What my imagination does to a bit of excitement

 

North Texas was under severe storm alerts this afternoon and evening. Predictions called for hail the size of ping pong balls and strong winds. So far, we’ve had one nice spell of rain—medium heavy with thunder rolling. I’ve said this before—my mom told me thunder was the gods bowling. A recent article for our neighborhood newsletter, which I edit, came from a neighbor with thirty years with the National Weather Service. His description of thunder is that it’s a warning of bad things to come.

The nice folks behind me are tearing out their back porch and replacing it with a screened-in porch and putting in a pool and a cabana/guest house. All this will take time—I’m guessing the whole summer—and will entail a lot of construction noise. But they are good neighbors and have done their best to see that I am not disturbed (my cottage is right at the property line at the back of our property, so close to whatever they’re doing).

Today the young man called to tell Jordan workers digging at the back of their lot detected a strong smell of gas near my tankless water heater. Of course, Jordan semi-panicked, came running out to the cottage, and I called our plumber. They said they’d send Lonnie, who is more than familiar with the house and cottage—I’ve used the same plumbing company for over 25 years.

But before Lonnie could get here, the sky darkened and the thunder rolled, and my imagination conjured up a vision of lightning striking near leaking gas and an explosion taking out my cottage—and me. Seriously, the thought flitted across my mind that this could be the day I die. On the other hand, I was concerned that this foolishness would interrupt my nap. Oh, the trivia we choose to worry about. Fortunately, Lonnie arrived.

He sniffed and smelled—nothing. The ground was wet, but he saw no bubbles which would indicate a leak. He saw a sewer line that the cap had come off, and said if you’re not a plumber, you might not recognize the difference between dangerous gas and sewer gas. And if you stand near the tankless heater when it kicks in, you get an odor—fumes, not gas. He assured me I was perfectly safe but just to err on the side of caution I should call the gas company. Am I the only customer to whom the plumber says, “You have a good day now, sweetheart”?

The gas company is beyond efficient, but they can scare the daylights out of you. They have an obvious prepared list of cautions: leave the area at once, do not use your phone again, do not move a vehicle, no open flames, etc. l told the woman I would go to the opposite end of the house and nap—no need to tell her how small the cottage is—and she laughed.

So all is well that ends well. The Atmos guy said it was no doubt the start-up fumes from the tankless water heater, and he saw no problem. The only problem I see is that now I’ll get another plumbing bill, and they are never modest.

And our storms? They’re due to be over in fifteen minutes, and the sky does not look at all threatening. I’m grateful there was no hail, but darn! I’d have loved a good rain. I guess I’ll sleep well tonight—no gas leak, no storms.