A River Runs Through Us
Before I mention this
day had another failed attempt at viewing Evil Dead 2 with my daughter I need to point out that I am not an abusive parent
trying to force my tastes on my child.
We watched multiple scenes of Army of Darkness on YouTube together and she liked them all. This was also the
summer her true Horror Genre Fan genes developed.
Thanks to exhaustion
from the previous day, we started this one with a late Darth Vader waffle
brunch together while watching another sadly Deadite free morning of television.
I got some more laundry going
while she cranked out a few summer homework assignments, and used an owl
painting for Mami as a combination creative outlet, and welcome back gift.
She also sent out the invitations to my
family to come over and sample her special mushroom and crabmeat pasta the
following weekend.
All those hours watching
Chopped was paying off after all.
We had originally
planned to take the train into Times Square and wander around this day. Yes, she made a grid…that’s my girl.
However, after walking
eight thousand art filled New York miles on the previous day’s Ad-veeeeen-ture
*Jazz Hands* she was done with the city.
This turned out to be an
exceptionally good thing.
We were getting a roof
shaking rainstorm that started a bit before I went down to do laundry.
While down there, I was
annoyed at one of the smoke alarms pealing for no reason. My original though that it was due for a
battery replacement was rapidly replaced when I realized the noise was coming
from the water sensor we left near the back door based on some past basement Ad-veeeeen-tures
of the non jazz hands variety.
Much like a scene from The Blob water was flowing under the
door at a terrifying rate. Anabelle
couldn’t hear me over the air conditioner, leaving me to run upstairs to grab
shoes before opening the door to see what was happening.
Side note: Pretty much the only time we open that door
is to check a source of water or some other issue. I’m wondering if sealing it up would remove
the need to open it along with the ability.
Following a bit of sogginess
and swearing, I somehow simultaneously got the wet vac going inside while
finding the giant wad of oak tassels that washed through a downspout and blocked
a drain pipe outside.
We had a pump to use if
the defunct coal bin filled up, but I couldn’t find it in the workshop. Between
the other tasks I kept looking for it and finally got it hooked up.
The combination of
opening the drain and getting the pump going lowered the water level
outside. I used the vacuum to try to
clean out the drain pipe some more. This
is something I normally did once in a while, but weird weather spaced out the
whiles a bit too far.
Anabelle was a great
help ferrying supplies up and down the stairs and manning the phones. I was talking to my brother-in-law, Dave, and
telling him it seemed to be in control when three things happened.
1) The rain picked up to
biblical deluge levels again.
2) The levels of dirt
down in the drain area clogged my pump.
3) In trying to vacuum
the drain pipe I was blocking it.
Water immediately filled
up to the door level again, and I changed my “in control” statement to a yell
for help.
Dave came over with the
snake he had already, and then went back out to buy the longer one he’d been
meaning to anyway…since he’s a guy.
Anabelle got some well
needed stress relief by watching my four year old nephew and her zoo buddy Morgan
for a while.
She provided me some
well needed stress relief by leaving me a paper towel with:
an enouraging "I love you" note written on it where I would see it when I came in.
Parenthood is its own
reward many days.
The snakes found no impedance
in the line, proving pretty clearly that the only thing blocking the drain for
the second rise was me. We poured some
water in as a test, and it shot down the tube, no problem.
Dave also helped me
clean out the pump. (Thanx Dave!)
I think my Sister and Mom
passed through at some point as well, but the afternoon is a little blurry.
I used the wet vac to
clean eight hundred yards around the drain and put the pump back in place. After spending an inordinate amount of time
cleaning out the vacuum, I cleaned my equally filthy self.
Massive destressing was
needed, which is why Anabelle and I shared both Mel Brooks’ High Anxiety and a return to making tacos together.
She enjoyed the film
without having any knowledge of Hitchcock, meaning she’ll join me in being
someone who laughs at the master of suspense when the originals are viewed.
She also knows why I
hand her a newspaper in such a strange fashion,
and the origin of, “I got it, I got it…I ain’t got it.”
and the origin of, “I got it, I got it…I ain’t got it.”
We snuggled a while during
the rainy night…not counting the myriad trips I took downstairs to peek out the
offending door with a flashlight.
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