A longing for flowing water

November 28, 2004

While I’m talking about thankfulness, let me say how much I love running water.

I used to think it was just a given — when I turn a faucet, water flows. Turn it to the left for hot, right for cold.

If only that were true here at Camp Gunslinger.

I took a “shower” with bottled water this morning.

It’s the first time I’ve had to do that since, oh, June.

The girl’s shower at Camp Gunslinger has been broken for two days. Yesterday and the day before I could still get enough of a water stream to take a very slow shower.

The well ran dry this morning.

As I hauled bottled water down the hall, I heard the splash of water falling from one of the shower heads in the men’s room.

Jealous.

I remember when Gunslinger ran out of water in the spring, we were all in the same boat — bottled water baths.

And the bottled water back then was warm because the air was hot. We complained about having warm water to drink, but didn’t think about the advantage of warm water for bathing.

Today, I would have guzzled a gallon of hot water to be able to bathe in water that was even lukewarm.

It’s cold here, dropping into the low 40s, high 30s at night. And our water supply gets cold.

So my bottled water shower was cold — very cold.

One at a time, I cracked the seal on the bottles and dumped them over me. At one point I thought I’d have to decide whether to get the soap off my right leg or finish getting the shampoo out of my hair.

Five bottles of water didn’t look like quite enough, but it did the trick.

I’m not giving up hope. I will walk into this bathroom tomorrow and turn on the faucet, hoping the stream of water — warm or cold (you can’t be picky here. Usually cold is the only option) — will have returned.

Of course, it could be worse. It can always be worse.

Charlie Company keeps blowing breakers in their new home here.

The wiring can’t handle the space heaters.

Lights down one hall blinked out.

When they came back on, the outlets wouldn’t work and water in only one bathroom would run.

At one point, Capt. John Stubbs asked if anyone smelled smoke.

The most pitiful moment, however, was the sight of Lt. Mike McCarty of Bald Knob roaming the halls, clutching his beloved coffee pot.

It had just begun to brew when the outlets in his room went dead. There wasn’t enough coffee for even a cup.

So he wandered down the hall, with the coffee pot sloshing water, trying every outlet along the way.

Like I said, it could always be worse.

Posted by Amy at November 28, 2004 11:56 AM