“Social-distancing” facilitates
repairing my flooded basement
—About two weeks ago my drain-to-daylight plugged backing water into my basement. 5-6 inches deep, which drowned the computerized control-panel on my brand-new furnace. That control-panel had to be replaced: $639.37, covered by insurance.
The West Bloomfield Fire-Department pumped me out, and my plumber installed a temporary sump-pump after my basement flooded again — maybe 2-3 inches, but enough to drown my furnace again, which hadn’t been repaired yet.
“We gotta fix your plumbing-problem,” West Bloomfield’s Fire-Chief exclaimed. That was the temporary sump-pump.
Next was drying out my basement, and trying to get my drain-to-daylight working.
Mr. Rooter® tried mightily, even with a jet-rooter (water at 4,000 pounds per square-inch), but that drain was plugged — or crushed.
Drying out my basement was ServePro®, contracted by my insurance I guess. Tons of soggy paper and cardboard (old books, tax-records, etc.) filled a dumpster. Plus they had to remove 2-3 feet of water-logged drywall, and bat-insulation.
My foundation is 2-by-8 “ground-contact” treated-wood. We did that because we could better insulate that than block. Fiberglass insulation bats are between the studs, and a 10-mil vapor-barrier lines my basement walls. Drywall was atop that vapor-barrier.
All that got flooded.
All this happened as CoronaVirus began ravaging our nation.
So now I have a dry basement, with a temporary sump-pump draining my sump-crock that normally lacks a sump-pump. —Which it wouldn’t need if my drain-to-daylight worked.
89 bazilyun phonecalls face The Keed, who is somewhat messy doing phonecalls due to slight aphasia, a stroke-effect.
I need a new drain-to-daylight, and insulation/vapor-barrier/drywall replaced.
Suddenly “social-distancing” is working for me. I thought it wouldn’t at first.
Most all my social contacts are out.
—1) The Canandaigua YMCA, where I do aquatic balance-training in their swimming-pool, is closed. That’s two classes per week, plus a third hour on-my-own.
—2) Thompson Hospital’s Physical-Therapy department, where I do dry-land balance-training, is also closed.
—3) I haven’t checked yet, but I bet my April Bereavement-Counselor appointment is cancelled.
—4) My dentist is only doing emergency, so my coming prophylaxis (cleaning) is cancelled.
—5) All my medical appointments seem to get cancelled.
—6) All restaurants are closed, which cancels my weekly Bereavers Eat-out.
—7) I can’t even get a haircut, in which case I become Santa Claus.
“We all return to hippiedom,” a lady-friend told me. “Marijuana, LSD, Mescaline, Peyote.”
“I never did that!” I exclaimed.
“Such a good boy,” she cooed.
“A paragon of virtue!” I shouted. “And not by moral-imperative,” I added. “I’d rather have all my gray-matter unzonked.”
“I bet they didn’t call you a “paragon of virtue” at Houghton.” The guy who said that also graduated Houghton (my college), but long after me. Houghton was super-religious when I was there — and still is, it seems.
I almost got canned on an attitude-rap. Other ne’er-do-wells smoked and frequented bars, but not this kid.
“Social-distancing” (staying away from people) facilitates repair of my basement.
Things go slowly. I bet my plumber wants his temporary sump-pump back. I can’t return it until I have a working drain-to-daylight. That’s a weeks-away excavation-project.
• RE: “We……” —is my beloved wife and I. She died of cancer eight years ago. Our house was finished in 1990. I still live in it.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. It slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty finding and putting words together.)
• RE: “Bereavers Eat-out……” —A group of fellow widows and widowers eat out at a restaurant once per week. We’re just ad hoc.
• “Houghton” (“HO-tin;” as in “oh,” not “how” or “who”) is Houghton College in western New York, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I never regretted it, although I graduated a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college, and was the first religious institution to not consider me rebellious and of-the-Devil = a threat.
The West Bloomfield Fire-Department pumped me out, and my plumber installed a temporary sump-pump after my basement flooded again — maybe 2-3 inches, but enough to drown my furnace again, which hadn’t been repaired yet.
“We gotta fix your plumbing-problem,” West Bloomfield’s Fire-Chief exclaimed. That was the temporary sump-pump.
Next was drying out my basement, and trying to get my drain-to-daylight working.
Mr. Rooter® tried mightily, even with a jet-rooter (water at 4,000 pounds per square-inch), but that drain was plugged — or crushed.
Drying out my basement was ServePro®, contracted by my insurance I guess. Tons of soggy paper and cardboard (old books, tax-records, etc.) filled a dumpster. Plus they had to remove 2-3 feet of water-logged drywall, and bat-insulation.
My foundation is 2-by-8 “ground-contact” treated-wood. We did that because we could better insulate that than block. Fiberglass insulation bats are between the studs, and a 10-mil vapor-barrier lines my basement walls. Drywall was atop that vapor-barrier.
All that got flooded.
All this happened as CoronaVirus began ravaging our nation.
So now I have a dry basement, with a temporary sump-pump draining my sump-crock that normally lacks a sump-pump. —Which it wouldn’t need if my drain-to-daylight worked.
89 bazilyun phonecalls face The Keed, who is somewhat messy doing phonecalls due to slight aphasia, a stroke-effect.
I need a new drain-to-daylight, and insulation/vapor-barrier/drywall replaced.
Suddenly “social-distancing” is working for me. I thought it wouldn’t at first.
Most all my social contacts are out.
—1) The Canandaigua YMCA, where I do aquatic balance-training in their swimming-pool, is closed. That’s two classes per week, plus a third hour on-my-own.
—2) Thompson Hospital’s Physical-Therapy department, where I do dry-land balance-training, is also closed.
—3) I haven’t checked yet, but I bet my April Bereavement-Counselor appointment is cancelled.
—4) My dentist is only doing emergency, so my coming prophylaxis (cleaning) is cancelled.
—5) All my medical appointments seem to get cancelled.
—6) All restaurants are closed, which cancels my weekly Bereavers Eat-out.
—7) I can’t even get a haircut, in which case I become Santa Claus.
“We all return to hippiedom,” a lady-friend told me. “Marijuana, LSD, Mescaline, Peyote.”
“I never did that!” I exclaimed.
“Such a good boy,” she cooed.
“A paragon of virtue!” I shouted. “And not by moral-imperative,” I added. “I’d rather have all my gray-matter unzonked.”
“I bet they didn’t call you a “paragon of virtue” at Houghton.” The guy who said that also graduated Houghton (my college), but long after me. Houghton was super-religious when I was there — and still is, it seems.
I almost got canned on an attitude-rap. Other ne’er-do-wells smoked and frequented bars, but not this kid.
“Social-distancing” (staying away from people) facilitates repair of my basement.
Things go slowly. I bet my plumber wants his temporary sump-pump back. I can’t return it until I have a working drain-to-daylight. That’s a weeks-away excavation-project.
• RE: “We……” —is my beloved wife and I. She died of cancer eight years ago. Our house was finished in 1990. I still live in it.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. It slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty finding and putting words together.)
• RE: “Bereavers Eat-out……” —A group of fellow widows and widowers eat out at a restaurant once per week. We’re just ad hoc.
• “Houghton” (“HO-tin;” as in “oh,” not “how” or “who”) is Houghton College in western New York, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I never regretted it, although I graduated a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college, and was the first religious institution to not consider me rebellious and of-the-Devil = a threat.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:22 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home