanket in the clubhouse.”

So far, we have rescued a monarch from the driveway (he didn’t survive for very long, but we tried our best), a question mark butterfly from the spiderweb behind the house (it took a lot of gentle, careful work to get the sticky web off the wings, but we managed, and that one flew away), and a mouse from under the tractor tire (I do not remember this particular rescue operation, but the boys swear we did it).

May we walk in Beauty.  On the web.  Through the veil.  Removing Clogs and Obstacles.  Rescuing.

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