My home research has gone into the toilet

How old is my house? It is possible that only the toilet top knows. Since it met an undignified end many months ago, it is now up to me to find out.

Although I love writing about this house that will always be older than me, I am not actually sure how old that is. I have seen three different dates on documents through the years. True, the dates are only a couple of years apart, but I need to know when she will turn 100. Dreams of a centennial bash dance in my head.

Since I was wide awake anyway in the deep recesses of the night, I decided to research it. I found two possibilities that spoke to me. Both involved toilets.

The first one said that, if the toilet is original to the house, the date is often marked underneath the toilet top. If only I had known this sooner. When I think of all the times I had to remove that top to wiggle a part that makes the toilet flush, I must’ve missed thousands of opportunities to find out its real age

However, the second toilet suggestion gave me a glimmer of hope. It said the date is often stamped on one of the sides inside the toilet tank. Maybe I still had a chance to resurrect toilet tank history.

Highly motivated, I removed the flimsy temporary tank top and dived in, so to speak. Balanced on the closed toilet seat, I put one hand on either side of the outside of the tank and peered in at the floating toilet innards.

Anticipation rose as I saw what looked like faded words or numbers on the left side. But unless I wanted to start treading water, I couldn’t get close enough to read them. This is where thinking things through carefully before embarking would have been such a good idea.

I slid off my seat and went in search of a magnifying glass. In the drawer that holds an assortment of these kinds of items, I found my mother’s little spyglass. Actually, it’s not glass. It is a small, plastic-coated eyepiece that slides in and out of an imitation leather holder.

Next to it was a large, real glass, lighted magnifier with a long handle. It came with the Oxford English Dictionary, crammed into four volumes in tiny print, that George and I purchased with a collection of gift cards to Barnes & Noble. Tools in hand, I headed back to my spot on the toilet seat cover. I began with the spyglass, but it only magnified the round ball that is part of the flushing element. I had an image of my late mother’s face should the little treasure, that she always kept with her, fall from my grasp and set sail.

As I switched the little light on the big magnifier, I began to wonder if the glass was waterproof. Could I get electrocuted if it touched the water? What if I dropped it and the glass shattered inside the tank?

I’m still working here. Anyone knowing how to determine the age of my toilet will win an invite to the centennial party.