Flehh! Everything's Wet!

Down to only one inch now.

2:50 AM, Thursday morning

I am about ready to move to the Sahara or perhaps the Gobi, someplace where rainfall is a myth told around campfires under starry skies, where camels sail the dunes like ships upon the oceans – similar to the one in my basement right now.

How long has it been raining? A week, maybe? I’ve lost track, any recollection I might have had driven out of my mind by the constant (every thirty seconds, for ten seconds duration) humming of the sump pump. Wasn't it just a few short weeks ago that I was grumbling about how hot and dry it was around here? Some people will complain even if you hang them with a new rope.

Half an hour ago, the rain came straight down so hard I couldn’t hear myself think. It fell in this manner for about forty minutes then tapered back to a mere torrent. Sometime in the midst of the deluge, the sump pump started up again, after having been asleep for a couple of hours following the last sweeping of the rain, which started as soon as I arrived home from work Wednesday afternoon. So far, the sump pump, unsung hero of hurricanes drenchings and floodwater risings, and I have been able to keep the water level down to less than two inches, with the sump pump doing most of the work. I grumble for both of us. Let me just add that sweeping water is like herding cats or corralling snakes; it goes where it wants, to hell with my intentions.

Whoever installed the sump pit didn’t take the lay of the floor into consideration, although he probably did the best he could under the circumstances. There are high and low spots along the floor before it reaches the sump. The southeast side of the foundation is where most of the water enters the basement, but the sump is situated diagonally across the room from there. Getting water to the sump is a bit like the Thanksgiving song, “Over the River and Through the Woods,” because of the aforementioned peaks and valleys. Last time I went down to sweep water, I noticed it is seeping under the foundation along the northeast face of the house, and pouring down the steps under the bilko door.

Could be a lot worse, though. Despite my bellyaching, this is not as bad as Vermont and her neighbors had it in the wake of Irene, for which I am most grateful. Nor, from current reports, is it as dire as in Harrisburg, York and the Amish country. In Texas, they are probably crying for this rain. Well, I wish I could send it to you, folks!

Here comes another deluge, dadgummit! I might have time to make another pot of coffee before I go back downstairs to help throw all this rain back outside. Thank goodness for that pump!