Two days before we were to close on the house, that lovely time where you’re praying nothing else go wrong and yet knowing something is gonna, our realtor called me up to tell me… the well went dry. That well had been in flawless operation for 30 years! Talk about a flood of emotions, on one side of things we were incredibly lucky because it happened when it was still the seller’s responsibility to pay for drilling a new one, and on the other side it was terrifying because if they couldn’t get the emergency permit or the drillers couldn’t find water when they drilled we were out yet another property, and we’d already lost three others! Then the county needed to inspect, and the drillers needed permission to move their giant rig across properties, and as of the morning we were supposed to close, they still hadn’t found water.
Now, obviously since this blog ain’t titled “White Sheep, Red Barn, Why Does The Universe Not Want Me To Ever Buy A Friggin’ House” it should be clear that they did indeed find water and the day was saved and we closed and moved in. But just wow… Up until that point, we had lost previous properties due to reasons like “Sorry, the deed is too old” and “Oops, after three months waiting we just noticed there’s a chicken house on the property”, and “Although you are supposed to close next week, the seller just admitted they had a special circumstances loan and therefore have to change it to a regular loan first which will take six months”, so yet another issue was a tad on the hair pulling out side of things.
So the new well is wonderful, and the only thing we had to do was run all of the taps for a while to flush out the thickly muddy water left over from the old well going dry, no problem! We happily did that, and went about unpacking, at which point we noticed much to our delight that one of the upstairs bathrooms had a leak, and the kitchen ceiling was now covered in a quickly spreading red muddy stain, and was raining muddy water so thick it looked like it was dripping blood! After a few moments spent making sure the house didn’t start hollering “Get OuuuuuuUUuuuuut!”, we trekked upstairs into the 1970’s time capsule and located the sink that was happily spilling its contents into our kitchen. A bucket took care of the issue for the moment, but we’ll be replacing part of the ceiling and fixing that leak here very soon.
The next morning Don ran upstairs and took a shower, and then headed out to walk the dogs and meet some of our neighbours. While he was out, I took a moment to grab a shower myself (now that we knew where the leak was), and spent a lovely three minutes under the warm water lathering up my giant mane of hair. Three minutes, because just as I got the lather worked up good, the tap must have hit a pocket, and the next thing I knew I was hollering in freezing, thickly muddy water and dancing around like my toes were on fire! Down the stairs I ran, trying to wrap my soapy hair up in my pajama top and racing to the kitchen sink in my absolutel nothings, praying that my darling man would not suddenly discover social graces and invite the aforementioned neighbours in for a cup of coffee! Why the kitchen sink you ask? Because for no reason we’ve yet been able to explain, the downstairs has tons of hot water, which I used to get the soap out of my hair and wipe the muddy water off as best I could. Can y’all blame me if I’m a little nervous about taking a shower today?
More after while, the Pi kitty has decided to snuggle. Nobody argues with the Pi kitty.