Racing a Flood

STORY PREVIEW:

I knelt down at the pipes and felt the strangest sensation: Wind was blowing at a great velocity out of the water pipe! I pondered this strange phenomenon for awhile. "Aren't pipes supposed to carry water, not wind?"

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The shut-off valve to bathroom faucet wouldn't budge. It was stuck tight. No big surprise, because all of the shut-off valves were problematic.

What I didn't know is that it was stuck OPEN and not stuck CLOSED. It was clogged with some debris, which gave me a false sense of security. It had sat there bone-dry for weeks.

I shut down the water in the basement. Then I carried the defective part in my pocket to the True Value, jarring loose the debris. They wanted almost twice what the part normally costs, so I decided to wait.

I put the old valve back on, not knowing that it was no longer watertight and ignorantly turned on the water. Casually, I walked upstairs to the bathroom. I knelt down at the pipes and felt the strangest sensation: Wind was blowing at a great velocity out of the water pipe! I pondered this strange phenomenon for awhile. "Aren't pipes supposed to carry water, not wind?" That's when I realized that the rising water was not far behind the wind, rapidly pushing all of the air out of the pipes.

The race was on! And the water had a big head start on me! It was rising up through the walls and I dashing madly down the stairs! I was on the second story and the shut-off is in the basement! Would I have a big flood in the bathroom floor? Would the walls be splattered and soaked?

My tool belt pockets were flapping up and down as I landed on each stair, like a beagle's floppy ears. I grabbed the valve and slammed it shut. Then I ran upstairs to assess the damage.

Hooray! The water lost the race! The bathroom was dry!

The reason there was so much air in the pipes was because I drained off most of the water after I shut off the valve. I hate it when I take off a part, and the pressure in the lines squirts everywhere on me and the floor. My favorite way to de-pressurize the upper stories is to flush the downstairs toilet. Then all the water just flows backwards into the tank.

House Surgery

All of our friends who invest in properties run into some huge, unforseen problem.

John and Jill: Horrible rash from sewer waste
Lance and Jayme: All tools stolen by employee

We wondered what it would be with us.

We wondered why the other bidders offered so much less than us on our prospective house.

We wondered why 5 feet of pipe was missing from the shut-off valve.


Now, I have had several plumbing successes in my own residence. Enough to boost my courage. I put in a couple of faucets and even a water heater. Handy instruction sheets were included.

Our friend John taught my husband and I how to solder copper plumbing with a torch. Not too scary, as long as you don't burn up items adjacent to the pipes.


Working with that shut-off valve was SCARY! This is the HEART of the plumbing in a house, because this is the place where the water first enters the basement from the street. Those pipes are old and they are so thin that they were sweating. If the pipe to the shut-off valve breaks, there is no way to stop the flooding until the water department arrives. I called my plumber, Tim from Coppercraft Plumbing, and asked him how to hook up to valve to the missing 5 feet of pipe. He explained what parts I needed. He's a good man. Then he added the warning, "Don't break that old pipe, because if the city has to put in new water service, it will cost $1500.00!"

The only way the new parts could be added to that old valve was by force. Big monkey wrench. Brass threads. Twist this but don't let it turn that!!!! STOP STOP! It's staring to TWIST! Solder in the new pipe. It's in kinda sideways. Oh no! I saw another joint wiggle! Did it melt and come loose?

I felt like I was doing heart surgery, but I'm only an LPN!

Six connections later, I turned on the water- Just a bit! .......................... No leaks! Pressure contained! Breathing sigh of IMMENSE relief. Thinking of how the house will have water for toilets and the garden hose. No more QuikTrip potty breaks. THEN..................

CaWHOOSH! A waterfall in the next room! Shutting off water to the house again. Investigating. Calling my plumber again. Soldering in a patch. Turn on water. No leaks. Good. Then.............. CaWHOOSH!

Another leak in still another room!

