We fixed the gas leak in the basement. And, sure, the house.
Carbon monoxide is a gas, is it not? Certainly not at a level detectable by my Nest Protect, which did all but.
By “we,” I mean four folks I met over Yelp who know SEO as well as masonry. A parade of men in boots came before them, all offering the same services at absurd prices while telling me I had to fix the spillage problem now, throwing up their hands out the door when I refused paying the price of a premium used car. I waited another week until I remembered the gas leak before calling “Mike.” (Is this because of the gas leak?) Which, yes, it’s been leaking for decades, and might explain why I feel lightheaded when I do the laundry.
A pillar of stainless steel stands where terracotta one slowly crumbled. Birds and squirrels nests six feet deep, Mike told me. Totally blocked. Pulling nests of plastic and dead animals by the forty gallon bagful, stuck in brick for decades. No air escaped. Now, we have a working flue. We’re free to bust open the dining room wall and reopen the fireplace after 90 years, leaden trim and all.
I can settle for no CO for now. No more strange occurrences around the chimney. Gone are the weird yellow stains that appear and puff up white walls. (We thought it was humidity until the sole carbon monoxide warning went off a day ago.) Clean air, or clean enough.
Owning a 128-year-old home for four-plus years means fixing problems of the past. A roof with four layers of decrepit shingles. Closets that change temperature and humidity with the seasons thanks to lack of insulation or proximity to heat exhaust. A fire that happened in either the ’80s or the ’40s. Remnants of an electrical grid once based on tubes.
Lord knows where the next exciting and unexpected fix appears. May it bring just as much patience and knowledge as the last one.
(I kid, of course. It’s the roof, and it’s next week.)