My New Faucet

Yesterday, I installed a new kitchen faucet, a three-hole model with a big, beautiful spout that arches high above my sink. I know, I know. In DIY parlance, I "replaced" my old faucet, a cheap, leaky model with no aerator that held its head low in apparent shame. The point is, I used tools. Okay, I used A tool, known as a "basin wrench." I used plumber's putty. I managed to hook up the sprayer. All. On. My. Own. This blog isn't about bragging rights (cue Emperor Kuzco); rather, it's about what this faucet means in the grander scale of my life.

Say what?

As you can tell, I've needed a new faucet for a while. When I first came to the homestead, I relied a lot on Dan. He and I got the cottage functional. After its basic, empty form was delivered, we erected walls and installed insulation. We put in plumbing, we ran water lines from the existing well to the cottage interior to the garden to the goat sheds to the trough. We even wired the place ourselves (legal in Mississippi). But everything was done on a low, low, Bowser-from-Sha-Na-Na-low budget. (Yeah, Gen X, Millennials, etc. Look it up! LOL) I think the entire faucet/sprayer thing was $15 or so. I knew it wasn't going to last. To my surprise, it lasted for close to a decade--not a bad bang for my buck, to be honest.

But that was almost ten years ago. Dan was "only" 72. He hadn't had a three-month-long bout with a systemic infection at that time (although it was brewing then) or a three-year-long battle with cancer. He was slowing down, but he was still able to put in a six-hour workday even when it meant putting down roll linoleum in a place cooled by a single window unit in July in Mississippi. Recently, he's had to get steroid shots in his knees to control the pain. He's also made an appointment with a spine specialist due to back pain. A lesser man would already be in his rocking chair reminiscing about the old days, rather than maintaining a half-acre garden and teaching a 40-pound mixed breed puppy how to walk on a leash. That's Dan, and I love him for it.

Then again, there was my faucet (as well as my drain pipes) that needed replacing. Replacing all of the above meant getting down onto the floor and contorting oneself on one shoulder or on one's back across a cabinet base, simultaneously reaching up with one or both hands to move a stubborn bolt--three times. It meant maintaining that position while replacing those bolts on a new faucet and hooking up water lines. It meant bending one's knees to fit into the space or using them to get up and down. Repeatedly. I hated to admit it, but my faucet and plumbing was only going to get replaced if I paid for someone to do it or if I did it myself. Me being me, I opted for the latter rather than the former.

So, why is that an important milestone?

A few months ago, I repaired the water supply line coming into my toilet. I was chuffed. It was a matter of putting in a new Sharkbite connector and braided metal intake hose, but dang. It was an official home repair. I did something similar outside, adding a cut-off valve where none had existed before. Yay, me! I was officially learning to Do Things, home repair-wise. This, this was different. I did the other things because I could do them and not disturb Dan's routine. It wasn't a matter of necessity, but rather of being as considerate as I could be in a matter that didn't potentially involve flooding my home and being unable to use my bathroom for X days. At the time, he was still in full recovery mode from all the goop they'd put into him for cancer treatment, weak and tired a lot of the time. Dan would have been happy to do it, but he simply lacked the energy and I wasn't going to demand that he expend it.

Rather than being a matter of consideration, this faucet installment was a matter of admitting that Dan's made tremendous strides since his diagnosis and from his treatments, but that things have changed. That Dan was no longer capable of being there for me every time I needed a repair to one thing or another. It was a matter of admitting that, someday, maybe even too soon, that Dan will no longer be here. At all. It's an awful admission for me to make, but he's already outlived the American life expectancy for men by close to ten years. He's done so despite his health battles and his escapades in younger days that probably forced a couple of guardian angels into early retirement.

So, there I was contorted into various weird positions in my tiny kitchen, draped across the lip of my sink cabinet, cushioned by the pillow that I had stolen from Leela. My right shoulder was screaming at me as I raised my arms toward the unseen targets--the frozen nuts that refused to move--using a tool that apparently had no right to work as advertised. (Spoiler alert: it did!) Between my bad shoulder, the arthritis in my back from where I broke it years ago, and the insecurity of a newbie checking the instructions every three minutes, it took me all day to accomplish the simple tasks of removing the nuts, cleaning the faucet area of old putty, applying new putty, putting the faucet in place, replacing the nuts, and attaching the water supply lines. But by golly, I did it. When I turned on the water for the first time and it flowed through that big, beautiful spout, I nearly burst into tears with pride. At 64 years old, I finally had my "coming of age" story.

Going forward, there are still things that I will ask Dan for help to accomplish. I have the front of the weightpull shed to move. I have the new on-demand water heater that has to go in, some concrete that has to be poured. But, again, my future just means building some additional skills--or a bank account for repairs when neither of us are in any shape for repairs. I know that day is coming sooner, rather than later, although I hope that it takes its time getting here.

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I hope that you've enjoyed reading my story here. I spend most of my time over on PetLife, where you can read all about my homestead and the denizens thereof. Please don't be afraid to give a like or a comment--or even subscribe or (shameless plug) leave a tip! We'd love to see you over there. Until the next time--stay safe out there and have a great day!