Yesterday, we called the plumbers. They came out to our crazy old farmhouse and needed to get underneath it. I had to saw a two-foot by two foot hole in the floor of Norma's studio!
I sawed down to the sub-floor, then continued,
all the way to Hell!
Between floor and subfloor were newspapers acting as insulation. They were from 1957:
Comfy slippers, Dad's overcoat,
And Mom's downtown suit:
From my two days with plumbers, 5 days of cold showers, and the promise of a weekend without further assistance, I have been given special insight into an enigma. If, for any reason --before we lie down in the echoes of our lives-- we need to visit Hell, I can now capably saw a hole in your floor or mine of regulation size.
Your regular pastor will return when it is not Friday and the plumbing is fixed. Go in peace.