This past week has been my favorite work week of the school year: two days at work, followed by five days off. Some students reminisced about the good ol’ days when they got the entire week off, but I reminded them that any time off was a good thing.
During the school year, my life is so scheduled that I normally do certain things on certain days just to make sure it all gets done. Most of it is social/health, such as my capoeira, yoga and tango classes. Then, there are the things I have to do: laundry, grocery shopping. Whenever there’s a change to the regular routine, I have to adjust the rest of my programed life. While on wonderful vacations, I have surplus time, which I attempt to preserve as much as possible for just relaxing.
Of course, with a more flexible schedule, I can pursue some other creative things. The one thing that I thought I would accomplish was making my own greeting cards. Not only did I envision making them, but writing them out as well. The first prototype batch looked so “ghetto” that I had to recycle them in the name of aesthetics and the environment. At least I know one way not to make greeting cards! I managed to cut up some of my older paintings that I had painted on thin cardboard. They are ready to be glued on cardstock just as soon as I get some.
During my programed life, I normally go grocery shopping on Thursdays, but since that was actually Thanksgiving day, I figured I’d avoid the crowd and go on Wednesday. Apparently, the crowd had the same idea. As packed as the parking lot was, there wasn’t a scarcity of food nor long lines at the checkout. Then again, the only traditional Thanksgiving item I bought was a bag of fresh cranberries. They looked so richly red that I could hardly resist. Too bad I didn’t realize that all the cranberries I’d ever eaten were artifically sugared. Those berries were the sourest things since my ex-boyfriend’s kisses. But I was determined not to waste my money. So I garnished my wine glass with cranberries. Absolutely beautiful, but they would have had to soak for a much longer time that it takes me to consume a glass of wine in order for the berries to absorb the wine.
Although I had been invited to a couple of Thanksgiving celebrations, I wasn’t in the mood for all the hoopla. Instead, I made pasta putanesca for the first time. While I prepared it on Thanksgiving Day, I called family and friends. I figured as long as I got in touch with people who I don’t get to see/talk to on a regular basis, I was generally observing the holiday. I watched some back episodes of one of my favorite TV shows and read. The way I saw it, I’d spent Wednesday being sociable by training capoeira and then dancing salsaafterwards.
Friday I painted, read and of course wrote my daily contribution toward my second novel. I went to Central Market to have dinner and get a good table close to where the salsa band would be playing about an hour and a half later. Since I love living alone, it’s nothing for me to dine alone with a good book and enjoy myself. Besides, I knew in this case, my salsero friends would join me closer to 6:30.
As predicted, my little table for 6 swelled well beyond 6 people and we cannibalized chairs from surrounding tables. Despite the crowd, most people were not salseros and there was a distinct lack of leaders. I still had a good time talking with my friends.
Saturday was the day I’d been looking forward to. Last year, I had participated in 3 out of 5 available days of a tango workshop. This year, I wisedup and figured that I actually wanted to be more than a tango zombie; so I only planned to attend the tango show and milonga afterwards.
Well before the tango festivities began, I had attended my capoeira music class and two tango classes. Of course I regrouped, napped and then got ready to tango for real. I was most proud to show off my “new” tango outfit. I spent one hour and less than $12 at Goodwill for it.
In between the magnificent tango show and the milonga, I grabbed two friends to pose with me. I spent the rest of the night dancing and resting up for the next tanda. Not only could I feel that I was dancing my best, but guys who didn’t even know me approached me for a dance. Normally, only the guys I knew from class would ask. As I was leaving around half past midnight, my tango teacher expressed surprise that I was going so early. He told me that I looked really relaxed on the dance floor and lamented that he would not have a chance to dance with me. That was truly the biggest compliment of the night.
As wonderful as my Thanksgiving vacation was, I celebrated every day without a drop of hot water running through my faucets! Once again, my Peace Corps experience helped me out. The two and a half years that I volunteered in Tanzania, I had to warm up my water and take a bucket bath. Here’s my “developed” country version of a bucket bath:
I actually don’t need a lot of water in order to get squeaky clean, especially since I only wash my hair once a week and that’s usually at the gym after swimming. It’s just so much more convenient to have hot water coming out of the faucet.
Apparently the apartment complex had some boiler issues and parts had to be ordered and didn’t arrive until Friday. Then, only 5 out of 6 circuits worked. The next memo posted outside my door informed me that someone had gone to Dallas to get the missing part. In the meantime, the chilly howling winds truly picked up enthusiasm throughout the week.
Sunday morning, after my 10 am bikram yoga class, I just had it in my mind that hot water or not, I was going to turn on the faucet and shower. Even if I had to run in place for 5 minutes to make the icy cold water feel refreshing, I was in no mood to warm up a pot of water, carry it to the bathtub, stoop over and go through the whole bucket-bathing ritual.
As I washed off my yoga mat, it took me a full minute to register that the water coming out of the faucet was warm. I laughed with joy, finished rinsing off my mat and then I draped it over the shower rod. Clang! That damn rod hit the floor. I just stood there in disbelief. I think things like that always happen in threes.
First, the smoke detector, then the hot water and now the shower rod. I laughed, shook my head and put the rod back up along with the shower curtain and my damp yoga mat.
What isn’t a laughing matter is how long I had to go without hot water. I emailed the property manager about compensation/a discount off next month’s rent for going a week without hot water. I’m already motivated to start searching for a new place. Before I do that, I want to give them an opportunity to appease me. With exam week two weeks away, I’ll have a few half days on my precious schedule to check things out. Granted, my lease isn’t up until mid-July, I don’t want to wait until the last moment and make a mad dash out of here.