Some Things Are Important

I keep looking at my toilet. Honest.

Not the one on the sidewalk in front of my house, the one in my bathroom.

It's new. The one in my bathroom. And the one on the sidewalk is there because of the new one in my bathroom.

To say that I love my new toilet, that I'm happy and thankful to have it, would be not saying enough, but I'll let it stand. I mean what I just said. Not the toilet.

It's Wednesday afternoon. At 6 o'clock tonight my new toilet will be two days old.

Monday night Paul and Andrew came, took out the jet-propelled toilet--well, it sounded like a jet; you pushed the button on the top, and you had to push hard, then got out of the way and held your ears. It was a Sloan Flushmate. Then they put in this lovely little Toto (brand name) toilet. It took them an hour.

I never liked the thing, the Sloan Flushmate, but Wayne wanted it, and if its power cylinder had not begun to leak, I'd still have it. I'd still have it if anybody still carried Sloan toilet stuff.

I think some of my grandsons liked it, the Flushmate. Exciting. At least for a while. But I'll take my Toto.

Andrew carried the old toilet, very heavy, out to the sidewalk, because Allied Waste said they would pick it up on my regular trash day--which is tomorrow--as long as it was in two pieces. The toilet. And it is.

So this is the best I could hope for, ask for, and get. The very best. And that is good.

I also love my boys.