The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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Mermaid Jim used to live south of me, the closest person to the island’s Head, its southernmost inhabitant. I only encountered him infrequently and so he never remembered meeting before which meant I heard his stories numerous times. Invariably he would recount his mermaid story, and invariably I’d wait to find discrepancies from the previous tellings.

“I was scuba diving in the Bahamas,” he’d start in, apropos of nothing in our conversation and only moments from new introductions, how do ya do’s, where ya live? “I was down maybe 30 feet off the reef when she swam right up to me, talked to me like I’m talking to you, bubbles coming out of her mouth while she held steady with her tail. Her tail, man, her tail!”

“Mermaid?” I’d say after hearing the story the first time. “Right,” Jim would say, grateful I wasn’t rolling my eyes or calling 911 for psychiatric help.

“I saw her the next day and the next, every day I dove down there.”

“Whaddaya talk about?”I’d ask. “Nothing much,” he’d always respond.

I guess if I met a mermaid, I’d have some questions and maybe she would too, but Jim apparently didn’t and his sea princess was similarly uncurious. It made his mermaid story short and sweet but not particularly interesting. Still, he never embellished it. Never altered it. He met a mermaid, they talked, he went home. Simple facts. Extraordinary encounter. Worth telling everyone he met about it — mermaids exist, he’s seen one, he’s even talked to one.

Once I asked him if he thought she had a family, if maybe there was a whole undersea city of mermen and mermaids, if they had a watery civilization, if ….
“How would I know?” Jim answered, annoyed that his one mermaid wasn’t plenty as it obviously was for him. “I met a mermaid,” he said, “and she talked to me.”

Developers built four houses near Jim’s place maybe 10 years ago where there hadn’t been anyone for half a mile either direction. Jim told me, last encounter we had, he’d be leaving for over the mountains, maybe Mazama, where there would be less neighbors to bother him. I nearly asked why he wasn’t headed back toward water, maybe be reunited with his mermaid, but I didn’t.   I figure in a way he’s taking her with him.

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Down at the Pilot Lounge a few nights ago us layabouts were debating the possibility that the hurricanes menacing Florida were actually engineered by the government. Gregory, our amateur meteorologist and rabid Trump supporter, had been mercilessly ridiculed when he stated that it was 99% certain Biden had commanded these storms be set in motion. “You idiots ever heard of seeding the clouds?” he wanted to know of us jackals. “Why do you think the rain was so heavy, all those floods into North Carolina? They got the technology. Wake up!”

“Give me a break, Greg,” Ralph said. “We’re talking a hurricane, not a shower. No way they’re able to stir up a storm that size. You better slow down on those beers.” Two Toke, who up to this point had kept his sarcasm to a minimum, finally had to get his two cents in and said to Greg, “aren’t you the guy who thinks climate change couldn’t possibly be caused by humans? But now the government controls the weather?”

Gregory was unperturbed. “Two different things, Tom. Global warming is a natural phenomenon, got nothing to do with us. You been listening to all that left wing propaganda, buddy, maybe time to turn it off. Climate changes all the time, with or without us.”

Ralph howled. “Why don’t we get the government to turn down the heat, then?” To which Gregory replied, “Don’t be dumb. Seeding clouds is one thing, heat’s another. You think the sun has a thermostat?” Little Jimmy said, “why don’t we try turning the heat down right here? You got your opinion, we got ours.” Ralph spluttered. “One opinion is totally cockamamie, Jimmy. Not like we should respect it cause it’s an opinion. Stupid is stupid.”

“I spoze you figure the forest fires were started with lasers from the Space Station,” Jerry chimed in from behind the bar. He was tonight’s bartender and usually stayed out of our debates as much as possible. Guess he just felt like fanning the flames. Fairlane Fred declared that the fires weren’t started by the damn government, it was the Jews.

“God almighty, Freddie, where do you guyz get this stuff,” Ralph asked, “out of the comic section?”

“Read the news, Ralphie Boy,” Fred shot back, “and get your facts straight. In fact, I’ll send you a link or two, might open your eyes.”

In the end, after a few more rounds, the atmosphere of the Pilot Lounge grew foggier and foggier. Was it man made? Was it a government conspiracy? Did it really matter? The usual agreement to disagree was decided on, feelings were hurt, apologies never materialized. It was, after all, a typical night at the Lounge. Most of us could hardly wait til the coming election.

