On Sunday, a huge band of storms moved into the area where
we live. By Monday morning, a huge puddle had formed in our library (sounds
fancy, but it’s just an oddly shaped room where we have a lot of bookcases).
The puddle engulfed a computer.
Thankfully, the computer didn’t short-circuit (and none of
the books were ruined—they were on the other side of the room). So we moved the
furniture. We mopped floors and wiped walls and ceilings. Of course, the storm
kept storming. We put basins, bowls, and towels everywhere.
Cal bought tar and went on the roof. Our roof was entirely
replaced five years ago, but the warranty has expired. Of course. In order to
give you a visual picture I have to describe Cal. He was wearing jeans with cut-off
sweat pants over top to stay warm and a sweatshirt. But it was raining heavily,
but he didn’t want to get his raincoat wet. So we got a contractor’s plastic
bag and cut out head and arm holes. Then he put on a wide brimmed hat—I wish
I’d taken a picture.
So he slapped tar all over the roof seams where one part of
the roof attaches to the house. It’s a “vintage” home, code word for very old,
so the roof does all kinds of weird things. After an hour, he came down. It
seemed to help. Sort of.
On Tuesday, the leaking got worse. Cal bought more roof
repair stuff—being that we own a “vintage” home, he’s on a first name basis
with the Ace Hardware people. So he went and slopped more tar and plastic mesh
on the roof seams. Halfway through, he came into the house. The bad thing was
that Cal was wearing black shoes and didn’t realize that he had tar on his
shoes until he’d tromped all over the house. It was especially evident on the
winter white carpeting (so not my choice of colors). He called me. I took one
look at the floor and said, “Oh, ‘cow poop.’” Okay, “cow poop” isn’t the word I
used.
In case you don’t know, the only thing that gets lumps of
footprinted tar off of carpet is turpentine.
It all seemed worth it when the leaks stopped. In spite of
heavy rain, the roof stopped leaking for four hours. Then, the leaks started
again. And not even lighter. Just as heavy as before, if not heavier.
So it’s time to call a roof repair company. And I’ll begin
to ponder my new project—patching the walls and and ceiling, and then painting.
Sigh.
Ha! I wish you had taken a picture too!
ReplyDeleteHey, Cal is the name of my hero in my new novella. :-)
The saga of your house is never-ending! I'm glad none of your stuff was damaged by the leaks though.
ReplyDeleteI remember when I was little the roof over the living room would leak, so there was a perpetual water stain on the ceiling. I'd lie on the couch and imagine shapes. :P