apropos of anything

I went to Seattle this weekend and rode a ferry boat. (Did you know McDreamy likes ferry boats? I do too; I think it’s my Arab sailor ancestors coming out in me.) Before that, I went to Sunset Memorial Gardens Cemetary in Richland, Washington, to visit my brother.

I don’t remember him at all. My parents don’t talk about him too much, and I was eighteen months old when he died. I had never before been to see him. I went now because I needed to know where he was.

I’ve always kind of known where he SHOULD be. When I was sixteen, in my senior year of high school, and I was the first one looking at leaving home, he should have been there, with nine years of experience in being independent. When I was born, he had wanted a brother; he should have known that he didn’t just get one, he got three. When Aasif was born, he should have been fifteen. Today, he should have had kids of his own.

And now I know where he is. I finally know his birthday. It’s not like I suddenly know HIM, but at least it’s more than a photograph.

I took him roses from my mother because that’s what she wanted, and I took him lilies from me because I like lilies better than roses. And I called my mother approximately eighteen times because she hadn’t been able to go. I know she wanted to, and every time I looked at the headstone, I thought about how hard it must have been for her to deal with a child dying and a child being born, all in one week, and that if I have a space where he should be, she must have an entire cavern.

IT IS RAINING, AND THERE IS A LEAK IN THE CEILING OF MY GUEST BATHROOM, THE ONE I DON’T GO INTO MUCH SO I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG THERE’S BEEN A LEAK EXCEPT IT CAN’T HAVE BEEN THERE WHILE MANSOOR LIVED HERE, SO AT MOST SINCE JULY. THERE IS A LEAK IN MY ROOF! A LEAK! IN MY ROOF!

I have a bucket to catch the water. It’s like the Augusta mosque in here. Seriously, if it’s not one water problem, it’s another.

I need an umbrella for the guest bathroom. Also, please don’t have a hissyfit about at the lack of hijab on the woman in the picture.

I went into the guest room this morning to check my work email (because that’s where my work laptop is currently set up) and heard a drippy noise coming from the bathroom, so I turned on the light to see where it was coming from. Turned out it was coming from the light fixture, but it didn’t occur to me until five minutes into my frantic consultation with Ken that perhaps I should turn the lights off. I blame the hyperventilating.

I hopped on Kudzu to find a handyman who would be willing to come out in the rain and put a tarp on the roof to hold the leak until such time as it could be repaired. The first company looked extremely promising but didn’t answer, so I left a message. The second guy said he was in Stockbridge for the day and couldn’t make it up here, but I should try a third company and tell them he recommended me. I did, and they were very nice, but they said the earliest they could come would be tomorrow, at an emergency rate, and it didn’t sound like I necessarily needed to pay through the nose to get this fixed right now. (Except that I kept envisioning the entire ceiling come crashing down on my head, so perhaps I did, or perhaps I just needed some Valium.) The fourth guy said his insurance didn’t cover roof work and recommended a fifth guy, so I called him.

He was perfectly willing to come out and tarp my roof, immediately, even, but he couldn’t give me a quote. He asked for my name, and I said, “Huda.” There was a pause, and he said, “Did you say, ‘Christian’?” Um, no, I did not. I did not say anything remotely resembling “Christian.” He kept talking, and his voice was so wobbly and infirm I began to worry he would fall off the ladder as he was climbing onto my roof that is three stories high. However. He was the first person in five phone calls who was even willing to come out today, and Kudzu was rapidly running out of options, so I gave him my address, and he’s headed over. He didn’t ask for directions though, so I’m not completely sure he’s going to show up.

In the meantime, I’m going to pretend the constant drip-drip-drip isn’t bothering me one tiny bit. And I’m going to get some faux Cocoa Puffs for breakfast because if a day that begins with holes in your roof isn’t a prime candidate for chocolate, I don’t know what is.