Counting Blessings

 A funny thing happened on the way to the rest of my life today.  The hot water tank in our 15-year-old house finally gave up the ghost.  My Grandma used to say that all the time..."gave up the ghost".  It conjours a romantic image of a shadow of the object or person slowly drifting off to heaven above.  A bit more of a graceful image than what a badly leaking, aging hot water tank actually looks like, I assure you.

We had been meaning to get it replaced.  Had been told by the insurance company that they would no longer insure us against damage from any hot water tank issues.  Apparently, once your tank hits 7 years old, it is a threat to hearth and home.  Turns out that's true.  Who knew?

Thankfully, the damage had not yet reached a crisis point.  We discovered it this afternoon as we exercised our good intentions to clean out the basement.   It was leaking heavily from the seam at the bottom of the tank, so was only moments away from complete disaster.  Heaven only knows how long it had been leaking.  A triumphant sense of relief to be ahead of the crisis for a change, if only by a very little bit.

As the crisis management unfolded with considerations of running water, hot showers, laundry and dishes, I was taken back to a childhood memory.

I was about 11 years old, and we lived in Claresholm, AB.  It was a difficult time financially for my family, and all of our utilities had recently been cut off for non-payment.  I remember it being the first day of school, but it may only have been a Monday in the Fall.  My parents had woken my brothers and I to get ready for school.  We had a kerosene lantern for light and a little heat, we sparingly used water that my Dad drained from the hot water tank for washing up and pouring down the toilets to force-flush them. I remember it was a little chilly, I could see my breath.   

My Mother was remarkably serene. What you don’t know yet, is that my Mom has struggled with mental health issues all of her life.  Though never officially diagnosed with anything in particular, she could best be described as difficult, paranoid, insecure and obsessive.  She was prone to tantrums and mostly unpredictable at the best of times, but somehow during this crisis she was sweet and loving.  It is ironically one of the few fond memories I have of my Mom during my childhood. Her attitude made it seem like it was perfectly ordinary to be getting ready for school by lantern in the 1970’s, and I have rarely felt more loved and reassured.

I don’t know how long we went without utilities.  At the time, my Dad was working for a local company that did plumbing and heating, so one time, we went to a house under construction that my Dad had been working on, to use its shower and washroom.  I remember showering amidst drywall dust and discarded 2 x 4’s.  Dad really didn’t like it; was afraid to get caught and lose his job, but my Mom had insisted.   

We also made use of the campground in town to use their shower facilities.  I remember being in the shower and a woman who was camping there was also in one of the other shower stalls, and was talking to me.  Seems weird now, but I guess she was just one of those friendly people making conversation.  Anyhow, she asked, quite naturally, if I was enjoying my camping trip.  My 11-year-old self cheerfully explained that I wasn’t really camping, and proceeded to freely explain our situation.  Her response was absolute silence.  It hadn’t occurred to me before that there was anything wrong with this very practical solution.  But her silence conveyed reality to me, and I felt shame, worry, and less-than, when I hadn’t before. I stayed in the shower until I could be sure she had left.

The campground was a familiar place for me.  When we first moved to Claresholm the year before, we didn’t have a place to live yet, so we lived in a tent-trailer in the campground for two months.  They had army ants everywhere that were the size of wasps, and terrified me.  Sometimes my eldest brother & I, who are about 4-years apart (I’m the oldest), slept in the back of our station wagon.  That was fun!  We stayed up talking for hours, creating fantastical recipes for my Easy Bake oven and discussing whatever was on the minds of a 10 and 6 year-old who had just left everything they knew behind in Calgary and were now homeless living in a campground.  Ah, those were the days.   

One time, there was a really bad summer storm.  It gets very windy in Southern Alberta, and it was fierce this time with rain and hail.  My Dad’s boss showed up at the campground, having been sent by his wife, to pick us all up and bring us back to their home.  It was a small, single-wide mobile home, but they somehow made room to accommodate an extra family of 6 for the night. I was touched by this kindness, and also ashamed.  I attended school with their oldest son, and expected I would be teased about being homeless the next day.  I was right.  I’d rather have weathered the storm in our trailer than have everyone in school know I live in the campground, but what can you do?  I weathered a storm of a different kind.

My Grandmother was always big on counting your blessings.  There was a hymn from our church that she used to sing and hum often, “Count Your Blessings”.  It goes like this:

“When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed, When you are discouraged thinking all is lost, Count your many blessings; name them one by one. And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.”

Chorus…“Count your blessings; name then one by one.  Count your blessings; see what God hath done.  Count your blessings; name them one by one.  Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.”  

(You’ve got to love the Mormon church.  I couldn’t remember all the words clearly, so thought I’d try the magic internet, and behold, the church has a convenient database containing MP3’s of all of their hymns and music so that members can conveniently play them at meetings and church events.  Say what you want about them, their organization (the verb) is amazing.  Turns out there are 4 verses to the hymn.  I no doubt knew them all at one time, but it is the chorus that has stayed with me. Link is http://www.lds.org/churchmusic/detailmusicPlayer/index.html?searchlanguage=1&searchcollection=1&searchseqstart=241&searchsubseqstart=%20&searchseqend=241&searchsubseqend=ZZZ if you are interested.)

I am a spiritual person, rather than a religious one, despite having been raised in the Mormon church, but even so, during trying times, and times I am grateful for, this chorus plays through my mind.  Here are the blessings I was counting today, in no particular order of importance:         

1. While altruistically starting on the much-procrastinated task of cleaning out the basement (and now delayed again), discovered hot water tank leakage before more damage done
2. It is a payday weekend, so can afford supplies and new hot water tank needed
3. Husband is ambitious and handy so could tackle the replacement himself
4. My Father is alive and well, and available for endless advice on home repair
5. It is the Sunday of a long weekend, and we discovered the problem while the stores were still open
6. Wonderful hubby had it fixed within a day, so there was limited interruption to our lives
7. It is a long weekend, so we still have a day off tomorrow…whoohoo!
8. Our utilities are not cut off
9. We are not homeless

 Thanks to my Grandma, for teaching me to count my blessings, and that things could always be worse.   And my deep appreciation to God/The Universe for all of our blessings, everyday.