From the dumper to the dumpster © by adrian Part 1 of 2

It's Sunday night and this has been a very long day in our effort to get the dumper at the cottage cleaned out and properly set up. Linda and I have gone from cleaning the composter pit to me on the roof fixing the vent stack. I am (if you will pardon the thought) wiped.

It's eleven p.m., we're in bed and just starting to drift off to sleep. There will be no sex tonight. Even though, as previously stated (in my story on smells and odors I'll be home soon, don't wash), I'm a big fan of odor and things of that nature I must confess I have always regarded the fact that the sex organs are also involved with elimination to be a design flaw. This would definitely not have been my choice if I had been consulted. For those of us who like to forage and rut about in the bedchamber, toilets are not held in particularly high regard. There are body fluids, and then there are body fluids. So for me and fortunately for my companion, a day in the dumper does not exactly fan the flames of lust. Tonight it will just be sleepy byes.

Then the phone rings and our lives begin an uncharted course.

A bit of background: the phone at our house in Toronto had been busy for a day and a half, so we thought perhaps it had been left askew by the last person who checked our house while we were away. We phoned the person who has cleaned our house for many years and asked her to please go by and check the phone and house. We thought she would do that in the early afternoon. Seeing as we hadn't heard back from her yet we just assumed she was going to stop by the next morning instead.

I'm a little foggy as I answer the phone and all I can hear from it is hysterical excitement and yelling. As I focus, I realize it's the person who cleans our house but I can't make any sense out of what she's trying to say. I turn on the bedroom light and as I hand the phone to Linda with a shrug I finally get it. Water... there is water running everywhere in our house. Lisa has come in the front door and like all those funny movies we've seen over the years, water has poured out the door as she opened it. Needless to say she is beside herself and after many unsuccessful tries to phone us from her cell phone, she finally gets the taxi driver who brought her there to dial our number for her.

Linda's soothing voice starts to calm Lisa down and then I'm handed the phone again. I slowly begin a series of questions so I can try to decide what to do next. Lisa continues to excitedly explain to me that water is running everywhere (she must be Catholic, because she immediately wonders aloud if it's because of something she did wrong). Water is pouring down the stairs above her and she is standing in about two inches of water at the doorway. Not surprisingly, she doesn't know what to do and we are seven and a half hours away in Montfort, Quebec.

I learn that some lights are still on in the house, so I determine the electricity has not been compromised so it will be ok to move around without many safety issues. I ask Lisa to go downstairs and I will try to describe where the main shut off for the water is. She gets downstairs and immediately sees the shut off valve. It's not easily accessible but she agrees to go through the water and climb over some boxes to try to shut it off, which she does. Unfortunately nothing much changes and water continues to flow down the stairwell and through the ceiling.

I hear another voice in the background. A neighbor from across the street was sitting on his porch and when he heard the commotion he decided to come over and see if he could help. Lisa hands the phone to him and we simply confirm that he also thinks the water is successfully shut off. I ask him who he is and he mentions that our only contact has been that I always wave to him if I see him out having a cigarette. There is much concern on both their parts about whether they should turn the electricity off. I'm convinced it should stay on because among other things I can't imagine standing in two inches of water and touching the main power supply box, so I finally convince them to leave the electricity alone.

I get Lisa back on the phone and after thanking her and my new found friend from across the street I tell her there's not much more can be done and to carefully lock up and we will let her know when we know what happens next.

I now need to convince Linda that the next step should be me getting in the car and heading to Toronto. She can catch up with me later by train once we know more about the extent of the damage. Even though I've had a long day, I love night driving so I don't think the trip will be that challenging. I'm also not a hero, so if I get too tired I will get a motel room or simply sleep at a gas station along the way.

There are many advantages to night driving, it's easy to see oncoming traffic and there are far fewer cars on the road so you can make great time. The only potential disadvantage to night driving is car breakdown, which is a little scary. I drive a 1991 Subaru wagon. What could possibly go wrong in a seven and a half hour non stop drive with a beat up tired eighteen year old car?

My bride realizes that we just can't ignore this and go back to sleep, so it's agreed that I should mount my horse and begin a charge west. I think the electrical system will need constant checking in a house full of water so I quickly throw together a kit of electrical tools. I get to the car and as the clock strikes twelve (do digital clocks strike?) begin my drive into the unknown.

The first two hours of the trip are daunting indeed as I drive through pea soup fog. Visibility is less than fifty feet in some areas. Not an encouraging start. The fog finally breaks about the same time I start to run out of gas at Cornwall. I drive into Cornwall expecting to find a gas station open but apparently at two a.m. this is a foolish belief. I drive around for about ten minutes and don't see any sign of life, not even a raccoon to chat up about how life is always full of surprises.

