Two-plus weeks ago Erin and I took a break from our projects. While her sister Ellie, her family and brother Edmund traveled to check on another property, Erin manned Ellie’s house, the 5 small dogs and the cat. I held down our home front. I’d intended to take a break from the downstairs overhaul project and set about checking off the list of small tasks upstairs.
About midway through our sideways vacation I found myself browsing through the downstairs for something I had seen that would be perfect upstairs.
Ordinarily I avoid going downstairs without Erin. I can go from zero to hysteria in 06.1 seconds over the astounding collection of vintage items from 3 generations of her large family. Have I mentioned the fifty pounds of stuff on a ten pound property including the garage?
I was initially happy revisiting things I too grew up with. After sleeping on a futon for over three months now, without Erin constantly reminding me we’re making progress my attitude can spin out of balance very quickly. Frequent, very fervent prayer helps. Still, I wanted a nice surprise for her return and needed the break from my work.
A basement used for storage for years naturally smells musty so I dismissed what I’d thought was exceptionally dank air as I first descended the stairs. I quickly noticed in the room beneath the kitchen the bottoms of some cardboard boxes were remarkably darker. Stepping cautiously into the room I heard the fateful squishing sound of my feet on the old carpet. Houston, we have water.
A phone call and an hour later Erin and I were relocating and repacking boxes, extracting what water we could and still couldn’t identify the source. While the neighbors were also away we couldn’t cut the water at the main and leave the house empty. So, for the subsequent week I did all I could to avoid flooding while Edmund, the family contractor was out of town. After dozens of trips up and down the stairs I learned what trickled, what doesn’t and have become very resourceful. G. Annie Roo, super sleuth. I like the sound of that.
Over the following week we adjusted to watering the lawn from bowls in the kitchen sink – every hour. We were thankful to learn the old cast iron drain with a 3-inch hole is exclusive to the kitchen. We are not happy to learn the broken, slightly sunken concrete driveway outside the kitchen wall suggests a bigger problem. This might take a while.
The contractors are due to arrive late this week. By then we will have settled into our adjusted routine and used the better part of a tree for disposable dinner ware 😦
So goes the continuing saga of two old broads resettling the old vintage family rental this week. Were the property owner any other than Erin’s mom we would have taken another course. Blood’s thicker…
For now the futon awaits me.
“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.” 1 Corinthians 13:1 (NLT)
Images courtesy of Pixabay