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This store has my name written all over it.
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My husband would tell you we don’t need any more sarcasm here, but I beg to differ.
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And maybe that’s what was wrong with this month…. I didn’t make it my bitch.
Snow, rain, freeze, ice, melt, repeat.
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And by repeat…. I mean I keep repeating fix the damn gutter! to my husband so I don’t have to listen to this all day long.
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And in case you’re wondering what kind of weather we have in Maine?
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That sums it up nicely.
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It rained again, in January, in Maine. That’s not supposed to happen. Most years we’re positively buried in snow.
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And I have to say I’d much rather be doing this…
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Than dealing with this…
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It rained…. and our roof sprung yet another leak.
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In yet another brand new spot. Every time the husband thinks he’s fixed it? It leaks somewhere else. And while the temperature has been mild (for us) it’s still not warm enough to strip and replace a roof. So while we wait for spring and pray for snow, our ceiling is being ruined. I’ve bleached this 3 times …
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And it still bleeds through.
Kill me now.
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While all the frenzied work in the barn has been consuming my husband’s mind and time?
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This was happening inside our house.
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Yet another roof leak.
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We have walked the roof.
We have climbed into the attic.
We have replaced our chimney insert.
We have tarred, caulked, shingled, flashed and yes, swore repeatedly…. but still can’t figure out where it’s coming in.
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Back in ’94 before we owned the home, a bump out addition was added to the living room…
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And what I’m assuming is a load bearing beam… is where the rain always breaks through.
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It’s beyond aggravating.
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Not to mention ugly.
So back in the attic crawl space we went. Of course this means all the husband’s junk must be vomited from the den closet first.
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And there’s a lot of junk.
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Anyone need some slightly dated reading material?
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This time the attic investigation revealed two possible spots on the roof where water could be getting in. Husband is guessing 3 squares of shingles will have to be replaced. But winter is upon us, and it’s not going to be a pleasant task.
Wish us luck.
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Because it’s been a long week and I need a chuckle.
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I’d like to tell you there’s something wonderfully quirky up there like a hedgehog cheese grater…
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Or sandwich bags that lessen the chances of your kid getting beaten up for their PB&J….
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But alas, when I climbed up on a chair and checked?
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All I saw was this:
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A lone fly swatter the husband must have thrown up there when I wasn’t looking.
Handy if Mike Pence drops by, but otherwise not very amusing.
So regale me with your finds…
What’s collecting dust in your kitchen?
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(And I sincerely hope it keeps raining today because that’s probably the only way I’m going to be able to take a shower.)
I woke up this morning, slowly and creaking because of my knee. The husband, who’s been underfoot since March … who hardly ever has to visit a client since working from home… left at 7:00am to visit a client.
And that’s when the proverbial waste product collided with the rotating blades.
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I heard a noise.
And since I’m an anal retentive woman, every noise must be investigated. I tracked the noise to our so filled with crap I never go down there anymore cellar. Stairs are not my friend right now, but I hobbled down in pain and discovered it was the water pump.
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(That’s the little blue doohickey to the right for the plumbing challenged among us.)
The water pump was running. For no reason. Cycling on and off every 15 seconds. This is not what you want a water pump to do. So I climbed back upstairs, slowly and with more than a few sound effects, to make sure nothing was turned on, running or leaking. Nothing was. I hobbled outside in the rain to make sure the outdoor faucet wasn’t left on. It wasn’t. Reaching the end of my diagnostic skills, I called our plumber.
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No. That is definitely not me.
Miracle of all miracles he answered the phone and walked me through a few steps to check the problem. The pump is only 5 years old, the heater a mere 3. Nothing seemed to be wrong inside but when he had me go outside and check the well…
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And I looked down inside..
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The cap to our well was crooked and water was positively bubbling out of it. (picture taken later, sorry… no bubbles) ((The bag of sand was my husband’s answer to the well house blowing over in high wind. He might come to regret this quick fix, please stay tuned.))
When I explained what I saw, the plumber told me to run back down to the water pump (which didn’t happen because, ya know… torn meniscus) and shut power off to the water pump, water heater and recirculator. (another waste of money gadget the husband had to have which doesn’t make a bit of difference).
So I shut power off to everything because he thinks one of our pipes has cracked or broken.
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Yeah. Big time. He doesn’t think it’s a pipe in the house, but rather one leading to the house… and that can’t be good.
Thankfully he’s coming this afternoon… so if you’re a person who prays? Please pray to the god of plumbing for a swift and easy fix for your dear friend River. And rest assured if there are any photos worth posting?
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I will.
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Or so my husband said when we were redoing the deck railings.
He took the old one down and elected not to put it back up.
Why?
Oh, he mumbled something about tearing down all the old gutters and replacing them, but honestly I think he just didn’t want to mess with it. Which was fine, until rain was in the forecast and I told him it might be a good idea to put it back up.
Life would be so much easier if he listened to me…. but no.
So, it rained.
