Sometimes the best stories come after the towels are dry, the sun is shining, and the universe grants us another thirty seconds of balance.
For the past couple of weeks, Kate and I have been learning more about water than we ever wanted to know.
Edmonton has had rainstorms that have left thousands of homeowners staring at flooded basements, soggy carpets, and insurance adjusters who suddenly became the most popular people in town. Compared with many, we got off lightly. We had seepage rather than disaster. Still, when you’re wringing out wet towels at three in the morning, “lightly” doesn’t seem like the right word.
The strange thing is that my aching fingers—something that has bothered me for years—completely stopped hurting after I spent fifteen seconds twisting those soaking wet towels. I don’t know whether I discovered a new medical treatment or merely frightened my arthritis into surrender, but the pain vanished.
Then the universe decided to become funny.
One fellow looked at our house and suggested the obvious solution. Jack the whole thing into the air, dig a brand-new basement underneath it, and gently lower the house back down. I briefly wondered whether he’d also recommend replacing the Pacific Ocean while we were at it.
Before I could recover from that engineering marvel, our taxi driver looked at the house and casually announced he’d pay us $700,000 for it.
I wrote down his name.
The next surprise arrived from across the street. A developer is already replacing one modest house with four homes, each complete with a rental suite. He wandered over, looked at our corner lot, and said he’d make us a cash offer that very day. He’d put down $100,000 immediately, let Kate and me live here for another year, and then transform our little piece of Edmonton into a miniature neighborhood.
It’s remarkable how quickly a damp basement can become prime real estate.
The funny part is that only a few days earlier I was wandering around barefoot in the basement, using my feet as moisture detectors because they’re cheaper than electronic sensors and don’t need batteries.
Now people are trying to buy the place.
Meanwhile, we’ve repaired the roof, redirected the gutters, extended the downspouts another ten feet downhill, built little tents over the window wells, and become amateur hydrologists. Every improvement has reduced the amount of water trying to sneak into the basement.
Today the sun is shining.
The towels are dry.
My fingers don’t hurt.
For the next thirty seconds, the universe appears to be in perfect balance.
I’ll take it.
