I woke up last week to find a small puddle at the front of our property. It was just a tad bit of water gathering by the city's water meter. I wondered at first if I had accidentally turned on the irrigation. If, however, you have seen my front lawn, you know it's unlikely the irrigation was left on for any substantial amount of time.
My neighbor came over to look at it with me. We did what you do with neighbors, stare and confirm. Shaking of heads. Lots of nodding. "Yup, you got a leak" he said resolutely. I felt like I was in an episode of Home Improvement.
After confirming that the leak was on my side of the the meter (of course), I called a plumber. It was going to be expensive. Really, really expensive. Of course it was, because this house, this charming little house, has some very expensive habits. I told the plumber I had to think about it.
Meanwhile as the water trickled out, I called some friends. Many friends. Lots of "can-do" guy friends with experience being handy. They all called the plumber names I shouldn't use in this blog, and then said I should do it myself. They said it was just a "patch".
"Really?" I said. I was doubting my plumbing skills, but if so many of them thought I could do this, well, yes sir I was going to try.
So this brings us to 8 a.m. on this last Sunday morning. Baby tucked into stroller with the best view of the show, Six year old directing the process, already with mud up his shins, I took my handy shovel and began to dig. I had to find out how far down this pipe the water was coming from. Turns out I didn't have to go far.
It was basic really, and I wondered why I wasn't a plumber. Big metal meter attaches to smaller metal pipe heading towards my house. Smaller metal pipe has plastic coupling connecting to cheap PVC piping, that actually lead to my house. And here is where the problem was. As I scraped out roots and rocks and thick adobe clay mud, I found my trickle coming from the underside of the pipe, right where that PVC met the meter's metal.
It didn't look good. There was a lot of corrosion. This was not what all those handy guys were talking about. I touched the coupling to feel the leak. The leak grew bigger.
My oldest brother had arrived by now. Charlie is awesome. He is a can-doer (when he is in the mood), and definitely a team player. If his sister was muddy (and I was), well he was going to get muddy too.
"No problem Mel" he said. Gosh he sounded like those other guys. Maybe I was missing something?
""Just a patch, we can get it at the hardware store!"
So the hardware store is where we went, looking like a gang of rag-tag hillbillies, covered in mud, kids with dirt on them and a brother who hasn't shaved this month. It was a scene.
We bought glues, and primers, and couplings and scrappers and ... Well, though this blog is long, let me cut to the chase - It was really bad after that.
"I think we have a problem" said my fury faced brother shaking from exhaustion and dripping wet. there was water pouring into the street. This was not a trickle anymore.
"Oh shit" I thought. "It's Sunday. It's Sunday and I have to call a plumber. Oh dear God" I kept muttering to myself as I spun circles in the yard watching my trickle which was now more of a gush. A wise Italian told me not to call a plumber on a Sunday. Now what? There was water everywhere. This was bigger than a plumber - I could tell.
There was nothing else to do, I had to call the city.
In minutes they were here, trying to fix what had broke. Letting me play dumb - because I am, and then realizing that in fact - there was a problem. As they wrenched and pulled on their end of things, the entire meter, and the city's pipes, broke loose in a one loud snap. If I thought it was wet before, now it was flooding.
"oh shit" said the nice man from the city. Now they had a problem too.
I can say that the City of Petaluma's Water Resource employees are some of the most skilled and calm gentlemen I have ever observed. Working completely blind, with water, silt and mud flying towards them, they wrenched and twisted and capped the gushing water. With not so much as a flinch, they plunged their hands into the deep slick, working with purpose. I swear (and it's not because my dear hubs has been gone for 7 weeks), these guys must have women who love them. (there Soccer Mom, I almost talked about the big "S" in my blog!).
And the "patch"? Done and Done! Thank God.
If nothing else, owning a home is very exciting.
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