••• Sunday, September 10, 2006

Sunday Sundries II 

I have about half a dozen unfinished posts in my draft que. ::Why do we say half dozen, when it's easier to say six?:: Some of the posts aren't worth the finish, but a few of them hold enough meaning for me (i.e., they were almost ready to go to press), that they were worth revisiting.

P is for The Poopman
I know I already went P. Evidently, I have to P some more. And maybe some poo, too. Actually, the Poop Pump was my original plan for P,which I thought was pretty clever. But then the Present idea presented itself, and the rest is historpee.

Those of you who have been reading me for awhile know of my fear and dread of poop tank failure at the cottage. My fear is that there will be some sort of breakdown of the YOU ARE FULL OF POO warning system, which will result in one flush too many, which will cause all three tanks to simultaneously blow poo chunks all over the cottage neighborhood.

Now, I know the tanks won't actually blow up when overfilled. But the possibility scares me. I do think they are capable of leaking. Or squirting, if you will. Whether a major blowout or minor squirtage, the thought of our most private assemblage of humanity being publically revealed in any form, and causing just one neighbor to stop and sniff and look at their dog, is too much imagination for my delicate sensibilities.

Fortunately, we have so far been able to flush with impunity. And when we drop a dime to the Men in Blue, Who Pump the Poo, they are immediately at our service. And while I very much appreciate the consistently prompt and courteous response, I do have one tiny piece of feedback for our friendly neighorhood hosers. Could we be a little more discreet?

Here we have a picture of Mr. Pumpy backed right up to our Mount Poo. ::Picture was taken last winter, when the idea for this post was first hatched. I was studying for that damn test and things got away from me.::

Once he gets in range, he pulls that lovely, glow-in-the-snow-green hose from the back of his truck, removes the top from tank one and commences to sucking shit. He then moves on to tank 2, etc. On a lovely, quiet winter afternoon, the sound of Mr. Pumpy sucking our shit can be heard for probably a mile. Or 3/4, at least.

At the risk of sounding like an anally spoiled city slicker, I find the whole thing kind of embarrassng.

I mean, when the pumper shows, every body knows your business. Your private business. And the other weird thing is that until just a few weeks ago, we have never witnessed any of our neighbors getting pumped. I know. Three summers. This only added to my feelings of excretory self-consciousness. I mean, what do people think when they see the big truck rolling up to our place, again?
Honey, listen. They're doing it again.

Man, those people are really on the go.

I have it on good authority that they flush on yellow and never mellow.

Well, I've heard them flush at all hours.

Midnight flushers? I've heard of people like that, but never thought we'd have them right next door.

Tsk. Tsk. Such a waste.

Did you hear those chunks? Sounds like someone's been passing small woodland creatures.
I think you get where I'm going with this. I need some privacy. It's human nature to turn away from others when we're doing our business. There's even a word for it (and one of my favorites): Absquatulation. Look it up. I'm tired.

I'm saying that the same discretion and care should apply to the waste management system.

Here's what I'm thinking: Privacy curtains.

It's not a perfect solution, I know, but at least it's discreet. I mean, we all know what Uncle Snooks is doing in the can after Thanksgiving dinner. It doesn't mean we need to see it happen.

My other idea is a bit on the sneaky side. Kind of like the person who likes to pretend she is above shitting, and flushes every three seconds so one will hear what she's really doing.

A Disquise.

Beautiful, no? I mean they have the hoses, they make the noises. They could even set up a little portable potty fire thingy, for authenticity.

I was so confident in my ideas, that I was planning on presenting them at a future township board meeting. But just a few weeks ago, a proposal was made to build a community system, for about 25 cottages to share. Off site. (yippee). I guess it's kind of an experimental program, with some funding. I was so excited when I heard, I coulda just...spit. And the program could be in place as early as next summer.

It makes me smile to think of the sense of community this will bring. The lake is always such a happy place to visit. All the kids splashing and playing and frolicking in the water, together. And to think that just a half mile down the road, all our kids will be splashing and playing and frolicking in the, well, stuff together.

I'm pumped.

Q is for Que?
It's qumming. I promise.

Trudie Scrumptious
Last week I finished both front pieces on the Trudie, thus and so:

I've not knit a stitch for days, but hope to resume this evening. The casting on for the ruffled edge is kind of a motivation slapper, but I just need to do it.

I had hoped to get one more item off my list of Sundries today, but it will have to wait. Between my back to work schedule and my suddenly high maintenance daughter, my blog posting and blog reading and emailing may be a little slow. And now I gotta go.

May all your toilet papers hang right.


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