Here it is the last weekend before Christmas and how did this dysfunctional family spend it ? Let me begin.
Harken back to Friday night when we are trying to determine why there is a puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor. Spilled drink ? Wet boots ? Spiteful cat ? I wish. No, the water was actually dripping through the light fixture on our kitchen ceiling. It had been raining all day, and now it would appear we had a leak in our roof. Probably those bastard raccoons trying to gain access again.
Saturday dawns bright, early and icy. Freezing rain overnight had put paid to any attempt on the part of my husband to head up to the roof and check on the cause of our leak. Anyone who follows this blog knows if it wasn't for bad luck, we'd have no luck at all, so Rob scrambling over an icy roof was just another accident waiting to happen.
However before we can think about this, Rob tells me to hasten and check out the back yard with him. It turned out we had a - live - possum playing dead, in our lilac tree. So at 7:30 I am in the back garden, in my nightgown and winter boots - a fetching image - checking out a possum glaring balefully at me from behind a tree trunk. Ready to share the misery I insist that my children are woken so they to can share in this exciting discovery. Do you detect a hint of sarcasm ? I certainly hope so. I have to feel sorry for the possum, he picked the wrong house for a nap. He was probably out here cursing his wretched luck.
By the afternoon, the leak in the kitchen which had previously ceased had started anew, and Rob, despite my entreaties to the contrary explored the roof, without any luck, so we position a bucket and hope for the best. I am the last one to bed that night, having stayed up to put on one last load of laundry. You can imagine my horror when I hear a strangled squealing sound coming from the washing machine. Are you kidding me ? This would not be the first time that particular appliance had crapped out on me right before Christmas. I don't have too long to dwell on this however, because the next moment the washing machine comes to a sudden stop as the power goes out. As I read this blog to my husband before posting, he jumped to the wrong conclusion. As I got to the part about the "strangled squealing sound" he immediately thought of the guinea pig.
It is pitch black in the basement, and in my effort to make it to the stairs I was like a human pinball, bouncing off one thing after another - the coffee table - ouch - followed by the the Christmas Tree - oh fuck - as the decorations fall off and roll away. I eventually make it to the bedroom, where I know my husband has a stash of flashlights in preparation for Armageddon. One after another I fumble for the lights, and one after another they refuse to turn on. Has he even heard of batteries ? I cannot see a bloody thing, so I dare not place any of them down in case they crashed to the floor. Finally I find one with a weak glow and use it to light the rest of my way. I am not happy.
We wake up the next morning to find we still didn't have power. This was a result of a huge ice storm that had swept through southern Ontario during the night. The temperature in the house wasn't too bad as Rob had got up at 4:00 AM to light a fire. I wasn't actually going to mention that because it has little bearing on the rest of my blog, but Rob was quite insistent. I think he was trying to make up for his slew of useless flashlights.
We were very lucky. Several neighbours had downed trees and damaged vehicles. Our silver birch with two trunks had bowed until each was touching the ground, and there it has stayed all day. Not broken, bit only time will tell if it will recover. I didn't mind too much about the power until it dawned on me there was no coffee. Then I was pissed. Rob had the brilliant (and for once I mean that sincerely) idea to brew coffee on the BBQ. It actually turned out quite well. My husband, the hero.
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