My house--my current house--is blessed with well water that carries a fair bit of iron. So to keep it out of the appliances and pipes, I have an in-line filter that snags it. The filter uses cartridges that have to be changed out every few months.
This particular filter system is new, having been installed by a friend who is a plumbing god not too long ago. I haven't had to mess with it myself yet.
Recently, I noticed that the water pressure was starting to drop off, a sure sign that the filter was clogging up. So I grabbed a filter from Home Depot and crawled into the crawlspace to do what should have been a two minute job.
Water turned off. Check.
Filter canister unscrewed and removed. Check.
Old dirty filter dropped into a five-gallon pail. Check.
Canister rinsed out. Check.
New filter put in canister and canister screwed back on. Check.
Water back on..."What the fu--?!"
Icy cold water blasts out of the filter, hitting me square in the face.
OK, Obviously I didn't put something back together right. I take it back apart, re-seat the filter, reinstall the canister, and turn the water on again. I get a second ice-cold shower.
WHAT. THE. FU--?!
Once again, I take it apart. I inspect everything and reassemble it. I switch it on again and get blasted a third time. The way this damned thing is set up, there's only one place I can be in order to reach the knob to turn it back on, and that's right where it's spraying the water under pretty impressive pressure.
Why is this happening to me?!
About this time, Belle comes down the basement and pokes her head into the crawl space. Instantly, I assign the blame. "This is YOUR fault," I accuse. "What did you DO?!" Belle immediately turns and runs back upstairs. Murphy, who knows better than to come around when I'm attempting home repairs, is no doubt laughing.
Once again, I disassemble everything, clean it all out, and reassemble it. And once again I get drenched. And did I mention that this ground water is freaking COLD? DAMN IT!!
The new filter looks like the old filter. The label says it's correct. The canister seems to fit just right...yet I cannot get this thing to not leak and spray water all over me every time I turn it on.
Finally, in frustration, I crawl back out of the crawlspace, taking with me the five gallon pail full of water that I'd drained down when I removed the old filter. I take that outside and dump it, and something else spills out on the snow. Something black. Something round. Something that looks like a flipping GASKET!
Oh, son of a biscuit...was it really just that easy?
Sure enough, I go back up in there, drop the canister again, seat the gasket on top of it (Why it fits just like it was made to go there..) and reinstall the canister. I turn the water back on, and finally I do not get hit in the face with a stream of ice water. It's working perfectly now. And all the angels sing "Hallelujah!"
Apparently the gasket dropped off and into the bucket without me seeing it, and having no idea that it needed one, I kept putting it back together without one. Now any donkey could figure out that a fitting intended for water under pressure would naturally have to have a gasket to keep leaks from occurring, but no one has ever accused me of being just any donkey. Hell, no--I'm clearly one of those special kind of donkeys that needs to get zapped with an ice shower about eight times before the light finally comes on.
Can I get a "Hee-Haw" here?
Showing posts with label home repairs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home repairs. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Thursday, December 30, 2010
SNAP!!!
OK, a few weeks ago, I totally rebuilt the toilet in my main bathroom. Rather proud of myself I was, too. Until it began to leak. Damn it--how can it leak? I replaced every single component, screw and gasket in or connected to the tank. It's not possible!
So tonight, I spent another hour on it, tearing it down, repositioning the gaskets, refilling it, emptying it and mopping up the water, then replacing the gaskets... And still it leaks.
I'm at an impasse. I can't figure out what's wrong, but I for damn sure am not going to call some expensive plumber in here to do what has to be a simple fix. Tomorrow I'm gong back to Home Depot to try to cadge some free technical advice.
In the meantime, I'm done with it. I cleaned up, washed up, and walked out into my living room to find shreds of plastic all over the floor. It took me a minute to figure out that this plastic once comprised a bag that held the brand new family-size loaf of honey-wheat bread that I'd just bought at the store today. But there was no bread--not even a crumb. The whole loaf was gone. Like it was never even there.
And there sat Audie Murphy, licking his chops and looking quite proud of himself.
"Got jam?"
And my head exploded.
So tonight, I spent another hour on it, tearing it down, repositioning the gaskets, refilling it, emptying it and mopping up the water, then replacing the gaskets... And still it leaks.
I'm at an impasse. I can't figure out what's wrong, but I for damn sure am not going to call some expensive plumber in here to do what has to be a simple fix. Tomorrow I'm gong back to Home Depot to try to cadge some free technical advice.
In the meantime, I'm done with it. I cleaned up, washed up, and walked out into my living room to find shreds of plastic all over the floor. It took me a minute to figure out that this plastic once comprised a bag that held the brand new family-size loaf of honey-wheat bread that I'd just bought at the store today. But there was no bread--not even a crumb. The whole loaf was gone. Like it was never even there.
And there sat Audie Murphy, licking his chops and looking quite proud of himself.
"Got jam?"And my head exploded.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Plumbing repairs
Oh, the joys of home ownership.
Am I the only one who requires three trips to the hardware store for almost every job?
Trip #1: Get all the parts needed for the planned repair job.
Trip #2: Return some of those parts and get the correct parts.
Trip #3: Back to the store to get a vital part that I didn't think I'd need to replace when I started the job.
This project was no exception. Three trips required. This time is was plumbing that required my attention.
The mission: Stopping a leak in the toilet in the guest bathroom.
The plan: Rebuild the whole damned thing.
