Problem Solved

Not to brag, but I think I've found the source of the problem that Atlanta is facing regarding the water crisis:

The upstairs toilet at my parents' house.

It just runs and runs and runs. It flushes three full times before it is done. It sounds like an ocean when it flushes. And it doesn't stop flushing for about 10 minutes.

I'm seriously thinking of calling the Core of Engineers and having them come out and take the matter into their own hands.

Wouldn't it be nice to save the day for millions of people, not to mention the mollusks or whatever is part of the issue down in Florida?

Lake Lanier, the man-made lake we grew up boating on, is now a depressing sight. I think the water that is left is pulling into a sad spiral...

directly from the Snell family toilet.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flush!

Number Two

This story puts a whole new spin on commuting.

My dear friends Tracy and Vytas have quit their jobs, sold their home, and are traveling on their cruising sailboat. They're seeing amazing sights, experiencing cultures and worlds beyond their own, and they're milking their youth instead of waiting until retirement to truly live life.

With Christmas this week, they flew home from The Bahamas to spend some quality time with friends and family. I had the privilege of hosting them for a few days, and we had a wonderful time. Caught up on sailing tales, saw their photos, exhanged sagas of the ups and downs of our respective lives, and talked and talked and talked.

Then, at a happy hour specifically in their honor last night, they were barraged with questions like, "Where have you been?" and "What's it like to live on a boat?" They kindly, and proudly, answered each one with gusto, to laughs and sighs all around (the laughs are in appreciation, the sighs are in envy).

My favorite answer had to be in response this one:

"So, what is the one thing that you're not enjoying?"

Tracy laughed, thought for about a millisecond, and told a funny tale involving the head (aka, the bathroom). When your boat is 350 square feet of interior space, the head is a omnipresent part of your life. It is at the foot of their bed for crying out loud. You get to know each other very quickly, and very well.

The gist is, without getting too gross or technical, that on the ocean, a sailboat basically carries the waste underneath, in the hull, and disposes of it overboard at some point when it is full (yes, it is gross, but yes, it is legal). Said waste hold is, pleasantly, located beneath the bed.

With a smile, and a tilt of the head, she said to the inquiring party, "So, basically, we travel with our poo."

That requires no more commentary. Just a repeat.

We travel with our poo.

Overlap & Wafting

It's amazing how, in an urban environment, the lives of others seep quietly, quickly and forcefully into our own.

We overlap, we intermingle, we mix together, we stand too close, we say more than we should, we bump shoulders, we brush hands while reaching for bus pole/newspaper/creamer at Starbucks, we guide strangers with street directions, and we ultimately and utterly blend together.

Last night on the bus home, a regular guy gets on. By regular, I mean, he had no outstanding, ridiculous or hilarious characteristics for me to notice. I didn't even notice him, actually, until I smelled it.

The seeping, surging, overpowering smell of...

Toilet Paper.

Brand new, in the package, a Jumbo 12-pack of Charmin Ultra.

The smell is recognizable. You know it. You can recall it right now, probably. It took over the bus. (Remember the fried chicken? This was a close second to the way that tasty smell overtook).

He had to keep moving it around, settled in at his feet, to let people out, to move back, to stand closer to the pole, to finally land a seat nearby. The constant movement simply shook up the odor even more. Wafting was a word that came to mind.

Just got me thinking about how intimate, close and personal, and yet so distinctly cold and separate, living in the city can be.