I should have guessed it from the jug of Ice-Melt crystals in the center of the vestibule. I opened the door and there it was, even tho it is the middle of the July, long since our walk was icy. And I knew it wasn't there when I left for work yesterday morning. Somewhere in the recesses of my end of the day mind was the thought, door-stop. Somebody used the Ice-Melt crystals to hold the door open for them, while they went in or out, perhaps carrying heavy objects. I returned the jug to its rightful place beside the radiator and trudge upstairs. It was Alex this time that had to use the bathroom.
Both of us stood staring at the new toilet. Alex with bemusement and I with unbearable sorrow. It is not a bad toilet It is white white, with a small snug plastic seat. But it was only when I saw this new fixture in my old bathroom that I realized how much pleasure I got from the shape of the my old toilet's bowl. It isn't anything one would ordinarily pay much attention to or even talk about. But I loved my ole' toilet's bowl: classic, round, perfect. And I didn't even have a chance to photograph it seriously or, sadly, to say goodbye. And the secret and unexpected visits from the plumber when I am not here, make me nervous. Not to mention the unsightly hole that still remains in my wall (see "renting" in side bar) and the new hole left by the removal of my taller, more stately old toilet.