"Where does the water go, when it runs down the drain?" She looked concerned. 

I own several children's books that explore this phenomenon, such as The Magic School Bus and The Tub People.  Still I felt the urgency of her curiosity and tried to cobble together a commentary on sewers and pipes.  I left out my own angst around the bill with four zeros we had had to cough up in recent years when the new system was constructed. Although it is less satisfying to pay for things I will never lay eyes on I am glad to have a septic tank. 

I admit that I do not entirely understand it myself. Clean water flows in and splashes down on my head in the shower, then spills down the hole and migrates through the floor to a chamber in the yard. I suppose the earth does its magic cleansing thing, and the water travels back through the ground and is reassigned as rain. Or something like that. I will ask John when he gets home. Or Miss Frizzle, or if my interest does not wane, Wikipedia. 

The other night I was a grouch. On my personal grouch scale I was a nine. One of the renters had blown me off for a third week in a row and had not forked over a dime. The humidity could float an ocean liner and during sewing class three machines had been jammed by inexperienced sewers. Ben was doing his singing/moaning thing with a decibel level that could cause windows to crack, and everyone I knew was working in an air conditioned office. I plopped on the couch at 6:45 and growled. Marriage group. 

I had nothing. No scrap of cheerfulness, and certainly no energy to rustle up refreshments. The phone rang. Hope answered in her cheery way.

"This is Hope. Yes? You want to bring snacks for the meeting tonight? I will tell mom."

Well, that is nice of her. At least I won't have to try to make stale chips look appealing. But as for content, I am empty.

A few minutes later nice people walked through the door and we slid into the routine of How Are You's?. People related their days with pockets of pleasure and frustration. In the process of listening I lifted out of my egocentricity long enough to notice someone else. Then it was my turn. I leaped into a narrative about the renters, and the sewing class, and the heat, and how I had barked at unsuspecting John when he came home. They heard my tale of woe, and nodded in that non judgmental way of small groups. 

Then I felt it. The orneriness disappeared, like the dirty water down the drain. Where had it gone? The unresponsive renter was still upstairs, the temperature had only dipped slightly and John still had teeth marks on his collar. But my friend had placed an aged cheese and crackers on the table, and a bowl of those decadent chocolate almonds from Trader Joe's. We laughed. I apologized to John. And somehow I felt cleaner. Rinsed. 

Where had the anger fled to? I looked around. Apparently no one had let my rampage settle on their demeanor. No one felt the need to upbraid my renter or buy me a new sewing machine. How did it work? 

I suppose the feelings get sorted out, the heavier negative ones left behind. The less polluted sentiments like my desire to offer a reasonable living space to an international college student, and the hope of passing along a love for creativity to five year olds rise to the top. 

And the chocolate tasted really good.