Frozen, or why OCD is a pain.

One month, twelve days of Christmas, and one new year's celebration later, and things are back to normal (whatever that may be). Ozzie ended up spending ten days in the hospital, and in spite of my rant to you all, we actually had several friends and a neighbor step up and help us out with dinner. The in-laws came up to see Ozzie, grandpa charmed the nurses by making up a country song using the information the board Ozzie's room ("Today's goal is pain control, and Heather is your nurse. Cassidy takes vital signs and hopes it's nothing worse.."), I baked dozens of cookies and breads to thank all the staff on the floor, and the first time Ozzie went to the bathroom to do a normal #2, there was much rejoicing in the land (or at least in room 211).
I know, you really needed to know that.
You're welcome.

So then there was Christmas, New Year's, and then a new ice age began. Or, as we apparently like to call these things in 2014, a polar vortex broke out. The kids and I had just returned to school, when the warning came that temperatures would fall to the low teens that night. Now while the low teens may be completely normal to all y'all yankees, down here it was all "WE GON' DIE". For real.  We don't do teens. Ever. We do forties. Thirties, maybe. But never do we see anything that starts with a "1". Until this week. So on Monday night, husband-dear and I bundled up our palm trees using blankets, sheets, and free weights (yes, for real. Listen, palm trees are expensive, and we weren't about to let those pricy suckers die), set all of our outside faucets on dripstand, and I spend many, many hours agonizing over my pool pump. Obviously, our brand-spanking new pool pump comes with a freeze protect function, which means you're good when it freezes. And I'm sure that people not burdened by way too much education would just take that for granted and move on, but I made the bad decision several years ago to spend way too much time researching probabilities and statistical anomalies, and so I insisted on setting the timer on the pump to run for 24 hours too. And checking the skimmer for ice every few hours. I know. In a salt pool. But there you have it.

And you know what, OCD or not, all went well. The pump ran, the skimmer remained ice-free, the palmtrees continued to live, and the water from our faucets created love pieces of ice sculpture on the frozen grass. Until Wednesday night.

On Wednesday night, when I was driving home, thankful that this vortex would be moving on within 24 hours, I got one of those calls that started with, "Honey, I have some bad news. But it's not really bad."
The bad-but-not-REALLY-bad news was that our backwash pipe had frozen and burst. And this is not good, but not terrible-tear-your-hair-out-forget-about-retirement either. See, a backwash pipe's sole function is to drain the dirty water you just backwashed out of your pool somewhere away from the pool. It's connected to your pump, but it's an "exit only" pipe, and unless you're backwashing, there's no water in it.
Correction.
There SHOULDN'T be any water in it.
That is unless your pool builders suddenly start acting like absent-minded professors, and decide to lay the pipe at a slight angle TOWARDS the pump, which allows water to collect in said pipe. Which then freezes when all hell breaks loose and temperatures drop into the single digits.

But I didn't freak out.
Hm.
Well, I didn't freak out while anyone could hear me. Let's just say I did some stress-relieving vocalizing after I hung up with husband-dear and before calling our pool builders.
But they reassured me all would be well, and they would send someone by in the morning.

All would have been well and I would not have been writing this post if my OCD hadn't kicked in. And the husband's. In all honesty, he triggered my tendency to worry by saying something to the effect of, "Maybe you should reschedule for them to come on Friday when you're home, so you can make sure they don't lay the pipe at an angle again."
Naturally, my worrywarted self agreed. (and so really it's all his fault. Obviously).
So on Thursday I called to reschedule to today.

And then the skies opened up on Friday morning with rain. Lots and lots of rain. Endless rain. Inches of rain. And apparently laying PVC-pipe in the rain is just not the greatest idea in the world, so when I called the pool place, they rescheduled for next week.
At first, I thought nothing of it. But then it clicked. It was raining. A lot. The water level in the pool was already to the top of the skimmer, which meant I would probably have to drain the pool sometime tomorrow. And guess what pipe you use to drain the pool?
The backwash pipe.

