I'm posed over the keys, waiting for inspiration to strike, when I hear something striking the floor.
Well, dripping actually. A lot of dripping. And frantic gurgling. And a kinda frying sound.
All of it coming from the kitchen.
No. Not the Elixir of Knowledge!
I stride the 2.13 steps to the kitchen.
It seems that I had been at the top of my game last night before bedtime. I had made my lunch for work, had my bowl of fruit ready for breakfast - and had filled the coffeemaker with water. Already.
In my pre-dawn stupor, I filled it again. And flipped the switch.
That thing must have a reservoir
like a rhino's bladder.
I realize I have just baptized and caffeinated the entire north end of the kitchen. From stove to sink.
A small sea of brown liquid.
A puddle really.
The kitchen's not that big.
My brewed inspiration should be steaming in my special cup next to the laptop.
It, instead, is dripping happily off of appliances and cabinets, a flowing liquid memorial to a senior moment.
Ohhh, mannnnn.
Praise and blessing do not make it to my lips, the colloquialisms of my dad,
(the Navy-drywall contractor),
and my uncle,
(the Army-butcher/truck driver), getting there first.
I unplug the now-vilified coffeemaker and move its dripping carcass to the stove top.
I corral Lake Elixir before it crawls under the refrigerator.
Four towels later I turn my attention to the cabinets and stove.
Ohhh, mannnn.
The drawers inside are floating.
Nooooooooo - not the junk drawer!
Soggy bagties, books of matches, an assortment of paperclips, 2 pushpins, rubber bands, pencils, pens, markers, and a tape measure all cry for rescue.
I air lift them to the kitchen table. Drawer 1 is done.
Two more to go.
Huh.
Well, the experience isn't a total waste.
I found a teapot and a box of Bisquick I didn't know we had.
It's now about 35 minutes after the Flood and I'm back at the Living/Dining/Computer/Family room table, pondering this profusely aquatic morning.
Huh.
Aren't ya glad that He only gives us enough information for today?
Like one pot of the Elixir in the morning.
Just enough for the day.
And making it fresh tomorrow.
Just the one pot.
"Here.
Let's work on this.
There.
Yeah, you're getting it.
Trust me, it'll work out."
Grateful that He doesn't just dump the whole "growing and being-made-like-Him" thing on us all at once?
Ohhh, baby.
If He did that I'd need a lot more towels.
A loooooot more.