This winter, we realized our bathroom pipes were a bit old and could stand to be replaced. So why not, we thought, just renovate the whole bathroom?
“Just.”
Since then, A. has been carefully taking apart and rebuilding the bathroom. Step by step, we’ve been making progress, except right now, where we are, it’s amazingly difficult to get a plumber.
So we are still a bathroom down. We’re still waiting on those pipes. And we still have tools, a ladder, and boxes to replace some of the things that need to be replaced—everywhere.
Then this weekend, after weeks of making odd noises (“But does it work?” A. asked each time), we opened our dishwasher to find clean dishes… and a pond full of water.
Now we have tools spread all over the kitchen floor, too.
The dishwasher has several motors and pumps: to pull water in, to push it out, and, it turns out, to swirl the water while it’s in. A. rigs the dishwasher to think it’s closed when it’s not so he can test it out, and when we peek inside, we get dishwashed, too.
But it doesn’t drain.
You know when your normal plumber stops responding and you try calling ten, eleven, twelve different plumbers and the only one who is currently in business, not stealing someone else’s business license, willing to answer the phone, willing to work in your zip code, and willing to do anything beyond only changing out the water heater happens to quote a price that’s double what everyone tells you it should be, and then while you’re stuck waiting for someone reasonable your dishwasher breaks down?
Here’s my defense mechanism: I laugh. I imagine someone out there pulling strings to add drama to our little lives.
So we have another thing to fix. And if a replacement drain pump doesn’t work, we might need a new dishasher.
That’s what happens when you have a home, people say.
When it rains, people say.
But maybe it’s not exactly like that. Maybe it’s the other way around.
Maybe life is maintenance.
We eat, we sleep, we shower, we brush our teeth, we buy and prepare food, we load the dishwasher, we wash our clothes. That’s self-maintenance.
We work to allow ourselves to do all these things, and, if we’re lucky, to also maintain active minds. That’s also self-maintenance. (As are phone calls to insurance, filing taxes, keeping up with our financial lives.)
We meet up with family and friends, call them up, listen to them, write to them, send them gifts. That’s relationship maintenance.
Some of us have partners children or older parents or relatives who are unwell to take care of. We include them on our insurance plans, prepare food for them, hire help for them, write wills considering them. That’s helping maintain other people.
And we maintain our things. We water plants. We change lightbulbs. Tighten screws. Fill up gas tanks. Change oil. Put things away on shelves, in dressers, in closets, in cabinets. (Or elsewhere.) Get rid of things that no longer serve us, by throwing them away, donating them, or selling them. And if we know to look out for more, we may do more: patch our clothes. Check for problems in the walls, the floorboards, the ceilings, and patch them. Install better appliances to make life more comfortable.
Our computers break down and we take them in. Our phones stop charging and we take them in. Our health suffers and we take ourselves in. Our relationships have ups and down, and maybe we take them in, too.
We go through periods when the maintenance is limited and routine and ideally even enjoyable: it feels good to get enough rest, to exercise, to spend time with people who love us, to do work that allows us to live the rest of our lives, and maybe even gives us something beyond that.
And we go through periods when some areas demand more attention. Something is broken. Something has a hitch. Something has been neglected for too long and now the problem, we discover, is deeper than we had thought. And if we didn’t realize there was a problem till it became very, very obvious… it can feel like an interruption. We have to adjust our lives to make space for figuring out a solution.
For things, it usually takes longer than we hope it will take. If we’re not in a place to fix them completely, maybe we learn to work around them. We don’t turn that knob in that direction. Don’t flip on this lightswitch and that appliance at the same time. Don’t step on that part of the floor. Leave the one door open because we’re not sure how to fix it. We deal with some inconveniences, and the dealing becomes part of our routine.
If we’re lucky enough to have an A. in our lives, a person who feels comfortable fixing things but also is horrified by the concept of living with screws that are not fully adjusted, maybe we don’t live with those inconveniences. Instead, we get used to stepping over joists and hammers and screws and around ladders. And wires. So many wires.
For people, ourselves included, good quality maintenance sometimes changes our lives completely. We may need to learn new habits to take care of ourselves, to relate better to others. Or, as with the things, we may choose to—or have to—learn to live with certain things that become not-optional, because sometimes some things are not irreversible (health-wise) and other things require cooperation.
We can ignore issues, avoiding caring for our health and our relationships. And like our appliances, they may be okay for a while okay for a while. But ultimately, everything needs our attention at some point, whether we hire someone to help us fix it or do all the work ourselves.
And all of this maintenance continues until we die.
Hopefully we can address all these issues with the bottomless patience we can summon for a cry for help from the people we most adore:
“Wow, you must be in a lot of pain to be acting like this. Let’s figure out what’s going wrong so we can fix it.”
Hopefully we enjoy the bulk of this maintenance.
Hopefully we get the help with need with the temporary bigger issues (please call us back, plumbers).
Hopefully the little surprises turn out to be innocuous (A. found a pistachio shell in the drain pipe of the dishwater: Problem solved).
But maintenance is not only something you can expect if you have a home, friends.
Life is maintenance. Maintenance is life.
I’m curious: What comes to mind when you think of maintenance? Do you have a favorite story to share? Leave a comment and share below.
This Glass Has Water 