I remember there is a huge diesel truck stop at the cutoff of Highway 138 and the 401 so I head over to it. I know they don't have regular gas, but maybe I can convince the attendant to look the other way as I siphon gas out of some car parked there. As I approach his counter he looks at me with the steely glare of someone who has already explained twenty-seven times today they don't sell gas. I beat him to it and tell him I know he doesn't, but I must get to my house before it floats away and I want to know if there's any way we can make a deal? He is amused by a tale he's never heard before and tells me that on the other side of the overpass there is a station that even if closed leaves a pump on that I will be able to fill up from if I have a cash card. He rejects the bodily favours I offer him in return for this valuable information and I aim for the overpass. I fill up the tank and continue on my crusade.

I speed along to my destination but not aggressively so. I stay about twenty or so clicks above the speed limit. I reason that if I'm not being reckless even the most jaded cop would let me off with a warning after he hears my sad tale. I stop to rest and gas up occasionally but I'm not fatigued so I just keep going.

Overall I'm a pretty relaxed individual. I'm certainly capable of the odd Italian operatic outburst (Linda sometimes calls me "Sparky") but she envies that I have the blood pressure of an 18 year old. I never fret or worry about the unknown and seeing as I have no idea what's in store for me my mission barely even crosses my mind.

I slide into the mayhem that begins on highway 401 at Port Hope just about 5:30 a.m. I am astonished to discover the 5:30 morning rush hour is just as horrifying as the 5:30 evening rush hour. The only advantage is that the sun is behind me instead of in my line of vision. I finally pull into our driveway at 6:30. I have turned a seven and a half hour drive into six and a half hours. Take that, Andretti!

I brace myself and swing open the door.

From the dumper to the dumpster © by adrian Part 2 of 2

The house is a disaster. Walls and parts of the ceiling have caved in and broken drywall is lying about on various areas of the floor. There is about two inches of water over all the visible floors. Even though the water was turned off the night before it's still dripping down the stairs and through the ceiling. I quickly go downstairs and reconfirm that the water is indeed turned off. The water that's still dripping is just what has saturated the walls and carpets from a two day onslaught of running water. The phone is still dead and I guess it shorted out from the water, thus precipitating the unscheduled house check.

Thirty minutes later the front doorbell goes. Linda has phoned the next door neighbor and wants to talk to me. She has already arranged for the insurance adjuster to start the recovery process, and at eleven a.m. someone will be here to inspect the damage and determine what needs to be done. I let her know what to expect when she returns home.

I return and slog through water continuing to look for some explanation of what happened. This house has always had a slight shift toward the front so I discover the back areas of the house are untouched. The bedroom and my computer/hobby room which is filled to the brim with electronics and camera equipment on the second floor are completely dry. The kitchen and living room at the back of the house on the first floor are also mostly dry.

The tank in the second floor toilet is empty, so I reason it may have cracked and started this whole mess. If the toilet tank breaks the water will just continue to run full blast. I turn off its supply line and go downstairs and hesitantly turn the main water back on. I quickly run back upstairs to see or hear if water is leaking from anywhere else. I also check if there is hot water and everything seems fine.

We have a toilet in the basement that still works so with some heavy boots on, this place is actually more or less habitable. Already I start to daydream that we may reach a new plateau of personal exploration. I envision Linda running around in something flimsy with big work boots on. Some new unexplored sexual fantasy may emerge. Life is good.

We brought home an antique outhouse toilet from the cottage and set it up in the garden a few weeks ago so we would also be able to use that.

Well, maybe not.

I picture Linda waking me in the middle of each night asking me where we left the flashlight so she can find her way outside.

I finally find the source of the leak. It turns out to be the coiled supply line that connects the toilet tank to the water line. It didn't come undone; it simply fell apart in the middle and water poured out of the hole for two days. I decide that as soon as I get a chance I will go back to solid copper supply lines to the toilet tank. Next time we go away we will also be sure to turn the water off.

I disconnect wires in a few of the phone connection boxes that I see have been waterlogged and hope that if they dry out the phone may start working again.

At eleven on the button the door bell signals the arrival of an estimator from a company named Burke's Restoration. Tony and I do a walk through (more like a slosh through actually) and he fills out forms with as much information as he can get. He says that tomorrow he will have a dumpster delivered and his crew will be here to start ripping out the affected areas and drying out what's left. He carries himself with the air of a man who appears totally unflappable but he briefly loses it when I ask if I should dress in formal black tie for the occasion.

I collect up any carpets that are loose and throw them over the banister on the back porch and then get out the wet/dry vacuum cleaner and start mopping up. About two in the afternoon the phone begins to reluctantly work again. The line is full of static, but it works. I phone Linda and update her on what is happening here. She lets me know her stepsister is arriving in Montfort soon, will stay overnight and then drive her back to Toronto the next day. Later, the phone returns to normal as the line dries out.

Tuesday morning brings a crew of workers who set up huge dehumidifiers and fans and then start cutting up carpet and ripping it off the floor. In the afternoon the dumpster arrives. I had pictured a small dainty apartment size dumpster but now lodged in our driveway is a no nonsense big grown up man sized dumpster.

