…just makes us stranger.

Stronger. I mean, stronger. Right, sure. That’s the ticket.

Last week our kitchen sink got backed up. I thought something was up with our garbage disposal, but after some tests, it quickly became apparent that this was a problem deeper in the pipes of this decades-old apartment building.

Of course it had to be Thanksgiving day when it happened right. This stuff never happens on a Tuesday morning when the maintenance guy is twiddling his thumbs and working cross-word puzzles. Fortunately, we weren’t hosting the turkey feast. After plunging the sink (which I later found out you’re never supposed to do) and emptying an entire bottle of Liquid Plummer down it, I waved the white flag and waited for our fix-it guy to show up.

He came the next day with a big ole bottle of sulfuric acid (basically)—one industrial-strength pipe enema coming right up. After pouring most of that toxic agent down the tubes, we waited. We filled the sink with water and it soon began to rise. I was worried there was a rat cadaver wedged down there somewhere (with my illustrious rodent history.) Finally, the water stopped, there was a long pause, a whiff of sulfur, gurgling, and the still surface pulsed, then swoosh—everything flushed down the drain. My problem evaporated like bubbles popping. Whatever was clogging the works was eaten up completely by the acid.

This week, on the eve of a Christmas party at our house, it’s the heating system that’s down like a hamstrung Scottish bagpiper. Last night, I saw a flash of light arc out of the living room much like that kitty scene in the movie, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. But we don’t have a cat or Christmas lights to fry it with. I wondered if I had too many appliances going in that area, but then I saw a string of smoke come out of the bowels of the metal heating unit. Mr. Fix-it, please don’t ya forget my numba!

Stuff like this used to tie my stomach into knots. There was a time I used to lose hours of sleep over home repair paranoia. Who would fix it? How much would it cost? How long would it take? What else would fall apart in the process? I stressed over all the little break-downs in the world I didn’t have the capability or wherewithal of knowing how to repair.

That was before China. That was before being forced to deal with these headaches on a regular basis in a different language and culture. That was before it became a weekly affair.

U.S. apartment tribulations, like these two examples, are almost laughable to me now.

I stop and ask myself, Are there rats crawling above my head as I’m sleeping? Answer: No.

Is the water in the radiators upstairs spraying down through the pipes into my office? Nope.

Have the neighbors pick-axed the linoleum in my bathroom so they can flood it with gravel mixed with water to determine whether or not it will leak? Not at all.

Are there Asian men with drills and jackhammers marching through my home aerating my walls? Not one.

OK then, all is right with the world.

I’ve seen worse things than this. I may not have fought in a war, but I know a little bit about the battle for daily survival. I know a lot about the resiliency of an office worker-turned missionary-turned office worker again. This too shall pass. I just grab the long underwear and brew up another pot of coffee.

If not stronger, I’m certainly getting odder. A bit stranger, and a bit more relaxed; not sweating the medium or small stuff.

* * * *

The good news is: the heat is already fixed (as I’m posting.) A mere wiring issue. That wasn’t so bad now was it. Until tomorrow…