Not a lot, but enough so we had a torrent of water flooding the garden bed and sloshing mulch and dirt everywhere.
I didn’t say a word… though I might have smirked.
I mean really. How could I not?
So out he went, poor guy.
And naturally the downspout didn’t pop back on as easily as it came off.
Numerous adjustments were made.
With a hammer and some colorful language.
By the time he was done, he was soaked and the spout was screwed. Literally and figuratively…. because he broke a piece and had to Jerry rig it.
Now wouldn’t this have been easier…. not to mention drier…. if he had just listened to me in the first place?
Men.
You never learn.
My husband surprised me the other day with new gutters.
Yes…. some women get diamonds, I get downspouts.
But these had been a long time coming and after nearly being bludgeoned by icicles from water running off the garage last winter?
It was time.
I had other things to do that day but husband asked me to help for 30 minutes because he said that’s all it would take.
Silly, silly man.
The first section went up easily.
Too easily as it turns out….
Which the hose test proved.
It leaked.
I was then directed to a different spot, which also leaked.
Vowing to fix it later, the husband moved on, installed 2 more sections and then needed an end cap.
Which I now believe are the work of the devil.
One of these should have fit on the end of that piece to block the water.
Please note my use of the word should.
Adjustments were made.
Then larger adjustments.
Some of them not at all subtle.
But it worked.
Of course we were still left with the leaking problem on the first section. And after much discussion, it was decided the shingles on the non leaking end…
Over hung the roof a fraction of an inch further…
Than the shingles on the leaking end. And there’s not much you can do about that.
My solution?
Caulk it!
But the husband hates caulk so we spent the next 3 hours, yes… 3 hours….. trying to find a solution.
Little pieces of white plastic were cut to sit on the top of the clips and divert the flow.
But it didn’t work.
Long pieces of clear plastic were sought.
And carefully cut into strips to tuck under the flashing.
But still, it leaked.
Numerous ladder safety warnings were ignored during this process.
And still, it leaked.
Late in the afternoon, after spending way too much time on a half hour project….
The husband surrendered.
It’s raining as I write this…. and guess what?
No leaks.
Leaking roof saga continued.
Winter is the worst possible time in Maine for your roof to spring a leak … so of course, that’s exactly what’s happened.
Remember when I said I’d cringe every time it rains?
That’s the sound of me cringing.
It poured the other day… and so did our ceiling.
So much so I had to add another pan.
Which drove the husband nuts when he came home…. and because he’s a man and had to do something?
Yeah. He decided to climb up into the attic to see where it was leaking.
Naturally this isn’t as easy as climbing a set of stairs… because no.
Here at Casa River, we like a challenge.
The den closet, home to an overflow of the husband’s useless crap treasure.
(Yes, he collects old wooden hangers. Don’t you?)
Half of one side had to be emptied and strewn all over the room….
Because the only way to access the crawl space we call an attic is to remove all the shelving and climb up a hole at the top of the closet.
A design paradigm we curse the builders for quite often.
It’s a bit of a nightmare getting up there.
And no, the husband didn’t appreciate me making a Kodak moment out of the experience.
He wasn’t thrilled that I stuck my head up through the hole to offer advice either.
Men. There’s no pleasing you.
But look… I found an antenna from the 1970’s!
Did I mention there’s no actual floor up there? Just a few scattered pieces of particle board that break when you kneel on them.
So after scuttling around like a crab and lying on his back…
And pointing his flashlight near the section of the roof of the addition you can’t access from the crawl space, he did find where the water was coming in. Halfway up the peak, and running down the beams…. which we can find absolutely no reason for.
Doesn’t this look like fun?
Especially since there’s not a damned thing you can do about it until spring when you can rip off the shingles to find the bad spot.
Meanwhile I’ll have this lovely and ever expanding wart to look at.
And every time I do?
I hear a cash register.
Ka-ching!
Provincetown is home to charming inns…
Narrow streets…
And lovely little homes whose lawns you could mow with a pair of scissors.
I don’t want to say they’re too close together….
But, yeah.
They kind of are.
All roads seemed to lead to the ocean…
So we did as well.
Which is where we found a breakwater… made of rocks!
That I totally wanted to walk, even in the rain….
To which the husband said not no…
But Hell no.
First Landing Park? You’re looking at it.
Sign… grass.
Duly noted and photographed.
With the weather getting worse, we gave up….
And drove back to the resort along the National Seashore.
Which… in the rain, from the car,
Looked like this.
Oh well….
At least we were safe from the sharks.
Done with our climbing for the day, we explored Provincetown.
In the rain…
From our car.
If I’d had foul weather gear like this fellow…
I might have been more inclined to wander.
P’town is tourist mecca in the summer.
Jam packed with people and bumper to bumper traffic.
On a rainy day in early November?
A veritable ghost town.
Oh well…
At least we didn’t have trouble finding a parking spot for lunch.
At the Squealing Pig.
Good drinks…
Great clams…
What more do you need?
River's world..... 