The trip of a lifetime was surrounded by heavy doses of reality.
Eighteen months ago, my mother called me on my birthday and asked if Cassandra and I wanted to cruise the Galápagos with her. It was such a tough sell, we probably deliberated for all of five minutes.
Planning ensued… should we go with the known company, that Mom had cruised with before, or look into others? Book through her travel agency or directly through the cruise line? We opted out of any pre- or post- extensions due to my limited vacation time.
There were hiccups. We booked over a year ahead, which meant we couldn’t buy plane tickets at the same time. My mother wanted to arrive a day earlier than us, which meant booking an extra hotel night. The travel agent retired, leaving someone else at the agency scrambling to find us airfare as the trip approached. My mother, who’s fairly close to technologically illiterate, would leave me a voicemail with another question for the travel agent, then drop off the grid for a few days or a month on another trip. Then suddenly the school year was almost over and I was rushing to buy whatever Cassandra had outgrown from the packing list, and checking to see what I was missing.
The day before our trip arrived and we were just about packed and ready to go. I woke up and prepared for work like normal, then took a few minutes to water the vegetable garden. As I walked back in, I pulled a few weeds out (it’s a compulsive habit), so I stopped to wash my hands at the kitchen sink before preparing breakfast.
Nothing came out.
I stepped into the garage and could hear some water running, presumably the last trickles the pump had pulled from my well before the corroded pipe (many feet down) had burst. By the end of the day, I had new pipes and a new pump going to my well. 
The trip of a lifetime deserves its own post; that will follow soon. Having returned from an outstanding ten-day trip, I returned to work the next day and Cassandra wandered off to her Dad’s for a week of relaxation.
Friday morning, I stepped into the garage – which is rapidly becoming a sign of bad news – and noticed water dripping from a tube into a drain. It was small, but I was sure it hadn’t been dripping like that before.
As it turns out, fixing my well resulted in increased water pressure; the corroded pipe must have been leaking for some time, but not so much that the pressure had seemed low when I bought the house. Increased water pressure caused a minuscule hole to expand. By Saturday afternoon, it became apparent that plumbing Band-Aids were not going to cut it; the tubing was split right at the joint. I alternated between full pressure with the drain filling up, and turning the pump off while I used up the wall tank of water for the duration of the weekend. I was positively ecstatic on Monday when the plumber announced it was an easy fix.
And that’s how reality reared its ugly head on both sides of my vacation.