Water galore

Today was going as planned. My to-do list was done and we had another pleasant, weekly Zoom chat with my sisters.

I live in a large city block, three story building called Project Artaud after Antonine Artaud, the French revolutionary theater artist. In 1973, what was formerly the American Can Company was converted into artists’ live/work studio spaces. We are a non-profit and members rarely move out once you’re lucky enough to get through the waiting list and the rigorous selection committees.

The building was built in 1925. Because of its age and size, maintenance is a huge factor. Today residents were notified that plumbing work would take place between 11am and 2pm. After 2, I wanted to shampoo my hair. The hot water was on, but there was no cold water yet. In my attempt to run the water, I left the cold hand-shower hose turned on. And forgot about it.

Connie, Patti and I had our lovely Zoom meeting which ended around 8pm. I then went to the mailbox, about two city blocks of walking in the hallway. The maintenance guys were still at work. When I entered my studio, I could hear water gurgling and thought, oh, they must have fixed the water.

The gurgling was coming from the shower hose facing up on the floor of my claw foot bathtub. Yes, a small waterfall that soaked the floor, towels and a small space heater. Well, the cold water WAS on.

After mopping that up and not to be outdone, a bottle of salad dressing leapt out of the refrigerator and broke all over the kitchen floor. That was a little messier to clean up.

I can’t think of anywhere else in San Francisco I’d rather live. We are responsible for anything that happens within the walls of our studios. And, in this case, it was my fault. Sometimes things just happen. The salad dressing lid could have been screwed on tighter. I should have shut the water faucet off. With nothing coming out of it, it was easy to forget.

I’ve been here through a few earthquakes. In the Loma Prieta, I was in the bathtub and didn’t want to stand in the doorway naked and wet. The building and I survived.

Plus Artaud is a real community. All are artists of some sort. It’s democratic. We all vote on issues that concern the whole.

The only other place I’ve been to where it would be nice to live, is French Guadalupe in the Caribbean. Great people, food and it’s warm enough to swim in the ocean. Not very easy to get to though. Paris has its perks. It is also very cold in the winter. One Parisian friend when told where I was from said, “What are you doing here? Everyone wants to live in San Francisco.” And I was very, very happy when I came home.