The Dragon in my Basement

This morning, my wife admitted that she was responsible for the recent flood in our basement.

"I should have known better," She said.

"What?"

"The Dragon. I put him down in the basement on the elfa shelving, near the cat box. I thought it might help prevent, you know, accidents."

Of course, she was referring to the priceless dragon vase that had been handed-down through countless generations of her family.
Perhaps some long-dead forebear had found the treasure during an archaeological dig on a perilous trip to some ancient Chinese city. Then, sometime after the establishment of electrical power, some artless utilitarian had drilled a hole in the bottom and turned it into a lamp, a fact which actually made it just about worthless (another way of saying priceless, n'est ce pas?). Or maybe her mother bought it at Walmart. We'll probably never know.
A few months ago, my wife decided that she preferred it as an ornament as opposed to light source, and so she had restored it to its natural power. To the superstitious, the emblem - a coiled dragon - represents a potent symbol which is capable of warding-off unlucky and evil spirits. In case you have not been paying attention, you should know that your life is ruled by Feng Shui (pronounced fung shway).

If your wife believes in Feng Shui, you might as well believe in it too, because since she rules your life, you are stuck living in a house that is arranged with mirrors facing specific directions and dragons watching over you.

My wife realized the error of placing a dragon in the basement after perusing her dog-eared copy of Feng Shui Room by Room. Not only was the dragon annoyed at being placed on a shelf near the litter box in the cellar, but he was facing outward (to ward-off evil spirits from the street). Two no-no's.

"The dragon must face inward," she said, as if quoting some rule. "But, not to worry. He is now upstairs and facing the right way. Everything will be OK now."

Somehow I was not much comforted, noting that the forecast was for three more days of rain.

She looked at me and smiled.

"It's not raining rain you know, it's raining violets..."

I went down to the cellar to check my pumps. Floor dry. Electricity on. Pumps pumping.

When I came back upstairs she remarked that I appeared to be calmer. My brow, which had become sore from frowning about the water, seemed less tense. I shrugged.

"See, it's working. The curse is lifted."

"Yeah, we'll see" I muttered as I went out to take another load of soggy paper and ruined furniture to the dump. Standing by the van, I had to squint at the abrupt break in the clouds and the bright sun fighting its way through the mist.

Unconsciously, I began looking for a bluebird, and listening for its song.