writing deadlines and water leaksWriting deadlines and water leaks should not go together. However, lightning has struck twice. In 2007, nearing the deadline for submitting my manuscript for La Grange, Images of America, I entered my office only to find water covering the floor. A pipe underneath the sink had exploded, spewing water everywhere. The cleanup was massive, my anxiety rising as I used the wet-dry vac to suck up the water. Then, laying out soaked photos, I practically went to pieces. Thankfully, document made it in on time; the crazy day faded from my memory.

Déjà vu! Another writing deadline (June 1)—and a new water leak. I kid you not. Friday, I walked into the great room, only to see a puddle of water by the pantry. We have had cases of soft drinks, specifically sugar free Dr. Pepper, stacked on the pantry floor because my husband is hoarding them; they have been in short supply since the pandemic. The cans have burst before.

I began unloading the sodas, finding the ones on the bottom soaked. Lifting a case sent the cans tumbling out, crashing on the floor. (I hate to admit it, but I lost my temper, screamed a curse word, and hurled the shredded cardboard container into outer space.) After clearing everything and sopping up the water, more water appeared; the cans had not leaked.

Stumped, I looked under the pier and beam house but could see no water spewing and the pantry was not near any of the pipes. Shoving through the tall grass (Yes, the lawn needs mowing badly), I hung out at the water meter but did not notice it turning over, the best way to detect a system leak.

Neither my husband nor I could imagine where the water was coming from. We had ten inches of rain last week. Water from a leaking roof? My husband nixed that idea. Returning to the house several hours later, I found the towel soaked again. Finally, my husband suggested looking at the fridge. Now, I had not thought to do this because it is on the other side of the kitchen, about twelve feet from the pantry. And, sure enough, I saw a drip, drip, drip from the icemaker.

The water had run against the wall behind the fridge, then made a 90-degree turn, flowing under the stove and to the pantry where it saw the light of day.

We bought a new refrigerator almost two weeks ago and apparently the icemaker hookup was not secure. Mind you, it made ice, so we did not realize there was a problem. Turning off the water to the house gave us some breathing room.

Friday, the day before the Memorial Day weekend. Eleven in the morning. Yikes! I may have been able to do self -repairs but I did not have the strength to pull the refrigerator out. Additionally, it is between the cabinet and a heavy piece of furniture.

My husband called the plumber, using a poor, pitiful plea. “I’m handicapped and my wife can’t do it.” It worked! Normally in Fayette County, you must wait weeks before anyone comes. Low and behold, the owner appeared. Turns out the whole ice water connection needed repair; the shut off valve had malfunctioned. Now, we are dry, and the ice is flowing. Thank goodness. I need it for my Manhattans.

But, dang it, I am still stressed. The cleaned-up manuscript for Tough Trail Home, to be published by Black Rose Writing in March 2024 is June 1. Lord willing and the pipes don’t burst, I’ll finish on time.

P.S. The mice are back….

P.S.S. I am sure you are wondering when I found time to write this blog. I completed it as we were driving to visit a friend in hospice, a trip we could not postpone.


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