It is what?

One of the things we should have noted when in the process of contemplating the purchase of our house, ‘lo those many years ago, was the location of one of the three imposing trees on the property frontage. And contemplated why it looked so healthy, so vigorous, so, ah, well fed.

I have learned a great deal about Garry Oaks since those early days. They are a rare and beautiful creature, like Tolkein’s Ents, slow to grow and long lived. Only found in a narrow range hugging the west coast of North America they are the climax of a unique ecosystem in the rain shadow of the Olympic and Coastal Mountains from southern Vancouver Island to Northern California.

Due to climate change, human encroachment and various invasive plants species, the Garry Oak is now protected by law. Protected from what? Well, from a frustrated homeowner told by a sweating Rotor Rooter guy that the eponymous device is no longer able to cut away all the endangered tree’s roots invading the sewer line. That old baked clay pipe they used back in the day is being pulverized. 

3 years after we’d put on our big people clothes and signed on the line I went downstairs in the endless pilgrimage that is laundry and noticed the washer had not drained. Actually, it had emptied the wash water but was now filled with bath and kitchen sink water. Yes, let’s just say that was what had backed up into my washing machine.

This is when the adult phase of life known as ‘homeowner’ dawns. It isn’t with the signing of the mortgage or buying a stove and a lawn mower. It is when a tall dark stranger who has that certain unmistakable air taps a blackened finger at a red sticker on the wall, surprised you’ve missed the yearly maintenance visits. There it is: big, red and with the name “Rotor Rooter” writ large. And the phone number. And the many dates Mr. Rooter dropped by for a visit.

Welcome to being a grown-up, kid; Barbie’s moved out of her dream home and left you with the keys.  Suck it up.

For some reason I find myself saying “it is what it is” more and more. It isn’t about giving up so much as it is accepting that life is full of bends…much like a tree branch or plumbing.

As a side note, on the way to writing this I found this interesting piece of trollery in Urban Dictionary about the phrase, “It is what it is”

 A trite, overused and infuriatingly meaningless cliche that is utilized by provincials who think they are adding some deep, meaningful insight during a discussion when all they are offering is senseless, unwarranted repetitiveness to what would otherwise be a far better conversation had they not shown the shallowness of the gene pool they spawned from by using this asininely useless and redundant phrase to begin with .An interesting conversation is being had, when quite suddenly: 

Robin: My house burned down last night. It is what it is.  Aidan: F**k you, provincial.