How To Fix A Shower-head

Overheard:

Kid a: Topia!

Mom: You want to watch Utopia?

Kid b: Me want GOAT!

Kid a: Me want ‘Topia!

Mom: We can’t watch until the plane starts.

I have a shower-head that has a problem. I have tried to fix it, but as you know, I am no handyman. There is some water spraying from the head, but there is more water pouring from the bath faucet below. There is also some aberrant spraying from the faucet that goes sideways, not down as water is supposed to fall.

Water is supposed to fall down. That is the law of gravity. From the shower-head, there is a weak spray, in tandem with a dribble. Similar to the faucet, there is more water dribbles than sprays.

I have been advised to soak the head in CLR. You see, with time, lime accumulates, forming crystals that clog the holes in the shower head. It is not like the water doesn’t want to spray; unfortunately the holes are clogged and as hard the pressure may be pushing the water, the water has no clear path to spray. So it doesn’t spray, it only can dribble, if lucky.

I am on a plane to Montreal. I just finished watching The Bride. A young family is travelling In the seats behind us. The young Mom and Rad Dad ( so says his cap) are blessed with three children, all within the age range of toddler.

A young girl is sitting right behind me. Her legs must be too short to bend over the seat, so unfortunately they stick out, forcing her to kick my seat the whole flight. It couldn’t be that she is consciously kicking my seat, now could she? And her little hands are attached to arms that must be so long, that obviously her elbows are dysfunctional. As such, her tiny fingers poke through the gap between my seat and the wall of the plane. I can feel them as they probe this so called personal space between us.

Michelle is seated beside me. At one point, the tiny fingers reach over her seat and pull her hair. I kid you not. I do not exaggerate for comic or tragic effect. Just truthful reportage.

The Bride is over, and now I am watching 28 Years Later- The Bone Temple.

Eight years ago, Michelle took me to Hawaii for my sixtieth birthday. This time, we are going to Montréal to celebrate Michelle’s birthday.

At one point I got up to use the washroom. I close the door, and look down at the airplane toilet. I unzip my fly on my shorts and reach into my Manmades for my own personal shower-head. Then I stand there waiting….waiting in exquisite pain for the flow to begin.

I clench the handgrip with my left hand, while my shower-head is clenched by my right.

Waiting.

Nothing.

I can feel the need to go, but my body won’t obey. There is no release. I reach with my right hand for the faucet, pressing the faucet head, which releases a gentle spray of warm water that pours into the sink.

Still, I am patiently waiting for my own little faucet to perform. Usually the touch of warm water will encourage my bladder to release, but not today. I stand on guard for thee. Oh Canada!

I strain to no effect.

Did I tell you the turbulence is particularly rough? The plane is vibrating, and rocking. I should be in my seat with my seat belt fastened. But no, I am standing in the loo, holding on for dear life, the plane rocking while I’m standing, doing nothing. That is what I am getting here.

Nothing. Yet, a feeling is present that tells me to keep with it. If you believe, it will come.

Did I tell you about my shower head? How is dribbles with weak flow, one errant micro spray shooting sideways? As I stand there, I am reminded of my shower-head, but that is just a memory, an image in my mind, when the old reality is that I am still holding on, straining, waiting for the Resurrection, waiting for the angels to come to me, to meet me by the pools of Avalon. Come in, they say. The water is warm.

What is this? A dribble? The mere measure of the man? Foreshadowing of a torrent?

With stops and starts, some small muscles relax, and the tip responds to my will. Before the levee breaks, i see small cracks in the facade. A smile may burst out at any moment.

I look down. It is happening. It had been like 5 to 10 minutes, but Houston we have ignition. Houston had a problem, but now we have ignition.

I look down and marvel at life at 68.

The Montreal adventure is about to begin.

Those who forget history….are doomed to repeat it.

Those who forget history….are doomed to repeat it.