The conversations have been steady, almost endless.
“That shower is so stinking small,” or “We need a bigger shower.”
“I can’t pick up the shampoo if I drop it” was a top-ten comment; for the past twenty summers, I heard it almost monthly during warm weather, when the cabin is open for business.
During discussions with my son over the past month, it’s now clear neither of us knew the old shower stall’s actual dimensions.
We thought it was thirty, maybe thirty-two inches. If we installed a new unit, most likely the standard thirty-six inches, we’d gain only four inches in either direction.
That didn’t seem like much.
I know, we should have walked in with a tape measure. We didn’t. We are seat-of-the-pants navigators from different generations. It’s worked out well for both of us career-wise. We don’t like meetings; we like just “doing it.”
Yesterday, I carried the old unit out by myself. It wasn’t all that tough, but after the maneuvering, I can see that taking even a thirty-two-inch unit into the cabin would take some finesse.
I don’t have much of that available right now.
I am here to announce that, after removing the micro-shower, its interior dimensions were only twenty-eight inches square: 28″x28″
No wonder it felt small.
Much of the foot dragging over all these years came from concerns about getting a new, one-piece modular shower through the narrow cabin doors. Staircases, screen doors, and intrusions would make it a knucklebusting affair. Frankly, all I could picture was buying a new shower (they are not cheap anymore) and cracking it during installation.
But I thought the old one was four inches larger than it was, so what do I know?
It looks like it will be a multi-piece shower, assembled after we get it inside. The wall to the bathroom is all gone.
Of course, while horsing my way through the job, I cut a couple of important electrical wires with the reciprocating saw. All jobs take longer when you need to rewire midway through. Ask me how I know.
The big deal was the wire to the septic tank pump. That was the one I was worried about, and without any fanfare, even using Timmy-level caution (holding the saw a bit tighter), I cut it off within ten minutes of the deconstruction.
I laughed. And, yes, I’d shut off the breaker at the panel; Timmy is dumb, but he hates electrical shocks.
Sammy was there, but he fell asleep on a rock in a sunbeam outside. Yes, I took a photo, but he was adamant he didn’t want it shared on social media. So the photo will remain in the secret domain, maybe to be sent to him as a Christmas card.
It was a great day at the lake. The cabin was twenty degrees colder than the outside air, so I opened all the windows to warm it up.
Thursday in Washington County, Maine, was beautiful. There was no denying that El Niño was in charge of the weather right now. We will take it.
Heck, I can shower outside now. I’m not sure if the woodland creatures can handle that kind of visual assault, so I’d better get a curtain, or just use some maple leaves like Adam might have if he’d been given a small shower stall.
I digress.
Keep your hands to yourself, leave other people’s things alone, and be kind to one another.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
Thanks for subscribing to the Newslog. It’s a blog, but it keeps you from having to go to Facebook to read my stuff. I appreciate all of you. Thanks for becoming supporters through BuyMeACoffee (yellow banner). That’s what keeps this writer employed. Well, sort of. I appreciate all of you, both on the socials and here. tc