This old house

 

Some things make you realign your priorities really quickly. A burst pipe is one of them. I called Jordan about four in the afternoon and asked her to bring out the groceries, so I could make the meatballs we planned for dinner. Swedish meatballs, not Italian—those gentle, soft meatballs flavored with the warm tastes of nutmeg and allspice, the me-in-your-mouth meatballs. Sounded so good to me.

Her response? “I can’t believe I forgot to get the groceries. I’ll go right now.” Minutes later, she burst into the cottage with directions for me to call the plumber immediately—a pipe had burst under the house and was gushing water. Of course, it would be the end of the workday. I called, but when the dispatcher told me to turn the water off at the curb I explained I could not do that and I was home alone. He said he’d send someone, and the repairman would be here first thing in the morning.

One of my constant principles is to find repair people you like and stick with them. Fortunately, we’ve been with the same plumbing company for over twenty-five years, and doubly fortunate, the man who came knows the house and knew to come to the back for me. He’d checked the meter, and it wasn’t moving at all. I gave him the key and he went into the house, emerging to spend a lot of time on the deck. His final thought was that it is sewer back-up, and we can use water overnight but sparingly. I meantime had filled my big water glass, filled the dog’s water dish, and stuck a bag of ice cubes in the freezer. As prepared as I could get. There is at least one gallon of potable water, maybe two, in my closet. It wouldn’t be fun and games, but we would survive.

Suddenly meatballs didn’t seem so important, though I stuck the meat in the fridge and plan to make them first thing in the morning—as soon as we have water again. Meantime we’ll order dinner in tonight, though there will as always be endless debate on where to get it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up with hamburgers from Tommy’s—Jacob’s choice. Jordan has gone into the house to collect herself after the excitement.

I have lived in old houses almost all my life, by choice, and I am usually in tune with them. I know and welcome their creaks and groans, but the one sound I never want to hear is running water. And I didn’t hear it this time, probably because the plumbing in the cottage is all less than five years old and not tied directly to that in the main house. Except if the plumber had turned the water off at the street, he would have cut mine too.

So here we sit, worrying about a sewer back-up, worrying about using too much water, worrying, always worrying.

And waiting for Megan who is to call for a Zoom happy hour. A bright spot in the day.