Muck’s A
Good Thing—Mud Is Just Fine
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And “the best things in life are
dirty”, the gospel according to Ben Rumson (Lee Marvin) and Pardner (Clint
Eastwood), words to live by from “Paint Your Wagon”. Amen.
A lot of spiritual truths hide in
songs and when I’m up to my knees in mucky ol’ mud, and the song, even a song
from a cringe-worthy musical, makes me smile, so be it.
Rainy season is here, an undeniable
truth.
Josue and Abel are building my new wall between my casita and
the neighboring property. The man who sold me my place owned both plots,
requiring no division except for lines on a property map.
Following measurements from said
map, my property line bisects diagonally a low brick planter. It’s a long
planter, running from my gate to the connecting wall at my patio, a distance of
about 30 yards. In order to build my new wall, the planter had to be
dismantled, brick by brick, then the men sliced good ol’ dirty dirt down lower
than the planter base so the concrete pad could be poured on which the brick
wall will be built. Clear as mud?
Did I mention the rainy season? Locals
call it the “monsoon”. Rains for hours every night. Every night for four
months. (Near as I can tell, after October it never rains again until June, but
I’ve not experienced the whole year in Etzatlan, so what do I know!)
Rain plus dirt equals mud, another
undeniable truth.
Clumps of mud litter my patio. The
area between construction and my house is a muddy soup. Wide swaths of grass in
my back yard wear mud overcoats. It’s a mess.
I tend to be a teensy bit
house-proud. I dust and sweep and mop daily, because I like a clean house. I
also like to go barefoot but don’t like dirty feet. Ergo . . .
This morning I woke intending to start
my day with the usual housekeeping chores before giving my attention to the
weeds among the flowers. My toilet wouldn’t flush. No problem. I know how to
fix it with button twine and twist ties. So I did. I fixed it. And while the
lifter thingy worked, the rubber flopper refused to seal.
Josue and Abel showed up at 8:00 to
work on the wall. I pulled Josue aside and showed him my problem. “I don’t mind
flushing a few days with buckets of water, but could you please move the
bathroom tile and new toilet installation forward on your project list. I don’t
want to fix this one while I have a brand new toilet sitting in my bodega. I
understand my new sink cabinet must wait until the rains are over.” (Josue’s
workshop is partially outdoors so he sets aside carpentry during the monsoon.)
Josue grinned. Personally, I wasn’t
finding my situation amusing. “The brick delivery has been delayed. The truck sunk
to the hubs in mud in the brickyard.”
In minutes the men had my water shut
off and my bathroom dismantled down to the bare floor. Abel is on his knees laying
tile. (Don’t you just love a man on his knees?) Josue is cutting tile and
otherwise generally helping. If all goes well, tomorrow Josue will install my
new toilet. By tomorrow night, hopefully, finger crossed, I’ll be able to use
my bathroom.
I’ll drag in a patio table to hold a
wash basin and my toothbrush. It’ll be like the olden days but with a modern
shower and flush toilet.
My screen door is wide open for the
men to easily move back and forth with materials. My floor is littered
liberally with mud and debris. Flies swarm in and out. Chunks of old cupboard
and an ancient toilet have joined the mud clumps on my patio. I set up a table
and basin outside to wash dishes. I walk to my neighbors to use the facility.
I don’t know that the best things in
life are dirty but I know I’ll have a new tile floor and a new toilet in my
bathroom before many more rains. Mud? I’ll mop manana.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
July 21,
2016
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