Day 21: Home 2 by Hilton
This excursion is neither business nor pleasure. It’s in the gray area in between.
As a brand new extended-stay, pet friendly hotel, it’s adequate. I enjoy the affable staff and free yogurt in the morning, but I assure you this sojourn was not on my agenda — particularly this 2.0 adventure. But the plumbing gods have spoken, and I am compelled to listen. Sometimes, that’s just how the Universe rolls, as my college-attending son, Ian, says. He’s very Zen that way. So, perhaps, that’s the lesson. We control nothing.
However, this scene is dramatic, because it’s the second plumbing expulsion I have endured since Dec. 31, 2017. Yes, unbelievable. I have insurance, but as it often turns out, that feels more like a curse than a blessing in the reality of it. Wrangling a second water damage claim in the space of ninety days tends has made my adjuster quite testy.
Indeed, it’s complicated. This time, my neighbor, with whom I share a wall in my deteriorating “Grey Gardens” town home community, recently discovered several slab leaks that summarily seeped downhill into my dining room and kitchen. I made the grim discovery when I hopped off the last step of my staircase into my dining room one morning about three weeks ago, and . . . it splashed. This was a red flag.
As the saga unfolded, my neighbors’ plumber dug a massive trench under their slab — only to discover they went in the wrong direction. Then, absolute mayhem ensued when the befuddled plumber used the wrong material for the pressure-line repair and had to redo all the work to pass city inspection. It has been like a bad dream — one thing after another. They repaired one leak, and another pipe broke. They fixed that. Then, another one went. Even the monster jet-engine-style drying fans in my moist ground-floor rooms could not keep up. Once again, I am in the thick of replacing brand new wood floors, boxing up my belongings, rebuilding kitchen cabinets and living on takeout. Disconnected appliances and the stench of raw mildew send me, Izzy and Patches to our modest hotel each eve on a wave of bittersweet gratitude.
But the most disconcerting part is the suspended animation — navigating an untethered existence between hotel and home, saturation and reconstruction, a rock and a hard place — the Scylla and Charybdis. It’s that disorienting purgatory that’s kind of like camping all the time in your regular life — except without the natural beauty and peace. This mode makes you a special kind of crazy. You must deliberately think about every basic task and issue — like what day is it? Or, where am I? You may remember you need those black pumps for a grownup client meeting, and all you have at the hotel is a pair of magenta Sketchers.
I’m herding contractors and my animals simultaneously — as I engage in a daily tango with my aloof, out-of-town adjuster. I’m trying to configure meal options that fit a mini frig and microwave oven — and also save all my receipts. I’m asking myself deep, probing questions like, “Is there really any good place for the litter box in a hotel room?” And, “Lord, how did I forget my laptop charger?!”
Though there is a simplicity about the hotel life, my unrelenting obsession with logistics eclipses it. How will I get all this crap fixed and still make a living? This is a time I miss a companion or partner — someone to take Izzy’s leash, carry the bag of dirty laundry or just grab my hand and say, “Elaine, it’s going to be OK.”
Planning anything is a trick, too — not having any idea how long I will be existing somewhere between the pit of my fears and summit of my knowledge. Wait . . . isn’t that the Twilight Zone? But here’s the real epiphany – ironic for the Easter season, I know. I think this might be more than an annoying series of pipe repairs. It has to be.
Both plumbing leaks have been stealth offenders — obscured by walls and foundations. They required deep excavation to shine a light on the hidden damage. That’s what’s needed for effective repair and lasting healing. Like these projects, I am a work in progress — revealing more hidden damage with each passing day, repairing it and continuously evolving.
Clearly, I deceived myself when I purchased this place several years ago. There was so much to do to make it even remotely livable. That should have been a major warning sign, but it’s probably what hooked me. Fixing things can give us a superficial, yet fleeting, sense of worth and purpose — whether it’s about plumbing, people or projects. Now, if I consider an opportunity or relationship and think, “Ugh, I can make this work,” I know to walk away — quickly. At least, I’m getting better at that. More and more, I am valuing myself enough to make better decisions — and set healthier boundaries.
I have learned from my study of the Law of Attraction and quantum truths that everything is energy and vibration. We manifest the realities that are in sync with our vibrations. I think it’s time for a radical vibe check, dahlink. Time to level up!
So, Dorothy, what have you learned?
- True stability is an inside job that starts with true self-worth
- Sometimes, a disaster is a potent teacher — it’s all about maintaining healthy boundaries
- Constantly attracting and fighting frustrating battles is exhausting and a no-win
- “No one can deny you anything. Only you deny it through your vibrational contradiction,” Abraham Hicks
- It doesn’t have to be this hard — to be me
And of course, breathe.