Monday, January 11, 2010

It's Stopped Pouring

So my last post was kind of a downer. I have to admit I was overwhelmed and pretty pissed at the world yesterday until.....
10:15 PM.
At 10:15PM, both Doobie and Mary Jane start howling like crazy. WTF? I go to see if someone is on the porch and I hear the glorious sound of running water.

"We got water, We got water!!"

After 5 hours of a canon style heater being pointed directly at the main water pipe headed into the house, we finally got some water moving.
The funny thing about water is that is drips and runs down walls and falls from ceilings and ruins hard wood floors. The water I heard running was actually running and dripping from our upstairs bath to the doorway in the downstairs bath and then to the hardwoods below. Lovely.

Now what do we do? We can't turn the water off b/c it'll freeze again. We can't leave it on, it'll ruin our hardwoods. ARGH.

So I called my dad for some plumbing/frozen pipe expertise....his advice: "find the leak." Really? I could've figured that one out on my own.

Meanwhile, Matt has crawled into the wall behind the upstairs bathroom to try and find the leak and I've lost him. So of course, I yell for him, find him, and we discover that it's not a busted pipe but the cast iron drain pipe had been leaking (probably since we bought the house, we never use the upstairs bath.) Since the water is turned off in the sink, there is no more leak.

Hallelujah. Angels sing. And we sit on the couch and drink wine, quite pleased with ourselves.

A side bar to that story is this:
When Matt was younger, his Mom, Ronnie and he would do a lot of hiking and camping. Once in Florida, during a drought, they almost set their campground on seriously, like a whole bunch of bushes caught fire and they were really close to calling the Fire Dept. and Smokey the Bear. So while Matt and Ronnie were frantically beating the 5 foot flames with towels soaked in water trying to kill it, his Mom was running around and opening and pouring cans of root beer on it.

After we hit the couch, wine in hand, Matt proceeded to tell me that I was about as helpful as pouring out root beer, running around screaming his name.

Thanks Honey.

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