Holidays, Life in General, and Other Complaints

by Hardy Peacock

What is it with me and holidays, anyway? I do pretty well with Christmas, probably due mostly to music and family. The Fourth of July is always special to me. Most of the rest leave me wondering what to do.

Take Labor Day, for instance. In the first place I was grown before I knew what anyone was talking about. (This is the Delta, remember. The basic rule is that you farm when it is time to farm.) When I was younger we never got a school holiday for Labor Day because school had not started. This is the Delta and until the mid-sixties early September meant that everyone was picking cotton. We had kids at Winchester that missed the first few weeks of school each year because they were picking cotton. My folks believed that school was my first responsibility. If you have ever picked cotton you know and understand why I was glad for school to start!

I just never got the concept of Labor Day.

Thanksgiving was an excuse to overeat. New Years was about football. Mothers Day, Fathers Day, and Easter were all situated on Sundays and don’t usually result in a day off from school. Labor Day seemed to be a day to labor. I do remember that it marked the end of summer, but I knew summer was over because we were picking cotton.

Now, fast forward about fifty years. Things may not be that different. Thanksgiving is still an excuse to overeat, football still rules around New Years, and this is still the Delta. I don’t know what to do with Labor Day.

Take this year, for instance. We spent a good portion of last week making sure that all the retail outlets had a good supply of product to get ready for the holiday. Friday in September (at least in Southeast Arkansas) means high school football. (We got clobbered!) The first Saturday in September (at least in Southeast Arkansas) means the opening morning of Dove Season. (We got clobbered.) Saturday morning in this case also meant that a couple of country grocery stores were low on gasoline. They are near the Arkansas River and were having record numbers of fishermen, campers, and boaters. Then the drive to Fayetteville for the Razorback opener. (NMSU got clobbered!) Sunday involves church and a big lunch. Then check on the country grocery stores gasoline situation. (One was okay, the other was closed.)

Somewhere in the midst of all this Kathryn informed me that the commode in the guest bathroom is not functioning. Now what could be up with that? The dadblasted thing has been sitting there doing its job (Dare I say LABOR?) since the house was built. Why now? By employing my years of training, vast knowledge of a variety of subjects, some intuition, and long experience I determine that she is correct. (Okay, I went in and wiggled the handle. When I lifted the lid on the tank my steel trap mind immediately noted that there was no water in the system.

I got my toolbox and addressed the situation. How do they manage to construct an entire house in such a manner that things that are clearly visible and seem so accessible are impossible to reach. You cannot accomplish anything without lying down on the floor, practically standing on your head, and straining to the absolute limit to just touch the object you need? (Actually, that was just to shut off the water supply valve.)

Because of my intuitive comprehension of fluid hydraulics I could tell that the pressure-activated, main-induction valve (really, that is what it is called) was not functioning.

I took it apart and cleaned it. I reassembled it and re-installed it. I lay down on the floor, stood on my head, strained to the absolute limit if my reach, and turned on the water.

Nothing!

I repeated the process. I repeated the process more than once. I’m not going to bore anyone with the details, just suffice it to say that the dadblasted, infernal contraption finally broke into so many pieces that it was deemed to be beyond repair. (Okay, some of the details included laughing hysterically and cursing while pounding the recalcitrant valve with a hammer. I’m sure the entire experience was a lesson to water valves everywhere!)

Anyway, I determined that the pressure-activated etc. valve needed to be replaced and I might as well. This of course involves a trip to wally world…I know, I know…I like to shop with my hometown merchants, but where else do you go at 6:30 PM on the Sunday before Labor Day? If you are in Dumas your choices are A) do without. B) drive to Pine Bluff. 3) go to wally world. So I choose option 3).

They don’t have it.

I finally buy a complete flushing/refill system that involves water pressure sensors, (Hey look! No float!) refill tubes, valves, and whatever. I get back home and install the new parts.

Everything works!

Everything works just as it is supposed to work. How ‘bout that?

Oh, one slight problem. The water supply valve…you know, that thing that sits there under the commode tank where the pipe comes out of the wall. The thing that enables you to shut off the water supply to the commode, hence the name, “water supply valve.” Keep in mind that it, too, has been quietly performing its function forever. Now when I turn the water back on a steady stream is running onto the bathroom floor. If I turn it off the commode is out of order, but the bathroom is dry. If I turn it on…well, you can figure it out.

Wally world is now closed. The choices are do without or drive to Pine Bluff.

I decided to come to work on Labor Day, 2004 because I have never really gotten the concept of a working holiday.

I decided to come to work on Labor Day, 2004 because this is the Delta and farmers are farming and need fuel.

I decided to come to work on Labor Day, 2004 so I could get some rest!

It is a well-known fact that fairy tales begin with the phrase, “Once upon on a time…” It is a lesser-known fact that Southern tales begin with, “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this…”

Well, get ready. Y’all ain’t gonna believe this, but when I got ready to leave the office this afternoon I heard water running. I checked the bathroom. The pressure-activated, main-induction valve is not functioning.

This is where I came in!