The Water Filter

Who knew that a water filter would be the source of so much drama? But then, this family has a knack for drama, it seems. For instance, we recently went out for a meal, and the waitress practically invited herself to join us at our meal because she had nothing else to do, and then proceeded to swoop my plate away while I sat clutching fries in one hand.

But back to the Water Filter. It resides at the bottom of the cellar steps, shaped somewhat like spaghetti cannisters, hanging suspended from the waterworks of the house like modern-day stalactites. Keep in mind this drama occurs in a cellar, so picture a rough floor, a beam-studded 5'10" ceiling with the ways and means of watering, heating and electrifying the house snaking in various directions, a general dampness, with occasional pools of vague light that never seem to illumine the spot where the important 'stuff' is. Keep in mind too, that all of those works are a mystery to me - though I do know which bit inside the tank to jiggle when the loo won't flush properly, so all is not lost!

Since moving here, The Squire (my dad) undertook a regular regimen of Filter Changing, which, for the most part didn't truly register with anyone else because it was, sadly, drama-less - save for the announcement that would go out to the effect that 'it was time' and that there would briefly be no water.

At some point, however, something went a little wrong, and it was no longer a straightforward event. Tools of varying sorts began to accumulate in the cellar for removing The Filter - which had become incredibly difficult to do. We mildly began to speculate about what was up with that, and the Squire would fret a little about it being 'that time again' before he would reluctantly descend the cellar steps to tackle The Filter. He realized with the passage of time that this was a task he would have to teach us to do, so one day we braved those stairs with him, nodding understandingly as he pointed out levers and switches, hoping that the other person was keeping good notes about which needed turning, and which needed twisting. I had uneasy images of every drop of water in the house draining out of the little pipe we were working with, if I forgot to twist the lever this way instead of that way. The Squire taught us the way of adding an old t-shirt to the removal tool to encourage The Filter to come away from its mooring. It was a stubborn thing, that Filter! Much time and effort went into the business, but what pride, what satisfaction was felt when victory was won! We were not overcome...man had prevailed over machine!

Some time later, a professional plumber had cause to be in the house, and Squire prevailed on him to change The Filter as he was surely to understand its ways and have the proper tools to deal with it. Due credit to the man, he did accomplish the deed, but it took him an hour of full effort to do it. That was alarming, for we are certainly not professionals, and what was in store for us, if it took so much for him to complete the task?

When the family was gathered once more, the other man in the house was asked to tackle The Filter, so that he too would know what to do. I was asked to accompany him as "she's done it before" (gulp!) and "she is strong" (thanks for the compliment, Pop!)

With an effort that fairly shook the house, Bil made the attempt, but with no luck whatsoever. The Filter was holding fast and gave no sign it would eventually concede. We began to speculate on what was causing this relatively new reluctance on the part of The Filter to cooperate, and began to fret what would need to be undertaken to remedy the situation. Our scenarios eventually worked up to calling in the water system people and having the whole house reworked, days without water and scads of money being required.

Soon after that, Squire was taken to hospital, and even there The Filter was on his list of things needing to be addressed. Phone calls back and forth joked about whether he'd mentioned The Filter that day, knowing that in his usual way he was concerned about the details.

A few days ago, mom got up the courage to phone the water people, explaining that The Filter was being tricky and it needed changing. A date and time was arranged for the man to come to the house, and we prepared outselves for the ordeal ahead. We rehearsed the history of the Filter saga, and mentally walked through the steps of the process, should we be required to explain the levers and switches to the man. We dreaded the potential hours of being waterless, and the ominous possibility of serious construction.

In due time a truck was spotted in the driveway, and a pair of very large boots made their way down the cellar stairs. I posted myself helpfully in the doorway as he took stock of the situation. Back to his truck he went, returning with a wrench the size of Number Four Nephew. Not ten minutes after the truck arrived, those boots walked themselves back out the door; the job was done! 

I've never felt like a helpless female before that day, but I truly did feel so at that moment. But what relief to have the Drama of the Water Filter over...for now!