Friday morning, I said:
Flooding in the Rogue Valley. I widened a ditch a little this morning, curing the problem as far as I’m concerned. The rest of the world can take care of whatever pooling & rising waters are left; I know I did my part.
Two hours later Bridgette phoned me, noting that the roof sprung multiple leaks and the latex paint on the ceiling was swelling into delicately strained nipples along the seams in the drywall. While we planned the details of the ceiling’s mastectomy she strolled into the living room.
Well, waded into the living room.
Our living room is 20′ x 30′, and water had entered under the front wall and spread over about 400 of the 600 square feet. Stomping feet on the (white!) carpet raised splashes. The tiled foyer had half an inch of standing water.
I widened a ditch a little this morning, curing the problem as far as I’m concerned. …I know I did my part.
The irony runs deep around my house, and pools up in sinkholes of sardonica.
Forty minutes later I was home and standing in mud and water up to my knees, broadening drainage ditches more radically than I had earlier. I laid a trench over the lawn, which was turning into a green basin poised to pour its contents into the south end of the house. The rest of the day was spent using a carpet shampooer to slurp the water from the carpets.
So was Saturday.
And most of Sunday. We removed over 40 gallons of water from the living room.
The baseboard heaters and fireplace stove have been running full out to dry the carpets, with fans to speed the process. The house is now a steaming slice of Purgatory teetering on the edge of Mildewed Hell, Erysiphaceae demons below us clamoring for our fall. If heat and prayer do not work, we will have to baptise the living room floor with Holy Bleach to rid it of the last fungal sin.
The ways of the Lord are dark, but never pleasant, and additonal carpet cleaning with chlorine may be the only reward the virtuous may hope for.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry