Morning Thanks--the uglies

I can't imagine that we'd change our minds about living out here in the country, but had I known about septic systems, I would certainly have considered how very much easier it would have been to live in town where all your burdens get flushed away into a wonderful system the city maintains. 

Any septic system carries its own sticky wickets, but doing annual maintenance is a once-a-year job I undertake in the fall. Yesterday, was October 19. The time had arrived. 

I won't burden you with the details, but it's no wonder most people call in their local Winston Rothschild III, Red Green's buddy, who took care of septic operations around the lake via his Sewage and Septic Sucking Services. (If you've never seen Red Green, his all-star Canadian show must be streaming somewhere). But then, good Calvinist that I am, I figure if you don't reach down into the depths on occasion, you've got no way of seeing the blue skies of happiness. 

Besides, where does all this squeamishness come from anyway? I've cleaned more pit toilets in my life than any human being should. These days, when I go back and visit the state park where I worked 50 years ago, those pits have become shiny Kohler porcelain bowls. What kind of adventure can you have in the natural world if the receptacle on which you position yourself looks no different than home?

Anyway, I'm saying, early this morning, that I'm thrilled my job is done, over, finished, and behind me for another year; for that, I'm greatly thankful. Normal programming will, I hope, be continued.

Reminds me of a recent visit to my doctor--no particular reason, just a checkup. He poked and pulled and listened to sounds I'm not aware of making, then checked my ears. "Got a lot of wax," he told me. He tugged a bit, then said he'd call the nurse. She came in, hefty and smiling, and, truth be told, was a good bit gentler than the doc in charge. Didn't take long and she'd hauled out the log jam, had it in front of her like a trophy. "I just love taking out ear wax," she said, smiling bigly.

Different strokes, I told myself, but I didn't say it. I don't think I said anything, just smiled back. What can you say to a woman who loves digging out ear wax? 

Double thanks this Friday morning: I'm thrilled the season's offal job is done, finished, o'er, and I'm thankful for the world's Winston Rothschilds, who handle life's disgusting jobs with skill and professionalism. I'll call him next fall.

More power to ya'.