Sitting down to tackle the last two chapters, I heard an odd noise coming from our basement. It sounded like someone was running a garden hose. A large garden hose. Our sump pump had failed and water was pouring in the basement door. I slid on some rubber clogs, hiked up my pants and ended up in calf-deep bone-chilling water trying to fix it. First I had to haul it out of the sump. I cleared the slimy leaves caught in the filter. Nothing. I could no longer feel my feet. I jiggled the electrical connection. I lifted the flapper up and down. Too vigorously. The rubber of the flapper split off from where it connected to the pump.
I bailed a couple hundred gallons of water, then jumped in the car with the heavy and rusted sump pump. Made it down to Home Depot and back in 45 minutes. Standing in now knee-deep water, I slid parts together, cursing at the million damn twist ties, then lowered the pump. Nothing. Nothing!
Frustrations at a boiling point, feet in danger of frostbite, I followed the black electrical cord as it wound around our basement. And discovered it must have been unplugged by my husband when he cleaned the basement on Sunday. (He claims to have no memory of this.)
Oh well. I guess we needed a new sump pump anyway. Since I broke it trying to fix it....