When the rain is trying to lure you into one of its traps, don’t fall for it. It nearly had me today. But, I was saved by the failing pool pump. (I may be sparing you, the reader, unnecessary pool pump facts.  If the details really are important to you, please let me know.  I will be possibly glad to expound and clarify–if you are truly curious.) The pump kept telling me “Priming Dry”. While the pump gave clues to possibly accepting my homage as worthy of its cooperation, I ultimately had to take apart the filter and temporarily swap out the old filters for the new filters. This process is one I hate on a good day. On a day when rain threatened and often relieved itself on my shoulders, it was even worse. With the high humidity, I didn’t grab a jacket, but with the fiberglass canister for the filters, I had to be very careful to avoid the itchy arms the fiberglass would have been more than happy to provide me. Once all was tightened up and situated correctly (if it doesn’t work correctly, I just assume something is wrong in the canister and open it up and close it up again.), I just kept hitting the on the button for the pump. It wasn’t pretty or even very satisfying, but it did get done.

At this point, I could still not take a walk. Despite the rain, a gentleman was supposed to stop by to fix the sprinkler head broken by the roofing crew. The weather or his intermittent senility kept this from taking place–I think. I could always have missed the doorbell… While waiting the hour to see if he would show up, I did my dinner planning. Since we had been gone for the weekend, the cupboard and refrigerator were not bare, but neither were they bountiful. I chose a box of frozen cauliflower tempura to build the meal around. With the rice and vegetables, the girls were pleased.

My post-dinner activities were spent “refilling the cupboard” and getting the necessary snacks to help my daughter be successful with her Lenten goals. Wearing my “beater” pants in public is a good way to get pity from those who dress more affluently.  And, being in the checkout line behind a waiter be a painful process.  The pain wasn’t in the man bun on top of his head.  It was waiting for the cashier to count the $47, all in 1’s, he used to pay for his groceries.  I was grateful he didn’t get tipped in quarters!  I congratulated him on his achievement.  I convinced him to give me a fist bump over the accomplishment.