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.