A DASH OF REALITY . . . (Patricia Potter)

I was floating on my return from California. I had a great time with great friends, and I really didn’t want to come back to reality and deadlines.

But the former smacked me in the face just days after my return when a hot water heater misbehaved and flooded half the house. Unfortunately it’s in an upstairs attic, and the water gathered between the floors before rushing through leaks to the carpet and soaking two rooms and a hallway. Since I was upstairs, I didn’t see the waterfall until too late.

When I went downstairs and my bare feet encountered soaked carpets. Water dripped from the ceiling.

I hate hot water heaters. They obviously hate me as well. This is my third hot water heater catastrophe in ten years. I want to go back to heating water over the stove.

Confession here. I would not make a good heroine. When I see waterfalls in my house, I tend to panic, especially when it’s pouring down on my precious boxes of copies of my early books. I ran for pots to put under said waterfalls, then turned off the hot water heater. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for a hot water heater to pour water throughout a two-story house.

I finally found the turn-off valve, but not before the infernal contraption did major damage. Next step was the plumber (despite my threats, I really wasn’t ready to heat water on my stove). Then the insurance company. They said I should call a “damage mitigation company” and they could recommend several companies. Of course, the cost might or might not be covered by said company, but if I didn’t, then most definitely the repairs wouldn’t be covered.

So I called their “damage mitigator.” At nine p.m., two people appeared at my door, oohed and ahhhed about the damage, then tore down the ceiling in two rooms, pulled up the carpet and left huge (and noisy) fans situated both upstairs and downstairs with orders not to turn them off for three days.

Then, an insurance adjuster appeared with his notebook. By then, I was shell-shocked and agreed to everything. Two days later the fans were removed, and a construction company appeared to repair the damage. Unfortunately the most damaged room includes three huge ceiling-to- floor bookcases. The books in the cases were not damaged (buckets under leaks helped) but I had to remove all the volumes so the bookcases could be moved before the ceiling was repaired. My bedroom is now an obstacle course. Piles and piles of books are in every nook and cranny.

Three days of pounding continued as I stumbled over piles of books, light fixtures and paintings. My three dogs, locked in my office for seven days now, tried really hard to be good, but they were obviously unhappy that strangers had the run of the house, and they didn’t. I had to sneak in and out for fear they would escape and, in their exuberance and unbridled love for any human, knock over someone on a ladder. A million dollar lawsuit would be the obvious result.

The construction people finished Friday. I had a new ceiling but unfortunately the workmen forgot to put up the light fixtures and, because of over anxious dogs and a telephone conversation, I didn’t check everything before they left. Another call. Another appointment.

Today – Saturday – the carpet people are due to arrive. More moving of boxes and piles of books. (I really do have to cull some of those books, but such a notion is contrary to everything in my packrat nature).

I will survive. My damage didn’t come close to Maggie’s, of course, and I’m in total awe that she’s been able to function and write during upheaval. I’m a creature of habit. Disrupt my habitat, and I’m in real trouble.

It didn’t help during this time that Yahoo suddenly decided to bounce all my email, or that my page proofs arrived from the publisher for in-depth reading or that my phone suddenly stopped working (I have a cable phone, and developer cut the lines several blocks away.

I wanna go back to California.