A Roaring Week

Silence.

It was eerie, like one of those post-apocalyptic movies where the survivors of a tornado, plane crash, nuclear war, or alien invasion, step gingerly out their door into a rubble-filled landscape, uncertain where to place a tentative footstep, looking pensively in both directions, afraid to move for fear of upsetting some delicate balance and unleashing the mighty storm once again.

Only it was taking place in my kitchen, where I was getting ready to make pancakes for my wife Jennie’s sixty-fifth birthday.

I walked around the kitchen like it was unfamiliar territory. The plates in the dish drainer were bone dry and still warm to the touch. I reached for the television remote and prepared to turn it on for the first time in a week, then paused.

Naw. Why disturb the quiet?

Let me back up just a bit. It all started around two weeks earlier, when we’d come back from a great vacation to discover that the dishwasher started dripping under the flooring of the kitchen and down into the basement, where it soaked the closets where we kept the wood as well as a portion of the carpet.

I got out buckets to catch the drips downstairs while my wife Jennie got out our dehumidifier, and then she started the carpet vac up, to draw dry it out. We found a plumber who took pity on us and came on short order – miracle of miracles, everyone is backed up for weeks – then hosted friends from Los Angeles that weekend amid the mess and arranged for a restoration company to come take stock of the damage and do their magic.

Monday morning, we dropped our friends off at the airport, then that afternoon two wonderful women came from the restoration company, set out industrial strength dehumidifiers, and got to work.

Good news – no mold. The downstairs wasn’t so bad. A couple days and it was deemed dry.

The kitchen, however, was sealed off with heavy plastic wrap, five industrial strength dehumidifiers were set in place, and a great roar commenced. They were packed so close together it was difficult to step between them to go between fridge and stove and pantry. At one point I tried to do some dishes and ended up so washed out I had to sit down for an hour. We gave up cooking altogether, and started eating out, which is fun for a treat but not satisfactory for a way of life.

The noise was deafening. The two women would return, check the readings, and tell us there was still moisture. We told them not to rush. Who needs water damage?

Then came the blessed morning they took away all but two of the dehumidifiers. There was a little more room. It was only half as noisy. I could sort of cook. I made something easy, chili dogs.

It felt like a feast.

Finally, those nice folks took away all the machines. The flooring upstairs and some carpet downstairs had been ripped away, but it was hard to care about that anymore. It may be March or later before we get the new stuff installed, thanks to the Supply Chain problems. What mattered was I could move around the kitchen and make pancakes. And coffee for me.

In silence. Sheer silence.

Except for the loud racket made by the knife as I sliced a couple squares of butter to plop on the pancakes. Then there was the waterfall’s roar as I poured the fresh local maple syrup. Ahhh….

Oh, and Happy Medicare Birthday, Jennie.