You Will Be Tested, and Then You Will Be Tested Some More

We live in a house with a lot of character. And by character, I mean that after we purchased it 12 years ago, some of our favorite movies to watch were Money Pit, and We Bought a Zoo. They made us feel a little bit better about the snow coming through gaps in the door, the winter days when the house wouldn’t reach above 62, and the signs from migrating bats, who, at one point, we thought were colonizing within our walls. 

After a year-long remodel and a several-year overhaul of much of our landscaping, we put the home improvements on pause. We got to know our house through the lessons of each season; its flaws became familiar endearments, and we grew to expect cold rooms in the winter, and invasions of miller moths and bats in the summer.

With the much-needed blessing of visiting family and friends following Clinton's passing, our house’s sewer lines were taxed. With so many people in and out, something, somewhere, got stuck in the ancient pipes that snake their way unconventionally throughout our home. 

I had returned to teaching by the time our sewer lines decided to protest, and I got a call in the middle of class from Clinton’s mom and stepdad, who were staying with us at the time. “Uh, Karen,” the tone was ominous and a little grossed out–as it should have been, considering the topic we were about to discuss, “There seems to be an explosion of some sort, maybe a backup in one of your sewer lines.” A pause, and then they continued, “Yeah, Karen, this will need to be addressed as soon as possible.” Their urgency was polite, but I understood exactly what they meant.

Later, I learned that homes with a septic tank should never have an InSinkErator in the kitchen. I also learned that with our particular house, the sewage lines needed to be checked and probably cleared at least every two years.

Fast forward to the start of summer when a dear friend came to visit for a few days. We never get more rain than we can handle in Colorado, except of course, for my friend’s very memorable visit. Rain came down heavily and for longer than we dry-state residents are used to. The clouds that hovered over us had something to prove, and it wasn’t long before we heard the rushing of water from somewhere in the house. 

We were sitting at the dining room table, enjoying a home-cooked Sunday night dinner, when my girlfriend and I made eye contact. “Do you hear that?” I asked, and she nodded. We followed the sound to the room in the basement where the sump pump should have been working. “Help!” I yelled as soon as the door was open, and we were confronted with rushing water that came through the drainage pipe like it was supposed to, but the pipe wasn’t inserted into the pump. My friend was quick on her feet and ran over to redirect the pipe into the hole in the floor. But that wasn’t good enough. Water was also coming down the concrete walls of two of the rooms in the basement. It didn’t just drip down the concrete, making melted wax-like

patterns on the walls; rain covered each wall thoroughly, and then married the rain that was coming through the walls so that the floors started to get saturated. Keeping up with the ongoing storm was an impossible task unless we stood outside with lightning flashing in every direction and tried to bail water from the knee-deep pools that were forming around the east side of the house. The family abandoned our Sunday night dinner, and we gathered every towel in the house that we could find. 

Later, I learned about the importance of french drains, and discharge pipes, and that the entire bed of river rock that surrounded that side of our home had to be moved and only replaced after piles of dirt had been shoveled in and piled at an angle to absorb and then direct water away from the house, under the driveway, and into the grass on the other side. 

Fast forward to a cold and weary winter’s day. The chickens were huddled in their coop, and the family was huddled in the living room. The thermostat was working overtime at getting our house above 60–until it wasn’t working at all. The kids and I fed the pellet stove and gathered around its paltry, blowing warmth. We wore jackets and gloves, and we collected the heaviest blankets in the house. 

In the morning, I learned that air bubbles can form in a geothermal system and that they need to be flushed out to maintain the correct pressure. Also: change your air filters every three to four months; it makes a difference, trust me. 

Other things I have learned since owning our house alone: that when nothing bad has happened in your house since it was purchased 10 years prior, it will certainly happen after you have suffered a catastrophic event. Garage doors will break, smoke detectors will start to sound even when you’ve just replaced the battery, hot water heaters will reach the end of their life span, every single lightbulb in the house will decide to go out at once, and worn-out window seals will welcome rain and snow like a hospitable host.

You will be tested over and over again, and then you will be tested some more. But what I have learned each time I am forced to sort out life’s inconveniences and messiness is that you will make it through. You will make it through, because you already know that nothing will ever be as hard as losing that person in your life. And somehow, somewhere along the way, you will become more and more empowered by each situation that you have handled--gracefully or not.