The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker

 

Only in my case it would be the veterinarian, the plumber, and the HVAC guy—doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it? Trust me, it has more pain to the pocketbook. Yesterday, Sophie spent several hours at the vet for treatment of an abscess—I won’t go into detail, but it involved several procedures, none of which are cheap. Now, she’s home, with medication, and snapping at those who give

The old house we all love but which is now
causing us maintenance problems

her an insulin shot (Jordan and Christian). And also yesterday, for the Burtons, they took their new-ish male kitten to be neutered. A traumatic pet day all around. And, my older brother was hospitalized. It was a medically oriented day.

But things are never dull around the Burton/Alter compound. Today it was plumbing and air conditioning. The plumbing problem seemed simple enough—the bobber on my toilet wouldn’t bob, and it was running all the time. The plumber I have sworn by for almost twenty-five years has retired, so I called a new company, recommended in our neighborhood list of vendors. The main house had a leaking sewage problem, but we planned to call a contract company about that. Then I suggested we ask the plumbers to look since they were on site. They diagnosed a severe problem, with water gushing out of a leaky sewage pipe. After an early afternoon call, they left, and said they’d be back either late afternoon or tomorrow. They came back late afternoon with the smallest, thinnest guy in their crew because part of the problem is that the deck is built over the sewage pipe. At first they said they’d have to shut the water off overnight, but then they recanted—after Jordan and Christian had filled pitchers and ice buckets and everything they could think of. The plumbers got the gushing slowed to a trickle, said they wanted to sleep on the solution, and went away.

Before I bought this property thirty years ago, an addition had been added on to the back and that’s apparently where the problem is—what should be two separate pipes for water and sewage is not (no, that does not mean we’ve been drinking sewage water—I don’t quite understand the whole thing, but the reason they didn’t cut the water at the curb is that they were afraid of backflow when it came back on). I had happily been thinking if the main house didn’t have water, they could have access to mine. Another no: it’s all one pipe which it shouldn’t be.

All of this meant Jordan and Christian were in and out of the cottage every five minutes around five o’clock, just when Donald from Rhinefort A/C was working to fix my heating/cooling units. He got them working and promptly got it so cool I needed a sweater. So there I was, wearing my sweater, trying to write my thousand words for a day with Jordan, Christian, and Donald coming and going and giving me updates. Proud to say that I did it.

But it’s not over. The plumbers had to cut a larger hole in the deck for their small guy to get down into that gosh-awful mess. Now they think they will have to come inside to the add-on back room, move the washer and dryer, cut the floor under them and locate the pipe that should have a Y and doesn’t. I told Jordan to ask for an estimate; she did, and the guy apparently in charge said, “I have no idea.” Not words to lull me to sleep tonight. And as plumbers, they won’t be repairing the floor where the washer and dryer go. Christian pointed out we will be without laundry services for a while, and I asked how he feels about the laundromat. If there was anything that made me grateful to be a homeowner, all those years ago, it was giving up the laundromat.

At least, as the sun goes down tonight, the dog and cat are healthy, my toilet isn’t running and my a/c works. The huge shadow looming over us is the plumbing problem. Wonder what tomorrow will bring. My brother is still in the hospital, and he has one thing in common with our plumbing: they aren’t sure what’s wrong (except maybe age—he’s almost 92 and our plumbing is a hundred in some parts of the house) and they don’t have a plan. He remains in fairly good spirits and his mind is sharp for which we are grateful. I do so much appreciate those of you who have sent good thoughts for his treatment.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it’s true that trouble always goes in threes. People caution that old houses are maintenance problems, but todays’ trouble spots are in mhy cottage which is a new construction except for the shell. I’m waiting for the plumber—the bobber in my toilet doesn’t bob, which means the toilet softly and gently runs all the time! Plumbers are never inexpensive—and the main house has a major sewage problem we’ll ask them to look at and give an estimate (that’s an old house problem, although that kitchen was redone less than ten years ago). And I’m also waiting for Donald, the faithful HVAC repairman. I discovered late last night that neither of my ceiling-hung units will open to operate. When I use the remote a light goes on and the thing beeps, but nothing else happens. It’s a lovely day today and will be okay, but it was stuffy and hot at midnight last night.

A semi-cooking weekend and some—uh—problems

I didn’t cook as much as usual this past weekend, mostly because I was invited to Saturday supper with a longtime friend and her companion. Another friend and I joined them at his apartment, and while Morris gave Jean the grand tour of his art collection—and it is amazing! Gallery hung, even in the bathrooms!—Kathie and I had an overdue visit. I enjoyed the art from an easy chair in the living area of his small but spectacular apartment. Kathie fixed us one of the gourmet meals I’ve come to expect from her—ending with a made-from-scratch pound cake with real whipped cream (I was so impressed by that!) and berries. Lovely evening, and I think both Kathie and I agreed that we need to get together more often. She and Morris travel a lot, and she keeps a packed schedule when in town. But I told her I have a special recipe with her name on it, so I’m hoping we can fit in another visit soon.

Jordan was in Frisco Saturday night and much of Sunday to visit with her brother, Jamie, and her half-sister, Dylan, who was in from California. But Sunday morning, Christian, Jacob, and I went to church. Jordan was home mid-afternoon, and I fixed us Sunday supper—baked salmon and smashed potatoes. They’ll show up on the Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog on Thursday, but I will say in advance they were really good.

And so here we are at Monday. It was supposed to be 80 today, and I guess it was, but it was not bright and sunny, so I still felt a chill. Shh—a neighbor whose name I shall never reveal came for happy hour. She was supposed to be home cooking dinner for her family. We sat on my patio and had a high old time discussing recipes we’ve tried. My kind of conversation. I am amazed at the conversational settings where I have nothing to contribute—Saturday night’s discussion of people in the Pentecostal religion—and I sit like a lump. But tonight, talking about cooking, I could hardly wait to get my two cents in, politely of course.

I finally excused myself to cook supper. Chicken thighs with red onion and artichoke hearts, braised in white wine. Made the cottage smell wonderful and tasted just as good. The recipe called for a cup and a half of wine, but Jordan and I hated to part with that much of the chardonnay that is our house wine. She had a pinot grigio that she said was awful---for one thing, it had bubbles like Prosecco. So I ignored that dictum that says never cook with a wine you won’t drink and used it. Result was good. Artichoke hearts and red onion slices soaked in white wine are wonderful. It’s a New York Times recipe, if you’re a subscriber.

There was a dark side to my weekend—a plumbing problem. I didn’t quite want to put that in the headline to this blog. How do you combine cooking and plumbing problems—that’s an instant yuck! But on Saturday my commode stopped up for no apparent reason. Christian plunged, waited, plunged again. It got better, but clearly there was a problem. I found I could use it with discretion, but by today it was obvious I needed my favorite plumber. The dispatcher said he might could squeeze me in this afternoon in Keith’s schedule. I had no hope, but Keith, bless him, came by on his way home, thinking he could knock it out quickly.

It was not to be—there is something stalled deep in the pipes. At his advice, I called a roto-rooter company, who said they would schedule it between seven and eleven tonight. I was not looking forward to a night-time vigil and the exorbitant after-hours costs. When the commode showed signs of being amenable to careful use, I reschedule for tomorrow.

Pray for me tonight that I don’t have a plumbing emergency. Jordan offered, jokingly, to get down the potty chair I had just after hip surgery. No thanks.

Otherwise, today was a good day—I edited my speech for the book club of the Arlington Women’s Club and wrote a column for Lone Star Literary Life. Lots of projects on my desk for the week ahead, and that makes me happy. Jacob tonight teased his father by saying he had the day off but still went to work. I told Jacob I understand that completely. Work makes me happy and, I hope, keeps me young.