Well, I guess it all started when I heard a waterfall. Being in a house, in the middle of frozen Idaho, I figured this was the first of the bad signs. I'm pretty sure it's not a common occurrence to hear waterfall-like noises coming from your basement. My first thought was that maybe someone had started doing laundry (an annoying thought when you've been waiting for hot water so you can take a hot shower). And here, the exploration began.
I traipsed down the stairs (of which there are thirteen, and maybe I'm the only one that finds that odd) and it was freezing. Like super chilly. Of course, for the past few days it's been 20 below 0, so it was a little expected. I still wanted to fix it. This is the part where I was supposed to start a fire in the fireplace that would then warm the whole house cozily, and we'd live happily ever after in our little heat-oasis.
No such luck.
Down the long hallway, I heard my very loud waterfall. Way too loud to be the washer going. So I crept into the shadow's shadows back to the last rooms: mine and the laundry's. As soon as I turned on a light, I pretty much knew there was trouble. Kinda hard not to know when the yellow linoleum has a lovely layer of arctic water and dead leaves.
I still have no idea how there were dead leaves in the basement when this house was built like 20 years ago.
Little-known fact about this house: there is one more room at the end of the basement hallway. It was supposed to become a bathroom (well, still is), but it's hidden very well by our fantastic camping storage and a board covering its doorway. Long story short, I knew where to look for my super-soaking culprit. But first, I grabbed my little sister and a bunch of towels to stop the water from spreading anymore–it was already getting well into the carpet. As soon as that was covered, I moved the board . . . and found an old plastic-covered mattress blocking the doorway. I'm still not sure why the mattress was in that particular location.
Nonetheless, we got the mattress out of the way quite efficiently i.e. Tori accidentally knocked it over. And we still could not see what the problem was. Something to do with the room being uninsulated and also not possessing any electrical lighting or the like. With that problem, we found another. The water was spreading more quickly. And in fact, it was infecting more and more rooms.
So operation Move-Anything-That-Could-Get-Water-Damage-into-the-Family-Room went into effect. I piled clothes and papers and other random things a Stephanie has (water gun, Disney mugs, 5 miles of notebooks) onto my bed. Then, it was move the furniture time. I completely unloaded my bookshelf and carried it out on my own. Tori helped me grab drawers from my dresser before I Hulked it away to safety. Lastly, we spirited away my desk and other important valuables pertaining unto that object (printer, book made into a clock).
By that time, Dad made it home to solve our plumbing problems. Well, not all of them, but definitely more than we could solve ourselves. I was very impressed that we were able to work so quickly and get so many things out that could have been destroyed. I mean, I did drop a couple books (Nooooo!!) but they were virtually unharmed. Dad got the water turned off, assessing the damage and whatnot, and took care of getting an actual bona fide plumber to solve our Mystery of the Mistaken Waterfall. Apparently, since it's been so cold and that room wasn't insulated, the pipes in there froze and broke.
Go Team Idaho.
You know what the worst part of this whole dilemma was? (Well not really the worst, I just say that for exaggerational purposes.) No running water. Meaning no shower. Also couldn't use the bathroom. Or brush my teeth.
So I improvised. With snow.
Okay, obviously I didn't bathe or use the bathroom, but it worked quite well for washing my face and brushing my teeth. I've never had a morning so refreshing. It made the idea of winter camping seem delightful.
Well, the good news is we do have running water again! Which is good. It would've been awkward to tell our neighbors we had the luxury of wireless internet but could we please use their restroom? So for the time being, while those darn back rooms air out, my belongings will occupy the Family Room much like any army could probably occupy France (nothing against the French, love their language and croissants and everything, it's just that the past seems to speak for itself).
And I? I am a man with no home. And by that I mean a girl with no bedroom. The meaning is equivalent.
Awesome_
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