Plumbing

It was one morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table and considering the busy day ahead. I'd complained of needing an adventure and Hannah, of course, had something in mind. Now, toast and tea were done and we took our time, as with most mornings, to let our breakfast settle slowly. The only thing worse than adventure on an empty stomach is adventure on an improperly settled stomach. So, Hannah knitted a sock and I guessed aloud at our day's events, her responses never betraying the secret. You never know what Hannah has in store for a day until it happens, and in this case, no one would ever know, for our guessing "game" was soon interrupted by news from a resident. A pipe had burst in The Station, and it was reported that lemon jelly was leaking out everywhere. We knew this particular pipe was on the fritz, but the news of the sugary flooding was fresh and unsettling.

"I suppose we should call a candyman," I sighed.

"Or a plumber," the resident said.

We both looked to Hannah for word. I wondered how this would impact, if at all, her secret plan for the day. Perhaps in the ruckus, she would slip up and I would learn what it was. But even now, in the midst of dilemma, she refrained. Darn her Chandler reserve and Christo eyes of China! She is an impervious fortitude!

"There's no time," she said simply and with deliberation, never looking up from her stitch-work nor pausing in those loops.

Before I could ask about a fix, or come up with one myself, she tied off the last stitch of the sock and slipped it on. Then she beckoned me to dash with her to the scene of the crime, to which she glided in her newfound sock upon our hardwood floors. The resident who'd borne the news followed. By the time we got there, we were up to our knees in lemon jelly and it only continued to rise. The hole in the pipe was a gaping one and glared at us from across the room as we entered.

"We need pie crusts," Hannah said to the resident and his artsy friends, "lots of them."

"And what do I do?" I asked eagerly.

"You and I have a pipe to mend," she said with a wink.

"But the others," I wondered. "Shouldn't we get them to higher ground?"

"Oh Kevan," laughed Hannah over the loud rush of torrential jelly, "it's lemon curd! They'll be fine! More than fine, even!"

We did consider at this point, admittedly, why exactly we should mend the pipe. Free flowing lemon jelly isn't such a bad thing, after all. But it is a sad and unavoidable fact that it would ruin the furniture in due time, so it had to be seen to.

Hannah had some hefty yarn left over from her sock project (she does like thick socks) and we used this to close up the hole. By the time the resident and his artsy friends returned with pie crusts, lots of them, the pipe was good as new and we were all quite ready for lunch.

Lemon meringue pies for everyone!