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One of the latest trends in trend-crazy America is to create a personal library in our domiciles. Not to amass a collection from our reading list (if we even have one) but to impress our visitors with volumes of literature and non-fiction. A well-stocked library should subtly send the message that its owners are erudite readers with broad and eclectic tastes. Sprinkle in a few Booker award novels among the classics, add some poetry anthologies, spice the biblioteca up with an encyclopedic array from the sciences, philosophies, a few avant-garde pieces and certainly oversized art books. Wow them with your extensive and expensive tastes!

But before you hurry out to your nearest Goodwill to find the raw materials for your Jeffersonian library, l should add that if you really want to impress your friends and neighbors, just piling dog-eared books on a make-shift shelf really isn’t going to do the trick. No, you need the equivalent of an oak paneled room, floor to ceiling shelving, preferably behind glass and if you have the ideal height, one of those rolling ladders necessary to access the hard-to-reach collection of rare books up at the top. First editions are a must and signed copies de rigueur in these unenlightened times of Google and Wickipedia. You are a person of discriminating tastes, my friend, not one of the yammering yokels who would ask why they would need a community library when they have a laptop.

Suffice it say it would be imperative to have a well-used armchair with adequate lighting beside it as well as a sturdy stand with one or more books ‘in progress’ even if you never plan to open another book to read in your entire life. The gesture is what counts. And hopefully your guests will never query you as to that current reading. If so, simply tell them you have only begun Chapter One and to make judgement at so early a stage would be foolish. You, needless to say, are not foolish. The library itself will attest to that. No, you sir are of finer mettle, a lord in the land of the Kindle, a giant among the unread. Relish your place above the unwashed masses. You’ve earned it!

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For any of you following these posts — and I sincerely apologize — you know I ignored the pleadings of my better half to hire a bathroom remodeling company to tear out our old shower and install a new one. I did this partly because the remodelers I called were busy until the following year or two but to be honest, because I’m mule-headed, one of those husbands who thinks he can handle a little Do-It-Yerself without bringing Catastrophe upon our house. Okay, full disclosure, I’ve had some close calls. Once, when building the house, I removed a couple of interior studs to make room for a Russian fireplace, what turned out to be very structural load bearing studs. Within a half minute the upper story was sagging into the first floor, 2×4’s were bending precipitously and yeah, Mr. DIY was nervous. Okay he was scared to death the entire house was going to collapse before he could shove some hastily cut studs and pound them into place with a maul. And yeah, I’ll admit at one point I considered the necessity of evacuating the house before I was killed by my own stupidity.

Lessons have been learned. Almost burning down my studio working on a 60 amp breaker that I grounded inadvertently … okay, another close call, smoldering walls and a call to the volunteer fire department, another instructional exercise. Although not as quickly learned when I wired a 240 volt heater incorrectly some years later and wire nuts were melted with scorch marks on the wall. But … I was younger then and far less wise than I am in my advancing old age, forget that maxim about old dogs and new tricks. We’re talking humans.

But I digress. Let’s fast forward to the new shower Karen didn’t want me installing myself. Took awhile but got it in okay. Until we noticed the leaks coming in from … somewhere. No big deal, just go back and caulk a little more. Day after day, the same thing, mystery leaks coming from god only knows where. A month went by and it became apparent to even me that this new shower might have to be torn out and find out if that leak was from the drain pipes, maybe I forgot to glue them together, about the only thing left as the culprit. Of course it also occurred to me, and I’m sure Karen too, that the second time through might be similar to the first time through. This, dear reader, is Plumbing 101. A little like quantum physics where the usual laws of the universe are skewed by the observance of the physicist….

Desperate troubles call for desperate measures. Drinking, for one. Which of course didn’t really offer help. In the end, out of solutions and out of time too, I did what I always do in these situations, just try anything at all no matter how insane. What have you got to lose? Maybe a flooded house, okay, I’ll give you that.

Two days ago I bought some stop-leak gunk used to seal up holes in radiators in cars and trucks. Last time I used that stuff I plugged my Rambler’s heater completely. So I know it works, just sometimes maybe a little too well. I rammed a towel down the shower drain to partially plug the water from draining too fast, then little by little poured the entire bottle of gunk down the hole. I know, I know, it was the act of a half crazed plumbing victim facing no other options than tearing out the shower and starting over, probably doing exactly the same thing and expecting better results.

Let me say in conclusion, the leak has stopped. Or leaks. Yes, Virginia, there are miracles. Even though they are essentially unheard of in the world of plumbing. And once again, by the skin of my teeth, I can say I averted what should have been a DIY catastrophe. But admittedly not without psychic scars. You out there looking for a Plumbing Influencer such as myself, trust me, do not try this in your own home!

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