Water, Water Everywhere Nor Any Drop to Drink

The General and I were in attendance at the show this week in order to see The Revenant on the big screen; it’s not my thing really, but I can still say that it’s worthwhile despite the endless, mercilessly close-up shots of flesh in varying stages of being charred or stitched or stabbed or scored like the top of a Shepherd’s Pie, which I had to watch through three fingers and occasionally not at all.

Director  Alejandro González Iñárritu insisted that the film be shot entirely in natural light and as a result the bright, brittle harshness of winter really translates;  in fact, I read recently that the very excellent Will Poulter (Jim Bridger) noted perceptively, that the weather almost has its own character within the film.

But meanwhile, back at our  place, The General and I are experiencing a few of our own Revenant-style challenges, albeit without the gore and you know, raw bison liver …

This is Day 3 of a burst waterline that cannot be fixed yet ( cheerful, yet strangely unmoved plumbers tell us that there is too much water at the source to precisely deal with the leak) so we are living without running water in the freezing winter for a minimum of one week till some drainage occurs.

And it is not for sissies.

Kindness must be noted though and within hours of the news, good friends had brought over a giant water container from their camping collection that The General and I had to literally drag into the house a few halting steps at a time – they had also filled it for us!

So thoughtful.

Our 2 bathtubs were filled with water in anticipation and we must now scoop water into the toilet from here.

(They can be flushed but sadly, things don’t always progress in quite the usual way now.)

This morning in the dim light, I was weaving downstairs with an overly full  water container and ended up sloshing half of it all down my leg where it pooled into one of my socks.

I then watched as it rippled down the hardwood stairs like those chuckling brooks where leaping salmon are often seen.

By lunchtime, The General had turned completely pioneer on me and was fetching buckets of snow inside since we both feel that flushing with San Pellegrino would be a tad excessive.

Doing the dishes takes FOR-ever, boiling up a huge, speckled canning vat on the stove (possum anyone?) and then rinsing everything off and then doing it all again when the greasier things have to be tackled.

Mornings are the worst – I feel like a shivering Jane Eyre filling a bowl with water, alternately boiling (from the kettle) and freezing  (from the water container) to produce a tepid few cupfuls in which to perform what the Victorians called a “top and tail” sponge bath with a face cloth that I always make too soapy for the task.

By night, we are showering at my best friend’s house and it’s the most glorious and thrilling thing to feel the force of hot water pinning your body against the tiles and creamy, floral scented shampoo to knead slowly through your hair! Ahhhhh.

The General on the other hand, has gamely offered to wear the same sweat pant ensemble for the week (as if this was a huge departure for him) and, still excited by the movie, has taken to regaling me with his research about other trappers who have survived bear attacks (such as Jedadiah Smith).

(He’s also spending more time at the window and watching the squirrels with a new interest that I’m not sure I entirely approve of … perhaps this is what happens to the newly retired …)

We’ve started using a ladle too (which I have stopped myself from calling a “dipper” a few times) to pour our cool drinking water into cups.

Yep, it’s becoming real Western-like here.

Stay tuned.

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