Buckets of rain

Buckets of rain,

Buckets of tears,

Got all these buckets

Comin' out of my ears, 
Buckets of moonbeans in my hand...

Bob Dylan, lyrics

The update this morning is neither good nor bad.  It required considerably more digging in the pouring rain, but my intrepid plumber friend Max said he "thinks" they found the junction of the main line and kitchen line.   It might not be under the sidewalk after all, but he also said it isn't in a "good place."  Whatever that means.   

Max, by the way, is an academic specializing in German history when he's not being a plumber, so we have lots of interesting things to chat about.  Hey, this is Seattle.  Why wouldn't a plumber have an advanced liberal arts degree?

Since our house is perched on a great heap of sandy dirt, the 4 inches of rain drained miraculously away and the holes haven't filled with water.  If you want to read something scary, Google "earthquakes and soil liquefaction."

Anyway, this morning Max is going to try and run his diagnostic camera through the kitchen sewer line, via the laundry room, via the drain that is behind the washing machine.  Nothing is easy around here.  If we have to replace that line too, which seems likely, that means yet another hole.  By this point I am numb to holes.  Bring it on. 

I kind of like having an 8 foot hole outside our bedroom window.  It makes me feel safe, like a moat. How satisfying that would be to call the police to come and fish out a burglar with a broken leg.
Maybe this project is warping my mind.