Basement flooded
Tons and tons of soggy junk. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)
—“A strange little life we live.”
I say that to my dog.
I live alone; I’m not bored or lonely; I always have too much to do. But I live in a house full of junk.
Every time I say “strange little life” my counselor asks “what’s so strange about it?”
A couple days ago my furnace stopped heating. All it was doing was blowing cold air. (It’s brand new.)
I called my heating-contractor; they would come out to see why.
We started down into my basement, where I had not been in weeks, and it was flooded. About 5-6 inches of water was atop the concrete floor-slab.
“I can’t work in this,” my heating-guy said. “Company policy; I might get electrocuted.”
We called 9-1-1 to have the West Bloomfield Fire Department pump out my basement.
“What a stellar way to get rid of the junk in my basement,” I thought to myself. 99% of what’s down there is junk. Old college textbooks, lumber, tax-records, books, magazines, etc.
Stuff I thought would stay there until my (our) house got sold.
I have another widower-friend doing the same thing. His wife died years ago, yet his junk remains.
“We’ll need a dumpster,” my clean-up guy said. “Lotsa soggy cardboard to toss.”
“Nothing doing!” an owner might scream. “That stuff is valuable!” To me it’s junk. Only a little is worth selling. Memories die with the owner, and already it’s junk to me.
My friend may wanna hang onto his wife’s memory, but to me that’s all gone.
I’d considered some company removing all that junk, but never got to it. Now the basement flooding was doing it for me.
West Bloomfield Volunteer Firemen appeared with pumps and hoses. My best contact was the West Bloomfield Fire-Chief. They pumped out the basement, but it was still slowly flooding.
The Fire-Chief returned the next day to check things out. The furnace-part that needed replacement, a computerized control-panel, was under water again. Another pump-out was needed.
“We gotta fix your plumbing problem first,” the Chief said. “Your sump-pump’s not working.”
“I don’t have a sump-pump,” I said. “I got perforated footer-drains both inside and outside the foundation, and they drain into a gravity-drain down in the woods.”
I haven’t touched that drain since our house was built 30 years ago. So now it’s plugged. (Roots probably.) Undraining water backs up into the basement.
I have a sump-pump crock, but no sump-pump.
“We gotta put in a temporary sump-pump, and get that drain fixed,” said the Fire-Chief. “We can’t fix your furnace if the basement could flood again.”
We called my furnace contractor, and the Fire-Chief took over. “I had a stroke,” I said; “so I’m terrible at phonecalls. Could you do this?” —I handed him my Smartphone.
“The owner is elderly and disabled” — only partially disabled I’d say. I hafta be very careful and hang onto things.
“Elderly” I hafta get used to. “Geezer” I got used to; I guess “elderly” is next. To me elderly is over 80, and I’m only 76.
Calling me elderly and disabled is plying my contacts for compassion. I do that myself. I call it “my speech:” notify my contacts I had a stroke, and they don’t get mad when my verbal communication crashes.
No anger yet if I tell people in advance.
Mr Rooter called regarding reaming out my drain-to-daylight. I collared the Fire-Chief again. “Could you do this? I’m locking up again.”
“Can you guys ream out that drain today?” he asked. “The owner is elderly and disabled, and has no heat.”
He also called a local plumber I used before. The plumber would install a temporary sump-pump. In other words, it wasn’t me making the phonecalls. All-of-a-sudden there was the plumber. “I know you,” I said. “Always causin’ trouble, aren’t ya,” he said.
Heaven-and-earth moved. Thank goodness for that Fire-Chief.
Mr Rooter could not ream out my drain-to-daylight with their 300-pound snake-rooter. It binded.
They’ll return in a couple days with a so-called “jet rooter,” and see if that works. Water at 4,000 psi gets hosed into the drain.
They’ll also put in a mini TV camera to view the clog.
Temporary sump-pump installed, the furnace could be repaired.
On-my-own again. Hours later my heating repairman called from 35-40 miles away.
More telephone calls in one day than I usually get in four months. Overload for a stroke-survivor with slight aphasia.
I usually get what I want if I make ‘em laugh.
I said to another caller “I could be a jerk, and thereby turn you off. But I gotcha to laugh, so now you’ll go outta yer way.”
ADDENDUM
Temporary sump-pump output with cinder-block. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)—The temporary sump-pump output, a hose, had disappeared from my backyard.
“Guess I better check that,” I said to myself. It had worked its way back into my basement, and my cellar-floor was starting to flood again. It was running constantly.
The furnace is on 2-by-4 blocks, and the water was about 1&1/2 inches deep. 2-by-4 blocks are 1&3/4 inches thick, so the new computerized control-panel wasn’t drowned yet.
I caught it just in time. I routed the hose back outside, and put a heavy cinder-block on it.
It wasn’t easy for this aging geezer to heft a 60-pound cinder-block 50 yards, but I didn’t want that hose finding its way back into my basement.
My basement flooding receded, and my furnace still works.
ServePro on site; dumpster at left. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)
posted by BobbaLew at 5:31 PM
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