Frick.
For about ten seconds, I had a heart attack, and had visions of liners popping out of the rail, major bills, and lots of hassle. Then, for the next ten seconds, I berated myself for worrying so much about things. Any normal person would have had the pool people fix the pipe on Thursday. But not me. For about two seconds, I debated a minor breakdown involving tears, but instead, I decided to put all that education to good use. I opened up Google, an empty word document, and within five minutes, had three solutions written out in a smartly bullet-ed list:

1. Use the pipe and just let the water run into the front yard. Possibly use the downspout water diverter to direct water away from pump, pool, and house.
2. Get husband-dear to doohickey together a temporary solution involving a metal clamp and a collapsible hose (collapsible hose available, plenty of spare clamps in the garage)
3. Rent a cover pump (similar to a sump pump) to siphon water out of the pool, which were available for rent in town for $27 a day at a place open Mon-Sat from 8am-5pm (phone number and directions included).

An email to husband-dear later, and we had an action plan. As of right now, Friday night, 7pm, I can tell you that #2 was rejected, on account of how the pipe was 2 inches in diameter, and the hose only 1.5", and we're leaning towards #1. Fortunately, it has also stopped raining.

I hope this is the end of the frozen-backwash-pipe tale, but I will keep you posted.
For now I will leave you with the one word that captures it all and that has seen a lot of usage in my current texting traffic: Ugh.

Allalalalergic

Whenever husband-dear, several of my dearest friends, or any other random American used to complain about their allergies, I would always wonder what in the world they were talking about. Allergies? So what were they allergic to exactly? And why did it only come up every once in a while? Secretly, I used to always think this "allergy" thing was seriously exaggerated. After all, they never specified what exactly they were "allergic" to, but would always sniffle something about "the pollen", the same pollen that I and all other non-sniffing, sneeze-free people around them were exposed to. The same pollen that was in the air year-round, but apparently only affected them at set times. Who had ever heard of that?

Honestly, I used to think that Americans just had a very strange obsession with this vague "allergy" label they were always bandying about. Just like Dutch people simply MUST talk about the weather, American have to talk about their allergies, that's what I figured.  Seriously, you can walk into any room in Georgia in the spring, throw the word "allergies" out there, and you will have a conversation that can last for hours.

Seeing the numerous ads for pills like Allegra-D. Aleve-D, and Zyrtec, which can be best compared to anti-histamines on speed (but not literally) made me wonder if perhaps this "allergy" label was yet another medical condition exploited by the pharmaceutical industry. A condition that does exist, for a handful of people, but that is advertised so aggressively that anyone with a minor itch in their left nostril is now convinced they are allergic. The fact that all these medications are available over the counter, without any interference from a physician only further underlined my conviction.

Until this year. Yes, people, as of this year, I too have started hunting through our bathroom drawers for some Aleve-D, have had random sneeze attacks that seem endless, and have used the previously much-despised word "allergies."

At first I was in denial, of course. When, a few weeks before my half ironman, my sinuses were suddenly completely blocked, I could not stop sneezing, and produced more snot than I thought was humanly possible, I told husband-dear I had a simple cold. A cold that was the result of over-training and under-sleeping. The fact that the "cold" coincided with all trees blossoming was just that, a coincidence.

Then, just a few days ago, I started sneezing and looking completely droopy-eyed again. This time, there is no over-training or under-sleeping to blame, and so I wondered what was going on. Until one of my students, a notorious "allergy" sufferer could not stop sneezing during our study abroad orientation, and told me her allergies had been acting up again, and a co-worker, who is also known for having really bad allergies, showed up to work teary-eyed and stuffy as well. This specific co-worker happens to be some sort of biological chemist or physical biologist or chemical physicist or something, and he told me that the large spiky pollen typical to Georgia (apparently, he put some under an electron microscope once) had come back just this week, which explained his allergies.

And so I put two and two together. A "cold" during our famous cherry blossom season. Teary eyes and sneezing when the infamous pollen have made a come-back. I think, and I hate to say this, but I think I have "allergies" too.

Fortunately, there is good news. Apparently, Georgia pollen is extremely nasty (and large and round, and spiky), which explains why most everyone who lives here long enough eventually breaks down and becomes overly sensitive to the little buggers. So it's not hay fever, or a chronic sinus infection, but it is something that will go away once we move away from Georgia. So now all we gotta do is figure out when that is.

