We have had some kind of tropical disturbance off our coast for days now. That means lots of wind and rain.
Ordinarily, I'd love days like these, especially since it's the only hint of autumnal weather we get in South Florida. But with a roof leak, I look at the clouds with dread.
Each day I get home and put the drenched towels in the washer. I empty the containers that we set out to catch the water. I'm amazed at the amount of water. Has it really rained that much?
I know that I am lucky in a way. We could have a profoundly damaged roof. We could live in Puerto Rico and have no roof. I have electric restored, and I have a washer and dryer. I have clean water running through pipes with which to fill the washer and dryer--I am surprised by how strange the wet towels smell.
There is a poem lurking in the smell that comes in the water that comes from the roof.
I tell myself that we were going to remodel the laundry room anyway. As I watch water run down the walls, I can't remember if my spouse planned to rip out that wall that's now got saggy drywall on it.
It's the back corner of the house, and it doesn't seem to be spreading. It could be worse. The roofer comes on Friday. It's fixable.
I shall keep repeating this mantra: "It's fixable. It's fixable. It's fixable." It's a good mantra for much of life.
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