The Moral of the Story?

Never in my wildest imagination would I have believed you if you'd told me in June that we'd still be homeless in October. Nor would I have believed you if you said that not only would we still be homeless, but that we also would be without a source of running water. In the snow. Over an hour from town. With two little girls and a new puppy. And chemo. I definitely would not have believed the chemo part. But alas, that is our current state. All of it. All improbable, but all true.

Also true is the fact that we are enjoying nearly every minute of it.

Today I have two lovely tales to illustrate a lesson. See if you can determine the familiar moral of the story.

When I was a younger gal, yet just as chesty as today, I often dreamed of a time when I would be able to have a reduction. My gangly pre-teen years had vanished into the bosom-centric days of high school, even though I was as athletic as ever and wanting to compete at increasingly higher levels. My cup size demanded that I also spend money at increasingly higher increments to afford the kind of protection my girls needed from the dreaded bounce. So many fleeting thoughts of that pending reduction had crossed my mind over the decades, that by the time I met Greg at age 30, it was just a foregone conclusion that it would happen some day. I warned him twelve years ago not to become too attached. Famous last words it seems as I face a bilateral mastectomy in the coming year.

We are blessed to be house-sitting for some amazing friends. Amazing people who have literally let us invade and take over their home for far too long, yet without complaint. In fact, they have endured us with welcome smiles and seeming enthusiasm to have us all as roommates. Even the not-even-close-to-housebroken puppy. When I started chemo last week, I recalled one sentence in one of the hundreds of publications about chemo treatments that we've gathered up here lately. It said that chemo patients, because of their fragile immune systems, should be very wary of using well water. Danger of water-born diseases like giarddia and others is much higher for chemo gals like myself. Since then I have been fretting about this. For almost two months now, we've used only Juneau's finest well water for showering and cooking and laundry. Since Wednesday though, I have been using only bottled water and moaning about how I shouldn't be living this far from "civilization" in my condition. I kept nagging and pestering Greg about how awful and dreadful this whole situation is. On top of everything else, I wished I didn't have to cope with this water deal.

Well, well, well. Just this evening when we returned from town to our idyllic oasis in the wilderness, Greg turned on the tap to find only air wafting from the pipes. Hmm. Weird. Pump's out. No more water for us.

Lesson learned? Be careful what you wish for. Our God has an amazing sense of humor