EIGHT TIMES THIS HAPPENED!

Come to find out, this house had not been winterized when the previous tenents left. The water froze in the pipes, and burst them in numerous places. The 5 feet of pipe was removed to concealed the damage. It took 9 days for me and my inexperience to fix all the breaks and other damage. It became a routine: Fix a bust, turn on a little water, listen for waterfalls, turn off water, rush around and find the bust, fix the bust.


For the record:
-Tim the plumber said that tiny beads of water leakage usually seal themselves in a few days. He was right.
-Tim referred me to the wonderful guys at Dorfman's Plumbing Supply downtown, who advise me and fuss over me. I buy everything they tell me to.
-Sixteen valves needed replacement. Six more just needed new washers. I don't know why.

Wish I Had Been a Hero

...Or heroine.

It didn't occur to me that maybe I shouldn't have been attacking a pit bull dog until I got back to Jenny's house.

Jenny and I went for a walk. We went by Fric and Frac where there was an outdoor cafe. There were about half a dozen diners there. One guy was there with his 2 lovely pit bulls. When the owner of the pit bulls saw Max, he shouted, "Oh SH**!" and then both dogs charged. One attacked Jenny's dog, Max! It locked onto Max's face close to the throat! The owner ran up and was pulling on his dogs' leashes. Jenny noticed that the collars were stuck together and unfastened her dog's. The owner was saying things like, "Go ahead and just kill my dog! I need to put this dog down! If you've got a gun, just shoot it!"

I yelled, "No! Bad Dog!" into the pit bull's face. Didn't work. So I kicked it as hard as I could a couple of times. Didn't work. I realized that this jerked the pit bull and only made it yank at Max's face harder.

The owner told me to grab his other, smaller dog who was also trying to get into the action. He said it's a good dog and won't hurt me. It freed an extra hand for the owner.

The owner was shouting, "Get the pry-bar!" Someone brought a car wrench but then he hesitated a long time. Finally the stranger gathered enough courage to rap the dog on the nose. It was enough. The dog let go and the owners pulled their pets back.

Max seemed glad to be back on his walk, sniffing and galloping around like nothing happened. He had a little dot of broken skin and missing fur on his jaw.

We were glad the kids weren't there. Jenny was kinda shakey for awhile. I felt sick and sad the next morning.

Down-home Vietnamese Cuisine

I wonder, what is that strange, crystaline structure on my chicken?

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It seems that there are 2 kinds of Vietnamese restaurants in my city: The ones that cater to Americans, and the ones that cater to the Vietnamese.

Saigon 39 or Vietnam Cafe is where you want to be if you're American.

I find myself most often at the little unpronouncable restaurant on Independence Ave. They cater to the Vietnamese. Why do I go there? Because I am ADVENTURE GIRL!!! If we go there on a weekend, there's lots of smoke and music and conversation. Kids are running circles around the tables. Strangers start conversations with us about chop sticks. A big group is playing dominoes and drinking the house's only variety of beer.

The most recent time I went there, I was with my friend Pam. She is a fellow adventurer and has lived in some 3rd world countries before. She is not afraid of many things. That's why I took her to the little restaurant. She's a fan of Vietnamese food, too.

I asked for fish sauce but, "Not hot, Please. Not hot." I got multiple OK OK OK OK's. I also got hot fish sauce. It was good anyway.

I was having some problems with the chicken, though. It was hard to politely nibble around splintered bones and gristle. I think they just randomly hacked that bird up with a meat cleaver.

Also, there was something that I assumed was a spice of some kind. It added a crystaline structure to the chicken skin.

Pam commented on my chicken between her compliments on the lunch. Casually she said, "They didn't take all the feathers off your chicken. They probably pluck them right here, to save money."

I kept eating, to save money.

Kept the leftovers.

Fed them to Jeremy.

I Hate the New Ceiling

The ceiling I so delicately textured is flawed! My patch shows. The seams show. Had nightmares the next night about it. I will have no joy until the damage is undone.

