water

Ramona the Spider-Slayer (in training)

Ramona loves food more than anything in the world.
It does more than keep her alive. It keeps her happy. It fulfills her. Every morning, she sits outside the kitchen window and watches me mournfully as I get my breakfast & lunch ready… it’s like she is trying to telepathically send me a message: “feedmefeedmefeedme.”

And when you take food to her, she jumps, and spins, and tries to hug you to convey just how happy she is that you are bringing her food. Then she runs into her doghouse, spins in a circle, comes back out and sits by her bowl, tongue hanging out, anxiously awaiting the moment when you pour the food into her bowl so that she can commence The Eating.

Usually, feeding her is Jonathan’s job. Partly because she respects him enough to not give him full-on bear hugs when she sees the cup of food in his hand. Partly because when she does give me bear hugs, she is big enough to knock me over and at this point, I’d never be able to get up. And partly because the only thing she might love almost as much as food is Jonathan, and I’d hate to deprive her of a visit from “her” man.

The other morning, though, her man had to leave for an early meeting, and he left the duty of feeding her to me… as long as the yard wasn’t flooded. It had rained the other night, and our yard has no drainage at all. As in none. When it rains, it turns into a swamp. Ramona doesn’t care… she’ll still prance right through it, spraying mud and rainwater all over you as she tells you just how happy she is that you’re bringing her food. But once I am dressed and ready for work, the last thing I feel like encountering is a Puppy of Unusual Size dancing through her own personal fire swamp (minus the fire) to celebrate the Food.

Luckily (or unluckily), the yard wasn’t too flooded on this morning. A little damp, but nothing me, my rolled up dress pants and Jonathan’s shoes couldn’t handle. I measured out her food, opened the gate, and was met with a giant pink tongue and the happiest puppy-smile ever. I could almost hear her saying “I love you! I love you! It’s breakfast time! I love you!”

I had to dump mud and leaves out of both of her bowls, and I knew a rinsing was necessary before I poured food into either one of them. I carried one over to the water spigot to do it, when I saw it.
(insert scary monster music here)
A green (yes, green), hairy (yes, hairy), spider the size of my head my fingernail. On the spigot. Right on top. Where my hand needed to go to turn on the water.

I turned to tell Ramona that I was sorry… mud-flavored food might be good after all, and who needs fresh water? But she was standing there with such anticipation in her eyes, being so good and not bear-hugging me… I knew I owed her mud-free food and water. So I used the only weapon I had around to slay the beast: I beat it to death with her water bowl.

The metal water bowl on the metal spigot was loud enough to give the spider a heart attack, even if I missed… which I did, the first 3 or 18 times. The little monster ran, climbed, dodged and ducked all over the water faucet as I banged the bowl down around him. Ramona spun in circles, barking her encouragement (or distress; those two barks sound so similar). Finally, it held still long enough for me to aim, pull back, and SMACK. He still didn’t fall, though; he just hung there from his little thread, dangling underneath the faucet, very still. Hoping he was defeated and not just playing dead so that I would put my hand near him, I rinsed out the dog bowl as fast as humanly possible. As Ramona planted her two front feet on either side of it and devoured her food, I rinsed and filled her other bowl (also as fast as humanly possible), and got far away from the (hopefully) dead spider.

“Ramona,” I said, “if you want to eat when Jonathan is gone, you’re going to have to learn to take care of these spiders yourself.”

She ignored me. She was eating.

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How Not to Use a Blowout (or: if You Don’t Have Opposable Thumbs, You Can’t Help)

Have I mentioned that we have plumbing drama in our home?
We do. There are gremlins in our pipes. And you know, since you aren’t supposed to get gremlins wet, it never turns out well.

It really started when we bought the house and began the renovation process, but I didn’t pay much attention to all of that. I heard words like “pex” and “diameter” and decided to tune it out and let my Jedi Master husband and uncle worry about all that. I was busy perusing paint swatches, after all.

All I know is that from the beginning we have had pretty much the worst water pressure that mankind has ever seen in our laundry sink… and that the water you CAN squeeze out of it is yellow. The same rules apply to the toilet in that room. Fortunately, the whole washer setup is new, so that water is good to go.

