God rest ye, merry gentlemen

Another day of hard labor outside, with final work on the lines and the 7-foot holes filled back in.  Oh my, not everyone goes to work and sits at a computer all day.  There are still some back-breaking jobs in this world.  How would we get by without young men?

Harold is working alone, which seems like a mind-boggling amount of work for one person with a shovel.  But not a word of complaint. At least he gets a break on the weather. We're right between storms, although I can already see the clouds forming out to the west bringing the next drenching tomorrow.


This is what 110-year old Seattle sewer line looks like.
Maybe I'll make a souvenir flower pot?

So what falls apart comes together again.  The yard is looking a bit trampled and bedraggled, but Nature will soon perk things right up again.  The checkbook will take a little longer.

Mamma Mia

I can't remember enduring such a string of violent winter storms.  Yesterday morning in the shower, the sudden noise from hail and wind was so loud I jumped out in a panic.  I thought the municipal sewer was pouring into the house!

Well, when your yard is full of craters and exposed sewer connections, it tends to make a person edgy.

All we can do is trust these competent young men. They seem unfazed by the weather or the job, despite some rather harrowing archaeological discoveries under there.  Not First People bones, fortunately. I mean sorting through a maze of old drains, lines, layers of pipes and jerry-rigged repairs.

Yesterday, they told us our kitchen sink, dishwasher and washing machine water has been running right into the ground for a "long time." The clay pipe was broken.  Thank goodness for that sandy soil.

It hardly seems possible, but the second line was in even worse condition than the main line.  I'll spare you a picture of the giant fourth hole outside the kitchen window. Suffice to say, this sunny little cartoon does not represent trench-less sewer replacement on a miserably wet week in Seattle.

What happens next with the giant, chaotic mess out there? Apparently they're almost ready for the City of Seattle inspection today.

When the guys left yesterday afternoon, they knocked on the door to say our yard was currently the most dangerous they had ever seen.  Another dubious distinction! Because of the collapsing sides disguised with hanging sod, just approaching the pits could cause a person to tumble down.

I said I hoped to catch a burglar for the police and become famous on the West Seattle Blog.  They were more worried about inquisitive neighbors (we have plenty of those) but the weather is on our side, and every sane person is huddled indoors.

If things go as planned, tomorrow the dirt gets shoveled back (by hand) into the holes.  We go on with our lives, and never have to think about the sewer again.  Which would be an amazing accomplishment for just two men in five days.

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. 

Step one

Hole #1 outside the bedroom window

Hole #2 in the yard
(so far, so good)

Hole #3
(not so good)

Oh, the mysteries of living in 100-year old houses.  Projects are like archaeology, uncovering layer after layer of fun surprises.

The next dig found the sewer line. Way down there, of course.  To give you an idea of how deep, that blurry object in the bottom is a wet and muddy standing man.

I'm trying to remember a home project that didn't unleash a Pandora's Box of other unpleasant things. I can't. Things started going south yesterday afternoon when they tried to find the second sewer line leading from the kitchen.

That started a worried discussion about the possibility of the two lines meeting UNDER THE SIDEWALK.  In the sewer line replacement world, I gathered this is bad scenario. We hope it isn't true. More on that later.

Then the rain came. And the wind.  It is an astonishingly miserable week of weather, even by Seattle December standards.

So that explains the look on the face of the Patron Saint of Plumbers...

Let it snow

Bringing home the tree...

Amanda sent these nice pictures.  A winter storm in the Methow Valley brought several feet of welcome snow this weekend.  Isn't this what Christmas should look like?

Maya in the snow

The girls decorating

A living room masterpiece

Lots of white stuff in the back yard

Nova and dad shoveling the front sidewalk

Adelina and Nova waiting for the school bus on a snowy morning

The Sears Christmas Catalog

When we were kids, the arrival of the Sears Christmas "wish book" was a big event. Long before computers and Internet shopping, it was mail order.  The slim, fancy Sears catalog would come in the fall, and by the holiday it was dog-eared and circled up.  Of course for children and parents too, flipping through it wasn't a question of purchasing, but dreaming.

Even in the lean years, our folks always managed to stretch the budget and make Christmas special for the three of us kids.  I even remember mom using a Christmas Club at the bank once. This was a Depression era invention, where you deposited a tiny amount of money each week and the bank wouldn't let you touch it until the end of the year for Christmas shopping.

Once again, I'm showing my age.  But we grew up in the time (unless you were rich or spoiled) when kids only got new toys on Christmas or birthdays.  So it was a big deal.  Santa always brought something to play with, something to read, and something to wear.  And a stocking crammed with little things.

Looking at these old catalog pictures brings back good memories. Oh, I probably drooled over these very dolls from the 1956 catalog.

At Bartells Drugstore yesterday, I watched a little girl throw herself on the floor and have a tantrum because her dad wouldn't buy her the toy she wanted. Just three weeks before Christmas.  Instead of taking her out of the store (or in 1956, spanking her on the spot) he patiently reasoned and coaxed and tried to get her to pick another toy.  As I say, I've lived a long time.

Yesterday our lovely cut Christmas tree was delivered free from the West Seattle Nursery.  (There are some advantages living in the urban village.) It's sitting outside now in a bucket of water in the rain, so it should be plenty hydrated by the time we bring it in. We go to the Symphony on Sunday so I'm looking forward to the weekend.

I hope you have a nice one, too.
See you Monday.