Ninety-six degrees of perspiration-Part 2: The Mount Muchmore Mountain Range

Old world persistence and urban camping.

Call me Belgian, but there isn't much that will make me budge if I feel I'm being pushed or manipulated. On my third time at bat in the water main saga, I knew that I was looking at a major investment to fix the problem—and no one was going to push me into a premature decision about the expenditure of most of my contingency fund.

There are many who think I've got the "steel magnolia" thing going on. Don't care if I'm wearing a dress, if a bull ambles on my path I'll walk right up and grab him with white gloves on and all. Sometimes I manage that bravado, but I have my fair share of moments when I'd just as soon stick my head in the sand as the next poor slug. The Cincinnati move like my doctoral program, though, has showed me that I am capable of some monumental moments of pulling up my big girl panties and moving forward. Determined NOT to revisit this situation, I resolved to learn how to turn the main off myself and live without instant access until I was convinced I'd found the right person to ruin my yard and restore water to Muchmore.

Modern miracles: electricity, water, the phone and other good connections

Fast forward five days. It took that long to talk to three contractors who had three different approaches to the problem (and three vastly different estimates). In the meantime, I remembered certain events on the farm when we held water in tubs and ladled out what we needed to cook, brush teeth, and wash things. I was showering at the health club and remembering what a pain it is to wash dishes without running water. Oh, the things we take for granted. I'll never be cavalier about electricity, heat, or water services.

With five days I was able to do my own research on what should have been done originally: vet the choices I was presented with Wisconsin plumber friend, Mike Connors; and scrap together my cash resources to pay the guy from the big reputable plumbing firm to moonlight this job. It was the most expensive alternative but the one that presented the least risk and the guy with the best credentials who could also complete the job before my next round of company came the following week.

The Mount Muchmore Mountain Range

And so, now Mt. Muchmore is part of the southern Ohio Muchmore Mountain Range. Those of you familiar with my past history of aesthetic impatience can appreciate that living with this ridge of clay demonstrates real personal growth. Yes, it's an eye sore but I'm spending considerable time playing the glad game — glad I have a source for landscaping stones; glad I have running water; glad consulting work has come in to pay for the big hit on my contingency fund — and trying to be "glad" for another good story. (What I don't do to entertain my friends and family!)

Once again, I'm so grateful that fate plopped me next door to Jarrod Thomas. He provided me with my cast of plumbing candidates and offered other assistance in my time of need. Maybe my realtor can sleep without wondering how many times he'll have to regret selling me Muchmore. The whole experience fits neatly into the old "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" category— more steel magnolia credits for me.

Addendum:

One week after the "big fix" and after Frank Huitt's visit, I awoke to a fountain flowing at the top of the hill. Couldn't help it. I cried. Enough is enough. Called my contractor who headed right over. The coupling attaching the new pipe to the main had given way. In his 20 years in the business, it's the first time (of course) he'd seen a coupling break. He replaced it and I'm wondering if the ghost of muchmore has gotten it in her head yet that I'm not leaving. We'll see....

Next installment:

What I did on my summer vacation-Part 3: The castle and Sir Frank