Diluvial Condominium

Holy Heaven, the rains have come----prayers answered!

Our shortage of rainfall has been the big talk around South Carolina these past few months; my elder berries in the starboard side yard have not budded nor has my mountain grass in the port-side side yard. Up until yesterday morning, the entire retirement community looked like a dusty Hooverville circa 1931: barren, starved, and dry.

On Tuesday evening the tawdry weather woman on the local evening news broadcast predicted that we were in for some heavy rains. In rare fashion, she was actually right. By Wednesday morning the precipitation had begun. Starved soils and flora were being fed; all was wet and glorious, indeed.

All was glorious, that is, until my roof partially gave way. Exposing me and the interior of my retirement community condominium to the downpour.

In no more than two hours my living room went from resembling a stately Admiral's quarters to looking like a flooded galley on a ramshackle Carribean Rum Ship. Immediately, my seafaring survival instincts kicked in and I began building a float dingy. I took three rolls of aluminum baking foil and the cushions from my sofa and lashed them both to my walker. Finally, I mounted a metal pan on the walker to use as a fog horn.

For the next 36 hours I paddled my way around the retirement community condominium performing chores as usual: cooking, ingesting health pills, tending to pressure sores, and performing my twice-daily self-flagellation routine, working from the shoulders to the buttocks and 'round to the groin.

Quite honestly, I am glad that my domicile flooded. It was like being in The Navy all over again.

Today, I report from the deck of my float dingy: the waters have receded and I am dry docked in the middle of my living room with ruined sofa cushions and no walker for walking aid. No matter, it was worth it. For nearly two glorious days I was not Retired Rear Admiral Richard Butler but Rear Admiral Richard Butler, again.

I love you.