by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time
1958
In the cold grey light of dawn there is no worse sound than the pulsing of water through the pipes of your house when you know that no one is up. No one is showering, the washing machine is not running and the toilet has not flushed.
I bolted upright in bed as the thought 'Water break' filtered through my sleepy brain. I ran into the bathroom first because it was closest and in my mind most suspect. We'd had a cantankerous toilet for years. Anything was possible.
It was all clear in there.
I ran down the hallway, through the living room and dining room to the kitchen skidding to a stop when I hit the water. The kitchen floor was flooded and I could see the water coming out from under the sink.
The kitchen portion of the house on Missouri Street was a remodel done by the previous owner's and the original kitchen had been made into a bedroom. Whoever poured the foundation undershot their measurements, so the kitchen was about two inches lower than the rest of the house. Today that was of great importance, because the water had not risen to reach the dining room carpet.
I screamed, nevertheless, and ran for the plumber. Fortunately he was in bed, so I wasn't going to have to pay a horrendous service fee for this emergency in the early dawn hours. No double time for this guy.
He ran back with me to the kitchen not believing what I had hysterically told him.
"This is impossible," he said in disgust, "it's a new kitchen."
"Well, you'd better get a tool and turn the water off or this is going to flood the rest of the house," I said trying to penetrate his sleepy countenance.
While he went to do that, I entered the kitchen bare footed to see if I could swish the water out the back door.
It was then that I spied the twenty five pound box of Tide sitting by the rear entrance. I had planned to carry it out to the garage laundry room the night before and hadn't. Procrastination. My worst fault.
I grabbed the handle on top of the huge box, opening the back door at the same time. The big orange and blue box went with me out the step to the patio, but the soap powder stayed in the flooded kitchen. All twenty five pounds of it! I hadn't stopped to consider that the bottom of the box was soaked from the torrent of water spewing from under the sink. As I lurched the carton out, the soap spread in a wild fan-like arc across the flooded floor. The water was still pouring out from under the sink to help the soap powder transform into slippery sludge creeping across the linoleum.
I heard the water pipes clunk to a stop as my husband turned it off at the street. By this time all the noise had awakened the children and they were standing behind me in the gooey mess, soap oozing up between their little toes.
"What is this stuff?" Bruce asked.
"Soap." I said frantically, trying to scoop some of it out the back door with a spatula.
"Can we make bubbles?" Kathy asked. Her question didn't even get answered.
All I could think of was the cost of that gigantic box of soap. I wouldn't have anything to wash clothes with.
The plumber arrived back in the kitchen, toolbox in tow, ready to fix a simple water break. By that time I had found a broom and was swooshing the soapy water outside to the patio. My nightgown had acted like a sponge and I was soaked to the waist. The children tried to be helpful by moving kitchen chairs out of my way.
"What the hay...." he said in disbelief. He was very big on What- the-haying.
"Oh....I just thought I'd mop the floor while the water was here! Whadaya think what the hay!" I yelled.
He set the tool box down on the kitchen table. We were a sorry sight. Soap suds growing....soaked kids and wife. He began to laugh. The children looked up at me as if to say "Is this okay?"
"Yeh, what the hay!" I said. We all began to laugh.
It was either that or blow bubbles.
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