Bizarro world: I want rain

"Rainy days and Mondays always get me down..."
The Carpenters ~ (insert drivel of a title here)

You know what I wish this part of the world had more of? Well, besides Dutch stores and  non-bible-beating people, of course. And well-prepared students. And let's not forget paid leave and people who use their blinkers. OK, so besides all of that, do you know what I wish Georgia had more?

Rainy days.

Yes, I'm serious, I wish we had more rainy days. And not because it would mean we'd use our sprinklers less, the farmers would be happier, and we wouldn't be on water restriction nine months out of the year, although all of that would be nice. No, because it would mean that I would finally have an excuse to lay around the house and do absolutely nothing. I know, it makes absolutely no sense, especially since I'm from a country where it does nothing but rain all the time, but there you have it. I need clouds and rain in order to relax.

In the Netherlands, and Germany for that matter, it used to be the total opposite. Whenever it would rain, and the clouds would threaten to completely envelop your day, I used to argue that those were perfect days to remain locked up in your office and get some serious work done. As dreary as the weather could get, there was no point in being outside, or even thinking about going outside, so one might as well stay in and work. Nothing like the incessant patter of rain on your windows to make you realize God really, really wants you to stay in your office and write that damn paper (although He probably wouldn't say "damn". Sorry God).

Now whenever the sun comes out, every single Dutch (and German and British) person I know loses their mind. Completely. After the second day of temperatures over 80 degrees, weather people talk about the possibility of a heatwave and the importance of staying hydrated in high-pitched, excited voices, while after the third day, there is a rush on portable AC units, and people start using words like "tropical" and "unprecedented". Seriously, all my Dutch readers know that as soon as the sun fills the sky, people take half-days off, spend hours drinking cool drinks at a "terrasje*", waste away time lying in the park, and will try to take their work outside as much as possible. In fact, I dare to posit that the outside temperature is negatively correlated with the Dutch productivity levels.

Well, in Georgia, it's quite the reverse. At least for me. Here, the sun shines all the time. I'm not kidding. Always. So sunshine is no longer associated with half-days, terrasjes, parks, and a general laziness. No, instead when you think of sunshine you think of AC bills of several hundred dollars, siding that needs painted and/or replaced every few years, sunshades that become brittle and fall apart, and melting pavement. In fact, most people around here can't wait to get into their offices when the sun's out, as their office is the only place that can afford to keep temperatures at around 68F.

So for me, nowadays, sun=rain in Holland. When I see it's sunny outside, I realize it's just another day like all the others, and I have lots to do, so I better hop to it. Even in the wintertime, when we can step outside, sunshine means there's lots to do. Because now you can finally paint that siding/wash those windows/prune the bushes without dying of a heatstroke.

On the other hand, whenever it low pressure hits, and it does start to rain, relaxation sets in. Running errands in the rain is a pain, so we don't. You can't do any outside chores in the rain either, and although you could definitely do some inside chores, it's raining, so you can't utilize any of your outside spaces, you can't clean any floors as someone will definitely get them muddy, and well, there is always tomorrow, when the sun will definitely be out again. In short, if it's raining, why do anything at all?


You can thus imagine my frustration when the weather predicted rain for today. How can I work when it's raining? We all know you should be asleep on the couch when that happens! It's not fair. Thankfully, the clouds disappeared, and I'm now looking out into a very sunny world once again. Phew.

But some rain in the near future would be nice. Thanks.



* A "terrasje" encompasses so many non-American things, it's almost impossible to describe. Imagine, first of all, all your town's stores located side by side along small streets in about a square mile. Then imagine that this entire square mile is a no-car zone. Then imagine squares with fountains and steps on a few corners. Then imagine that these squares hold shops as well as restaurants and bars. But let's make them nice, upscale bars without television screens and ESPN. And then imagine that all of these restaurants and bars have put small tables with chairs around them on the square. And that those chairs are placed so close together, people need to get up to let you through, and you can eavesdrop on every single conversation on the square. And that people can sit there, order drinks and food, and watch the world go by. That's a terrasje.