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Frozen Pipes and Puddles

I just finished a lovely hot shower and brushed my teeth. Usually I don’t share such mundane accomplishments, however, when the outside temp has dropped into the upper teens and has remained there for several days, and you live in a place where ice is routinely found only in beverage glasses and not in your water pipes or in puddles in your driveways—well, then flushing the toilet and washing your hands becomes almost ceremonial.

The plumber –the father of my youngest son’s high school classmate who had spent a lot of time in my house eating pizza and watching movies—came almost immediately when I called. A pipe in the garage apartment had frozen and broken, thawed and was gushing a small waterfall inside the garage. He waded through the foot deep puddle and turned it off; and then since we still had another night of low temperatures, he assigned his helper to walk through my house and drain my pipes.

My dirty laundry is still sitting in a basket next to my lovely new washing machine. We’ve run the water through most of the other faucets in the house, but unless I want to experiment with rust dyeing my underwear, I’ll have to wash some utility rags. Perhaps I could stick a couple yards of plain fabric in there—just to see what will happen!

Hmmm—think I’ll do just that.

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