Actually getting the tub onto the concrete pad was the easiest part of the whole job. I called six guys on the first Wednesday morning in November, before it had to get it in place because the ‘monsoons’ would start in earnest the next day (that’s what the weather guy said) and the electrician was showing up on Friday at 8 AM. The moving brigade got there at 6:15 PM, in the dark because of the end daylight savings time, and we moved the hot tub into place, measuring to try and center in on the pad and over the pipe for the wiring. By the dim glow of the 60 watt florescent porch light, and one flash light, it took five minutes, tops. I even got them to put the cheap Big Lots (Big Lots of Crap) canopy in place over the tub so it wouldn’t be too wet when the guy started working on the wiring, in two days. No one tripped in the dark and I didn’t hurt any other part of my body. The best thing that happened was friends from church and the theater came together to accomplish what I certainly could not. The worst things that happened were I was late for choir rehearsal and mud from seven assorted shoes and boots got tracked through the house. Small price to pay, I’d say.
The electricians came by on that Friday and in short order, installed the necessary components and the tub was ready to go. Well, almost. I still had to fill it. Since the back facet was leaking, so much more generously then when it was ‘repaired’ by the plumber two summers ago, I stuck the hose into the tub and closed the dismal looking lid. After one day, there seemed to be enough water outside the tub on the concrete slab to tell me we had a leakage issue. However, on further inspection of the mechanics of the system, I found an outflow or drainage value that was open, and there was a cap that could be screwed on the end of the plastic pipe.
The next day there was water in the tub and not much, you have to remember “it rains” (piove— a new Italian word) in Oregon most of the fall and winter), so I was half way convinced the cracks in the plastic shell of the tub were merely cosmetic. The pump and mechanics, however, did not work. I tried with my limited skills to press buttons, turn knobs, and slide levers, but nothing would work. Yup, this is why it was free.
By November, Marianne had established a ritual for our Monday night Italian classes. We would do a quick study at home, grab all our books and materials, pile into the car, then stop and have dinner at a Chinese place on the way. We would converse in Italian, using an English-Italian dictionary, and go over lessons while eating Mar Far and Fried Rice—special #1. As it turned out, the waitress that always waited on us was the mother of a former student. Zi Ru, a Chinese National, who was about the best student I ever had. She was amazing.
Zi Ru came to school, not speaking any English. She was bright and quick, and she had a real heart and aptitude for music. It was wonderful to watch her grow into a musician that devoured anything I gave her. She picked up the recorder and played it better than anyone in her class. After her fourth grade year, she spoke fine English and was both respectful and polite. Everyone liked her and she fit in well--just a really neat kid. Her mom gave us up dates ever time we came into the restaurant. Marianne thinks she’ll be a doctor. A musical doctor is what I hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment