We are enjoying a rain event here in our charming little historic city, several days of, at times really intense drops from the sky. Don’t mind it much – reduces the workout of bucketfuls I must carry up the hill in the garden, and really highlights the earthy colours of the stones in the cobbled street in front of our house. Today looks like nonstop all day, so I’ll work on indoors stuff.
Unfortunately, besides a honey-do list, inside work today includes carrying water damaged goods fifty meters down the shiny earth-coloured stone cobbled alley to the disposal dumpsters, as the basement water “system” seems to have failed us. Not a totally bad deal, as the basement has accumulated stuff that has needed to be dealt with for more than a year, so the slight floor water coverage has prioritized my attention toward basement items organization and disposition. I don’t mind it much, when Jack Daniels blesses my coffee.
Our motto with restoration of this cute little 450-yr-old home has been to do it right. This is the last place we plan to call home, so let’s do the right thing for the long term. We’ve had much work done on our precious home by a well-regarded local contractor, because I was not ready for do-it-myself sans vehicle in this foreign stone/mortar construction environment, to correct previous unimaginable bullshit (like a second-floor toilet drain line that ran down a wall then out to nothing! somewhere under the street), and so that work is done once and done right, tho at a higher cost compared to other local contractors. We picked the best contractor, willing to pay the price.
This morning’s discovery of basement floor water triggered a call to our favorite contractor, who invited us to just free-up the float thingy on the sump pump, just like in a toilet tank to flush – it’s probably stuck from non-use, so is not moving to turn on the pump to purge the water. Yah, months ago, we paid for digging of a sump thru rock, and install of a pump which would, for eternity, exterminate the occurrence of basement floor water.
OK, remove the stuck, never-opened tight-fitting basement floor sump cover to reveal one meter’s depth of water. Reach my full arm length around in the water to free up the float, but don’t feel it. OK, with help of my sweetie, we bail the bastard pit to within a couple centimeters of empty, only to discover there is no pump in the pit. So my sweetie calls back our favourite contractor foreman, to share our discovery.
His response – “well you did move to the Czech Republic after all, didn’t you”….. And he cited a fairytale, in which village folks seeked something elusive – ‘hey, did you see it?…….no, did you?…..’