The toilet randomly decides to purge itself of water… all the water. The bowl, the tank, and any residual water lingering in nearby pipes all get emptied onto the floor. And by emptied I mean “poured out with a dramatic whoosh.” And by onto the floor, of course, I mean “under the chest freezer, washer, dryer, and anything else that is touching the ground at that moment.”

Our kitchen sink also has a gremlin. It likes to stop things up so that NOTHING drains. Occasionally, after washing dishes, if you let the water sit for a good hour or so it would slowly drain… but if the dishwasher was running, forget it. And if you had to use the garbage disposal, everything that went down the disposal would reappear in the other sink bowl… just more chopped up and gross looking.

This happened several times, and several times we used various un-clogging techniques to fix it. But then, the Ultimate Gremlin lodged itself in those pipes, and nothing was working… except, maybe, a blowout.

We had done a blowout once before, but with my dad’s help. This time, he was busy and unable to find his blowout, so we were on our own. Jonathan went to the hardware store and bought one while I was at work, only to bring it home and determine that no, there was no way for one person to do it alone. And since Ramona didn’t have opposable thumbs, it was game over until I got home from work.

For those of you who know exactly as much about plumbing as I do, a blowout is a heavy duty black balloon that you screw onto the end of a water hose. You detach the pipe to your kitchen sink, put the blowout up in there, and turn on the water. The balloon slowly fills up, until it is very full and has lots of pressure built up, and then releases. The sudden, strong surge of water is supposed to dislodge any gremlins and/or clogs that are making themselves comfortable in your pipes.

I arrived home that day to find a water hose stretched through my house and into the kitchen. There were towels and buckets strewn around. All the pipes were disconnected from my sink. Jonathan was ready.

My job was simple: turn on the water hose when he yelled “go,” and turn it off when he yelled “stop.” We put Ramona in her kennel because she was offering way too much moral support, and assumed our positions.

“GO!” Jonathan yelled. I turned the water hose on as high as it would go. Then I waited. And waited. And waited.
“Is it working?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he yelled back. “It’s not making the right noises.”
Ramona paced, upset that we weren’t letting her help.

After a couple of minutes, I was about to suggest that we turn off the water and see if anything had changed… when Jonathan started screaming from the kitchen.
“STOP! STOP! STOP THE WATER! STOP IT NOW!”
I ran to the faucet and turned it. And turned it. The problem with those water spigots is that you have to turn about 15 times to get it on all the way, and then 15 times to turn it off. I spun as fast as I could.

“THERE IS WATER COMING FROM THE ROOF!” Jonathan yelled as I spun. Well, that was crazytalk, so I kind of ignored it. Finally, the water turned off. But the yelling continued. “WE NEED MORE TOWELS! RUN! TOWELS! NOW!” I ran past the kitchen – and the water cascading from underneath the sink – and snatched up an armload of the largest, most absorbant towels I could find. I dove into the kitchen and started mopping like my life depended on it. Jonathan was furiously mopping alongside me, and Ramona was still letting us know she wanted to help!

Once we got the cabinets and floor relatively dry, and a fan blowing on all of it, we went outside to investigate. Jonathan insisted that water had been coming out of our roof. I knew this was impossible, and that he was hallucinating. I was about to offer to check him for a fever when he decided to call upon the All Knowing Uncle John.

The All Knowing Uncle John (previously referred to as Jedi Master Uncle) revealed to us something fascinating about plumbing and vents in the roof and pipes and blah blah zzzzzzzz……

The point he made was that there is a vent in the roof, and yes, if your pipes are clogged badly enough, water WILL be forced up and out of that vent. WHAT. When I turned the spigot off, all of the water that was headed up suddenly came down (way to go Isaac Newton), flooding our kitchen and causing Jonathan to have a heart attack. The only way to fix it was to have a third human (I specify human because Ramona was STILL offering to help) on top of the roof to plug the vent with a towel.

So, two days later, we talked my youngest brother into coming over and helping us. It was a Sunday and since he hadn’t made it home yet, he climbed up on our roof in his nice black pants, fancy shirt and shiny black shoes to do the dirty work. What a pal.

This time, the blowout worked. Water whooshed through the pipes like it was supposed to. Our house did not flood upside down. And after 30 minutes of putting the puzzle that is plumbing back together under my sink, all was well with the world… or at least with my garbage disposal.

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