Many thanks to all you kind folk who’ve sent sympathy for the water explosion here. But here’s the thing: it could have been so much worse. John told me about a friend who was away when a tap exploded at his house. He came back a week later to a flood; three stories of drywall had crumbled down to the floor. I was here. John got here.
And … Beirut. For context.
John came with a new part for the toilet upstairs. This is what broke off: the round plastic bit of this $7.99 part.
And then he spent a couple of hours ripping the sodden carpet from the stairs. Built in 1887 and quite lovely in their worn-out nakedness.
Answering my cry of despair, Lani and Chris wrote to suggest, helpfully, that I move to a smaller community, like Stratford or Niagara-on-the-Lake. Thank you, but no. I’ll find a way to stick it out here. Almost everything and everyone I hold dear is in Toronto. Including, on this beautifully cool quiet morning, this: