We last left the family by concluding a post with what my reading students call a “cliffhanger.”  In case you’ve forgotten, Meet Me at the Watering Hole ended like this:

The water dept. dudes made a few more calls, and then they called the guys in the diggers back to dig a hole large enough for them to get down in it and finally fix the water pipes.

And then, my friends, all hell broke loose.

I’m not exaggerating. I discovered the basement had water on the floor, so I passed that information on to Chuck. He and a water department dude went downstairs to see the mess, and I retired to the kitchen to once again attempt cooking supper. This could have been disaster, I later realized. Cooking over an open flame on the gas stove when – you guessed it. Or did you? Chuck came upstairs followed by the water dude and announced a gas leak. Quickly – no, immediately – no, instinctively – no, automatically – ANYWAY right away, I turned off the burner.

For our next trick, Chuck ran upstairs to gather the already-upset Amigo. I filled a cloth shopping bag (are you kidding? I’m Daisy! It’s what’s nearby!) with the entire family’s prescription meds. As I headed for the door and the boys came downstairs, it was apparent that the leak was bad and we were moving too slowly. The other water dude was at the open deck door with a panicky look on his face and shouting, “You folks got to get OUT!”

Serious? Dangerous? You bet. We stopped on a neighbor’s porch to put shoes on and both Water Dudes yelled at us to get farther away. We did. We ran, almost dragging each other, to the side street where our cars were parked. We headed to the Safe House, a.k.a. Petunia’s apartment.

Let’s look at the ingredients so far.

• No running water
• Water saturating our front yard
• Water covering the basement floor
• Gas. Not the kind that makes boys giggle, but the kind that can blow up houses.

Now I know what writers mean when they talk about people being evacuated with just the clothes on their backs. We were lucky; I had my purse, with my phone in it, and our meds. Amigo had shoes and his white cane. Chuck had his car keys. I didn’t have mine, so we piled into his vehicle.

It’s almost as though the story didn’t end there; it had just begun. Next? Settle. Eat a little. Drink fluids. Eventually, find a hotel (courtesy of our insurance company) and (sort of) sleep.

Dig. Dig. Dig.

 No, it wasn’t that simple. Not a chance.

• Bad: It’s several days after the disaster, and we’re still running fans to help dry out the standing water in the basement.
• Good: The fans are working. We have several.
• Ugly: The damp stains left behind and their suggestion of damage to the foundation.

Good, Bad, and Ugly: We’ve decided to handle the clean-up ourselves rather than hiring a cleaning service.

 

• Good: Chuck made several phone calls to city folk and construction crews, and he actually talked to real people, not voice mail.
• Bad: The construction guys who broke the water main lied about how they handled the situation. Professional? Not.
• Ugly: There are more phone calls left to make.

Good: the water pressure in the laundry seems okay.

Bad: The laundry still needs to be done, no matter what else is happening in life.

Ugly: There are more dirty jeans and t-shirts and rags and towels due to the clean-up.

 

• Bad: the water pressure in the upstairs bathroom is weak.
• Good: the water pressure in the first floor bathroom is fine.
• Ugly: this calls for another set of phone calls and a visit from the plumber.

Bad: We still can’t use our driveway or garage due to construction.

Good: That leaves us space in the garage to store basement items while we await another visit from the adjuster or the foundation expert.

Ugly: We still can’t use our driveway or garage due to construction.

 

• Good: My Crocs, those ugly yet perfect gardening shoes, are also perfect for wandering through the waterlogged basement.
• Bad: Crocs are ugly.
• Ugly: Crocs.

Bad: The multitude of boxes on the floor soaked up water.

Good: Many boxes, set aside for recent moving adventures, were empty.

Ugly: Wet boxes are not recyclable. They also smell. For what it’s worth, they’ll be biodegradable if I can fit them all in the compost bin. hahahahahahahaha