Dirty Drawers Floors

After the strawberry jam incident, you'd think I would have had enough. But I still had several pounds of berries on the counter to process last weekend, so after Ken went to bed on Saturday night, I stayed up and plowed through them.

I washed and hulled them all, dividing them into:

1. Large intact barries - for cutting and drying
2. Medium intact berries - for fresh eating (washed but unhulled)
3. Small intact berries - for freezing in a single layer and then bagging
4. Perfectly ripe, but not for long - for popsicles and sorbet
5. Bruised but fine - for jam

I sat down for most of this, but I was still exhausted by the end. After they were all safely stored in the freezer, fridge or dehydrator, I went to bed. The next morning, I got to work on the processed berries. I made:

1. strawberry rhubarb jam -- 14 pints of it.
2. strawberry popsicles
3. strawberry sorbet
4. Pulled the dried strawberries from the dehydrator for later use
5. Bagged the frozen strawberries for later syrup
6. simple syrup (pressure canned for future lemonade applications)

I finished around 1, sat down and ate brunch. Apparently I still had some energy afterwards because I got back up and made:

7. 10 lbs of gnocchi (froze individual pieces on cookie sheets and then bagged when frozen solid for later boiling)
8. Chocolate chip cookies (froze as pre-formed balls on cookie sheets and bagged for later cookie cravings).

By the time I finished this, it was 5 or so and I was still in my pajamas, exhausted and sticky from gnocchi dough/jam/cookies. I also had a line of flour running across my belly from where it now touches the counter when I work. I had a pile of pots in the sink and was working through them, exhausted. It was at this point when Ken asked if I wanted to have people over. I told him I wanted to get through the dishes first and then we could talk about it. He then asked if he should send a text message out to people, which is when I must have snapped at him because he went to the basement for 20 minutes or so before going out to hide in the garage.

I went on with the dishes, ignoring my lack of patience and social grace due to exhaustion. I had been working for 8 hours and felt somewhat excused. It was at this point of rationalizing that I heard running water downstairs. I yelled to Ken in the garage to see if he'd turned on some water. He said no. I went to the basement to investigate, only to find water rushing onto the basement floor at a record pace.

I yelled to Ken as I ran downstairs to turn off the water main.

Nothing.

Water is still streaming onto the floor, now reaching the drywall I just installed.

Ken passes me and went for the washing machine. Apparently, the water was coming from the output of the washing machine, which had somehow come undone from the wall and was draining onto our basement floor. 60% of our floor was now covered in water, including the area rug, the new moldings I just installed, parts of the gear room and soaking any cardboard boxes that were on the floor, etc.

I am still in my pajamas and slippers, covered in ick, now mopping up dirty, soapy water from our washing machine. I began having flashbacks of the basement hell from a few months ago. Meanwhile, Ken got out the shop vac and we exchanged jobs (since holding a vacuum cleaner hose is easier than manual mopping). It took us 30 minutes, a 30 gallon pot and two additional shop vac empties to rid the floor of water.

Ken saw my look of despair and finished up for me while I finished the remaining dishes in the kitchen (after turning the water main back on). I then took a shower and put on other PJs. I was beat. I think I sat on the couch, barely moving for the rest of the night (about 2 hours) before crashing.

The rug has since dried and the jam is now safely stored in the basement. Yet I still think of the basement, covered in water. It brings panic to my heart. My one bit of solace is thanks to my mom, who talked us out of putting laminate wood floors in the basement. We've had water on the floors twice, so that would have been a disaster for us. The painted concrete has held up very well so far. The drywall seems unharmed and everything seems back to normal. The only cardboard boxes damaged were empty anyway. I try to keep water-resistant things on the ground floor -- apparently for good reason.

I am hoping that the basement saga will end soon. I recently remembered that I forgot to cut holes in the soffits for access to the outside water lines. I remembered when I tried to turn on the hose in the front of the house. Fitting that in order to do so, I had to pull out a drywall saw and cut into the ceiling. I still have another to go, as well as some access panels for vent shut offs. Then it's creating the access panels to cover the holes. Likely to be done next week. Ken installed an ethernet/cable jack in the basement so we can move the office down, but we need help in order to do so because the furniture is too heavy.

Once the furniture's downstairs, then we can work on Katie's room. Now if only the basement would stop causing me headaches.