Linda and I have a lot of stuff (well had, anyway). Once upon a time in a memory far away, I owned a house and rented the studio I also lived and worked in, so I had two of almost everything, stoves, fridges, dishes, beds, tools. When I sold the house much of it ended up at the studio. When we got married and I later closed the studio it all ended up here so we now had three of many things. We did garage sales, took lots to Goodwill and places like that, but the piles never seemed to get smaller.

Between the two of us we also have easily over a thousand books.

As I said we have a lot of stuff and now parked in our driveway is the very dumpster we had for years said we needed to help extricate us from this excess. I have the ten foot fluorescent sign out back that overhung my former studio. I have useless "Passport photos in five minutes" signs. Ornate pieces of banister railing, fur bits, lamps, all waiting for use in some undiscovered photo I will someday want to make. All of it horded in the off chance I will one day open another studio to play in. We now have the opportunity to get rid of as much excess baggage as we want. The gods have brought spring cleaning to us by way of a flood and a dumpster (fortunately no pestilence yet). I sense some of what's to come will be very cathartic.

The crew of workers starts tearing at the walls and floors like a pack of hungry Rottweilers. There is urgency to get it into the dumpster before the dreaded mold sets in. Whenever they come up for air I can hear them mutter to each other about the amount of stuff in the house. Before they leave for the day I ask if I can continue to add to the dumpster and they encourage me to fill it if I can. Little do they know!

Linda and her stepsister arrive later in the day and after they tour the devastation we go out for dinner. I've been here for a few days now so I'm a bit more cavalier about it all, but it certainly takes a bit of getting used to. Even though the dehumidifiers and fans have been going non stop there are still drenched carpets and walls full of water everywhere. We still come upon areas of the ceiling that are dripping. One saving grace is that it's all clean water. After seeing this I can't imagine what a drain backing up with sewage could be like.

The noise here is almost unbearable. We must leave the fans and dehumidifiers on twenty four hours a day and there are two on each floor, even right outside the bedroom door. I personally think this is a lot better than living in a motel until it's over; Linda is not so sure about that.

The next day brings the Rottweilers back (sorry Steve and Ryan, I'm sure you know we think you were both great) and the dumpster starts to fill up.

Other days bring different crews of people packaging dry books and other items into boxes. Another crew lists destroyed books and other items and takes them to the dumpster. As the hardwood floor starts to dry out it buckles insanely and so it is ripped up and tossed as well. During all this more pieces of wall and ceiling are added to the pile. We learn to navigate around the house on the beams and subfloor as we miss nails sticking up here and there. We don't wear hardhats, but shoes are a must everywhere we go. Eventually I go over the floors and all the nails get pulled but we stay with shoes anyway.

In the meantime we fill more than a dozen garbage bags of dry books and drop them off at Goodwill. All the book shelves are ruined and get tossed in the dumpster as well. I keep adding to the dumpster with as much dredge as we can find.

The house is now filling with boxes and we can barely move around in what was the remaining sanctuary. We are promised a "Cube" storage bin that everything will be moved to. It shows up after everybody goes home one day and the driver can't place it in the space left in the driveway. Next day the dumpster is picked up and moved further back into the driveway and one day later the Cube comes back and gets dropped in the driveway as well.

Our neighbors are thrilled for us because they think we decided to redecorate and then many offer to help when they hear our sad tale.

For the next five days new crews of workers return and while some fill boxes others fill the Cube with anything that isn't nailed down. A few days later Ryan returns with new assistants and tears apart what's left of the basement walls and ceiling.

It's been over three Months since this all began and we are managing to live in what we now refer to as our new "Squat". The dumpster has been taken away, but almost everything we own is still in the Cube in the driveway. There has been no word from the insurance company on what to do to get it all put back together, but so far they have been magnificent in arranging to take it all apart.

Overall not too bad, except for deductibles, most everything is insured. The house needs major repairs but it was all clean water (a breath of fresh air after fooling around that damn composter for weeks), we lost hundreds of books but they were due to be culled anyway. Some precious things and many old negatives gone... don't know yet what was saved or wrecked. Everything was packed so quickly it was impossible to keep track of what was going into the dumpster or what was aiming for the storage Cube, but done is done. A lot of photo equipment was wrecked, but again, nothing that I can't live without and amazingly as mentioned the computer hobby room and most of my current camera stuff didn't get a drop of water on any of it.

The big difficulty now seems to be getting it all put back together again. There have been huge rain storms in Toronto this summer and basements in hundreds of homes have been flooded, so there are no contractors available to do reconstruction work. We want to use the company that took the place apart as they have been unbelievably reliable, but that will mean waiting for a few extra months and continuing to live in our deconstructed house.

Who knows what's next. The other day I did come across a Home Improvement and Restoration Company that looks pretty good from the outside. I'm looking forward to getting into their showroom someday to see samples of the work they do, but they never seem to be around to answer their doorbell. I guess I will just have to keep trying.