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| The well, blessedly working |
1. Yellow jackets have been
congregating in the porta potty. I don't know why; haven't been able
to detect any signs of nest-building. They just sit there, mostly.
And sometimes, walk over the top edge of the overhang above the door
to peer down at you as you proceed with your business.
They have not, thank goodness and
knock-on-wood, so far been aggressive. This weekend, on two
occasions, one began flying around banging into walls, and I held
open the door until she left. After that, I didn't see any, and I
devoutly hope they have decided to vacate the premises. It's
discomfiting, being stared at by yellow jackets while you're engaged
in such private – not to say vulnerable – business.
2. Speaking of shit shows, Sunday was
one. First, we burned out the well control box while trying to water
my plants. We did not know whether it was the control box or the well
pump (i.e. thousands of dollars), until Monday, when DH bought a new
well control box and plugged it in. Whew.
Incidentally, the man who sold it to
him tried to talk him out of it, insisting the box looked fine to
him. It did look fine. It just didn't run the well. No matter what
his testing doohickey said.
Anyway, next we knocked over a barrel
containing about 25 gallons of water I was counting on to water the
plants, since we couldn't use the well, and the temperatures are
supposed to climb into the 80s this week.
Then the terrier rolled in a
half-decomposed dead snake. In case you don't already know this, dead
snake really, really stinks. We decided to sacrifice some of our
water to bathe him, and after two latherings and rinsings, he still
wasn't entirely de-stinked. Fortunately, most of the remaining smell
came off on the towel we used to dry him. And my clothes. We tied
them in a trash bag, to await the next trip to the laundromat. The
terrier is now very, very clean. At least until his next adventure.
3. Progress continues on the house,
with plumbing being installed at the moment. It was scheduled for
completion on Sunday, but was delayed by the above adventures.
On Saturday, we worked under the house,
using a 500-degree iron to melt the ends of polypropelene pipe and
stick them together. My job was to hold the iron.
There isn't a lot of room under the
house, so it was close enough to my face that I could feel the heat,
bringing back memories of childhood curling iron trauma. I remember
perfectly well how it feels to have a hot curling iron accidentally
pressed against one's temple by a careless user, and could have done
just fine without the reminder. However, things proceeded smoothly,
although I'm not really looking forward to the next round. That was
cold water; next we tackle the hot water pipes.
In the meantime, on Sunday, DH realized
that, although he had followed the instructions to the letter, the
inside edges of the pipes had on some occasions curled inward,
causing a restriction in the pipe. We had “welded” about 30 feet
of pipe; there's no way to know which, if any, of the joints contain
this problem.
Oddly, this did not improve his mood.
On the bright side, at least he had
used a larger size pipe than needed, so, we are keeping fingers
crossed that even if some of it did get narrowed down, it won't
matter.
4. He also discovered that the place we
had intended to put the water heater won't work. It is, to quote him,
“agin the law.”
We planned to put it in the closet of
the spare bedroom; a slightly odd location, admittedly, but the
closet had originally been intended to serve the bathroom, as a
laundry closet. Then we decided that having the washer and dryer
stacked in a tiny closet sounded like a pain in the neck, so we moved
them into the pantry, and re-allocated the closet to the bedroom.
But in its laundry phase, it also had
seemed like the logical spot for the water heater.
However, we plan to install a tankless
on-demand heater, and it turns out that you can't put them in a
closet, or any other restricted space, because of fire risk. Or in
the bathroom, which would be the next most logical spot.
Which is just a fine pickle. Since you
can't hide the thing behind some attractive paneling, it has to sit
right out in the open. I doubt he'd be amused if I suggested painting
a mural on it.
But, hey, I made a gigantic batch of
stir-fry last night, on the assumption that having leftovers is a
good way to minimize dish use, so supper is taken care of. And
there are still some biscuits and strawberries left for shortcake.
For a special treat, I even bought
whipping cream and put lactase drops in it, so I could have some.
Last night, when I was distracted
getting DH a second helping of shortcake (so he wouldn't have to
move, the terrier being asleep in his lap after his bath ordeal), the
cat climbed up and polished off the rest of my serving, because,
whipped cream. I tell you, it's a friggin' conspiracy.
Sigh. Onward.
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