Several weeks ago my house started to stink. Now this was not your average, every day laundry piled high, fish tank needs cleaning, new puppy in the house stink. This was a oh-my-God!-what-died-under-the-house stink. It lasted 24 hours or so and then it went away.
Until it came back a week or so later. The stench continued to fade and come back with no regularity, only sure waft up just about the time company stopped by. Jack deduced it must be a leak in the water line from the washing machine and we congratulated ourselves on his brilliant plan to not use the washing machine after our visit to east Texas, giving the earth below our pier and beam construction plenty of time to dry out so a plumber could confirm and repair the problem. Yeah, us!
Until the plumber opened the access to 5-6 inches of water in the low spot under the house. Apparently the problem was a busted waste water pipe coming from the kitchen sink. And disposal. I’ll allow you time and space to gag.
The plumber very politely offered to come back when he wouldn’t have to swim and Jack and I began to devise a drying out plan. It was again brilliant! All we had to do was run some fans on one of the more warm days we were predicted to have and presto! chango! all the water would evaporate and the earth would firm. We gave it a week, threatened the children with their lives if they used the kitchen sink and bought some paper goods.
But it didn’t get warm. And the fans didn’t work. And by Saturday, five days after the initial discovery, we still had at least three inches of water and heaven only knows how much muck. My (for reals) brilliant SIL suggested we suck it up (both literally and figuratively) with a wet/dry vac and so we did (both literally and figuratively). We emptied the 8 gallon tank of nasty water, mud and oh, so disgusting muck five times. Oh My Stinkin Heck.
So it finally dried and we called the plumber. Then waited.
And waited. Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday at 9:00. Thursday at 10:30. Finally at noon he arrived! My angel. 45 minutes later we were good (and poor) and life resumed.
Woodland creatures romped.
And then my Cultural Diversity professor tried to shame me by talking about families living in hogans without running water or electricity. As anyone who has spent any time with me this past two weeks can attest, I’m not cut out for that kind of life. I NEED MY PLUMBING.
But at least now I can kinda empathize. How’s that for cultural awareness?