I will bring out the big gun: the Power Sander

Stop calling me a Perfectionist. I'm not a perfectionist.

A Ceiling Renovated With Love

The master bedroom ceiling has lots of distress:

-Bad patch job from when the AC leaked.

-Water damage.

-Big hole from where the ductwork was removed. We are throwing away the leaky old AC.


I found this stuff that is like drywall mud, but it sets rather than dries. You know, like concrete or plaster. I put that stuff in the big holes because it doesn't shrink or crack.

In 1 hour's curing time, I was ready to texture the ceiling!

I put drywall mud in a roller tray, and put it on the ceiling with a roller. I let it set up for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then I knocked down the tallest bumps with a drywall taping knife.

Ceiling texture is like LOVE. It covers a multitude of sins.

Next object of my drywall mud love: The popcorned ceiling of the hallway!

That wimpy popcorn stuff comes off enthusiastically, in great sheets, with just a little mist spray!

Reanimated Raisins

Jeremy made a fruit salad with some raisins in it. The juices of the other fruits soaked into the raisins and made them grapes again, ....sorta. Jeremy obverved the phenonmenon and said, "Grape zombies."

How I Developed a Taste for Tea

When I read novels written by a British author, the author spends at least 10 pages per book talking about the characters drinking tea.

I had tasted tea. It always reminded me of the green mush I periodically knock off the bottom of the lawnmower. What's the attraction?

Then my friends Mary and Rebekkah went to Britain. Out of curiousity, I asked them to bring back some real British tea. Maybe it would de-mystify those weeds.

The first thing they did when they got to their destination was buy me my tea. They wanted to avoid suddenly remembering their mission for me at the very end of their journey when the money was all gone.

They put it in their backpack, complete with the little plastic bag from the store, and carried the stuff all over for the entire trip, packing and unpacking it at every stop.

When they finally returned and saw me at church, Rebekkah shouted, "HERE'S YOUR TEA!!!!!!" and chucked it at me across the sanctuary. The name of the store that was once printed on the little bag was now almost completely rubbed off. The bottom of the box had a price tag: "5 pounds."

I took it home, boiled some water, and read the instructions. Please read with a nice, thick British accent:

Brew with strength and serve with milk. ...As if the British need instructions on the box as to how to make tea.

So, I tried strong tea with milk. I liked it. I drink it almost every day.

My New Friend, the Squatter

Yes, a real, bonafide squatter, as in, "squatter's rights."

She found an empty house and moved in.

I have seen squatter nests in old houses before. They break into old houses and drag in a mattress without sheets. There is litter all over that gives a pretty good hint as to why they need someone else's house. Litter like empty liquor bottles and such.

Pam, on the other hand, has decorated! (No breaking in, either.) When she is done decorating, the finished result looks older than when she started, but way cooler. She gets buckets of paint from the hazardous waste disposal and starts doing a surface with 2 or 3 colors and only one brush. Add a couple of murals and then it's time for curtains and furniture.

Then she gets yards and yards of cast-off fabrics. Soon, everything is cozy and homey with a shabby-chic custom interior.

Here's how she came to be a squatter:

It belongs to my best friend's in-laws. The main heirs are either dead, or don't want the house, or where-abouts unknown. Just before it went to auction, Pam came along and paid the taxes and just moved in!

Twice High Guy

I hired some muscle from Mexico at the Westside Community Action Network day labor site. I couldn't find anyone else who could deal with unpredictable work schedule.

It's hard to get the same guy several days running, which is bad because some of them are great and some of them need lots of supervision.

The hardest part in the restoration of my old house was the eaves. Eaves are the undersides of the roof that hang out beyond the house. About 30% of the boards had rotted, so Jeremy helped me on his limited free days to pull them off. It's 2 stories off the ground. It was unbelievably nasty work. Long ago, paper insulation had been blown onto the boards. A load of it dumped on us every time we ripped off an old board. The rot holes allowed for birds to build nests in the attic. We pulled the birds' nests out, together with their droppings and dead fledglings. We were attacked by bird mites. They didn't bite us, but they were so small and they crawled on us. "Is there one on me right here?" No. "How about right here? " No. "How about here? " No! It's just your imagination! "How about here? " YES! "Kill it! Kill it!!!!"

Jeremy bailed out on me after an iron window weight tried to fall out of the attic on his head.

So I hired this little Mexican guy who was a teacher of Spanish in England. It took us 4 hours or so to put up one little 2'x2' piece of plywood. He bailed out on me after while we were trying to lift an 4'X8' section of plywood up the ladder. He got too scared and I had to take him back to the Westside.

I went the next day and asked a cop, who works with the Westside day labor, to tell me who to hire. He decided I need a roofer who won't be scared. He recommended Jose. I paid Jose 70 dollars to help me put the plywood up. He was scared, too, but he was up there with me.

We talked all day. He's a smallish guy, 37 years old. He said that he's lived on the streets since he was 15. He believes in stars, but not in God. Pluto is his planet, with its irregular orbit. He said, "That's why I'm so unstable and move so often." Jose was flirting with me a little. He said that I have eyes like the most beautiful of snakes. At the moment, I was flattered, because I could really tell he likes snakes.

After working for a few hours, and made our way sucessfully along the eaves to a bump-out in the house's exterior . (It's like a small bay window.) We could no longer use my ladder there, and just had to stand on the steep section of roof above the bump-out. That area wasn't too bad when there were exposed rafters to cling to, but when we put plywood on the rafters, there was nothing to steady us.

At this point, my worker disappeared into the house for awhile. He came back smelling of marijuana. I looked at him shocked for a moment, and said, "Did you smoke a JOINT?" He said, "...Yes... I had to, so I won't fall off, because I was getting too scared. Sometimes I just have to try something and I discover I can do it!"

High on pot, high on a ladder. Twice high. Great combination. He felt more secure, but he was actually in greater danger.

Regardless, we got all the eaves done that day, and we even had time to caulk all the seams.

I really liked him, and he did great work.

I decided not to have him back, though.

Phone Call from a Computer Tech

I called Hewlett Packard (my computer manufacturer) to ask them how to get my email working again. They said they would call back in 2-3 hours.

They called back at 1:00 am in the morning!

They guy on the other line said, "I'm sorry! I didn't realize what time it is there. It is only 11 in the morning here in India."

At least my email works now.

Guilt; Do Not Exceed Recommended Dosage

There are so many of us who just dread going to church, because we imagine that it will exacerbate the grating voice of guilt. That tireless, nagging whisper might become a shout. Who would want more of THAT?!

We know how those pastors think! He believes firmly in his responsability of movitating us away from our misbehavior. Can they DO that, without twanging us a few times right on our guilty funny-bone?

Well, logic says, "If you would quit screwing up, then you wouldn't feel so guilty!" Right! I'll put, "QUIT SCREWING UP," on my list of things to do before next Sunday.

It seems to me that the more well-behaved a person is, the more guilt they allow themselves. It should be the other way around. "I feel so guilty for my excessive, unhealthy guilt."

Guilt is a powerful medicine, that occasionally has to be swallowed. One or two small doses in the course of a day ought to save the patient.

Multiple daily dosages are not helpful in the treatment of bad habits, but are contra-indicated. Overdose can lead to discouragement, hallucinations (or perception problems), addictions, and even death.

The antidote to an overdose of guilt is this:

Ingest massive amounts of God's love, grace and forgiveness. Import from Canada if you must. There is no danger in self-perscribing these active ingredients. They are always efficatious. We will screw up for the rest of our lives, and God understands we are weak. And wash it down with a can of beer, you up-tight legalist!