Complicating factors:
--Old plumbing that it was connected to that no longer wants to connect to the new stuff.
--Tight working quarters that restrict visibility and access to fittings.
--Hand hard-to-read instructions on everything because the building industry now insists on printing instructions in both American and Illegal so the font is microscopic.
Combined Aggravation Factor: 3.5 on a scale of 1 to 5.
End result: The neighbors' kids learned a few new words and phrases and Lagniappe is still hiding somewhere, but the job is now complete. Mission accomplished.
And at least this time, Lagniappe didn't "help".
Am I the only one who requires three trips to the hardware store for almost every job?
Trip #1: Get all the parts needed for the planned repair job.
Trip #2: Return some of those parts and get the correct parts.
Trip #3: Back to the store to get a vital part that I didn't think I'd need to replace when I started the job.
This project was no exception. Three trips required. This time is was plumbing that required my attention.
The mission: Stopping a leak in the toilet in the guest bathroom.
The plan: Rebuild the whole damned thing.
Complicating factors:
--Old plumbing that it was connected to that no longer wants to connect to the new stuff.
--Tight working quarters that restrict visibility and access to fittings.
--Hand hard-to-read instructions on everything because the building industry now insists on printing instructions in both American and Illegal so the font is microscopic.
Combined Aggravation Factor: 3.5 on a scale of 1 to 5.
End result: The neighbors' kids learned a few new words and phrases and Lagniappe is still hiding somewhere, but the job is now complete. Mission accomplished.
And at least this time, Lagniappe didn't "help".
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Painting with dogs
So here I am, trying to paint my side porch and steps. Normally it wouldn't be a big job to spread latex stain on the porch, but I hadn't counted on getting "help" from Lagniappe the wonder dog.
I call him the wonder dog because sometimes I have to wonder what he's using for a brain.
Anyway, I start to paint on the porch and Lagniappe's in the house. He scratches on the closed back door but I tell him to knock it off because I'm trying to paint on the other side. A minute goes by, and then he jumps up against the door and hits the latch. The door swings open and bangs me in the head. I lose my balance and put a hand down in the fresh paint. I curse Lagniappe with a loud "Dammit!" then I slam the door shut and notice the new hand-print on the door. Yup. I'd just used the hand that I'd put in the paint.
So I grab a breath, clean my hand, compose myself, clean the door with paint thinner, and begin to paint again. However about five minutes later I learn that the door hadn't latched when I swatted it shut. How do I find out? Simple: the door swings open about a foot and a tennis ball is dropped out of the opening. It's meant as a gift and/or an invite to play but of course it lands right in the fresh paint.
I push the door shut again and this time I hear the latch click. And I make sure not to get any paint on it this time. I pick up the ball and throw it into the yard and immediately realize that the ball is covered in paint. Son of a... The dog got me again via that stupid ball.
I clean my hand off again and resume painting.
All goes well for a few minutes, and I almost forget that I have a dog when suddenly another tennis ball comes out of nowhere and bounces through the fresh paint. What the...?
I look up and Lagniappe is now standing on my raised deck looking down on me. My sliding door from the house to that deck was open and he'd found another tennis ball somewhere and launched it at me through the deck rails.
I holler at him and use a few words that no parent or dog owner should use and he takes off around the corner. He knows that I'm mad now and I figure he'll hide or sulk for a bit and hopefully that'll give me time to finish this job. I touch up the spots where the ball bounced and resume working on the steps.
All is quiet for the next half hour or so. I'm almost done and I'm feeling good because it's looking sharp. Suddenly I hear feet in the leaves and I look up and there's Lagniappe behind me. He'd apparently opened the basement door and gone down the steps and out the door that leads from my walk-in basement to the driveway. I don't want to stop now to screw with him because I'm just about done, so I tell him to sit down. Instead, he takes a couple of steps forward and puts a paw smack down on the lid to the paint can that's sitting on a flagstone near me. Of course the lid is bottom side up and covered with paint, and his big paw is now covered with paint.
I meant to say "Lagniappe, I wish you hadn't done that." I really meant to say that, However it came out as: "You ASS!" And in dog language, that means: "On your mark...get set...GO!" He spun and took off like a rocket, leaving a trail of paint paw prints as he ran. And he was running straight for the open basement door again.
Envisioning my basement floor, steps, and living room hardwood floor covered with brown dog paw prints, I yelled "Noooo!" This didn't stop him though but fortunately I got a bright idea just as he reached the door. Picking up a nearby stick, I whistled and threw the stick down the driveway. This did the trick because, just as people have a "flight or fight" response that kicks in when they get excited, dogs have a similar response--the "flight, fight, or chase sticks" response. The stick-chasing drive is by far the strongest in this dog and he forgot all about being in trouble and changed course away from my house to pursue the stick. He grabbed it and brought it back to me, and I had to set the paint brush down for a minute and play a few rounds of "fetch" with him. Then I cleaned his paw with paint thinner and penned him up in his run (where I probably should have put him in the first place) until I was done. He didn't care for this but he forgave me after a few more tosses of the stick. He's really not a bad dog... but if brains were dynamite he wouldn't have enough to blow his nose.
I call him the wonder dog because sometimes I have to wonder what he's using for a brain.
Anyway, I start to paint on the porch and Lagniappe's in the house. He scratches on the closed back door but I tell him to knock it off because I'm trying to paint on the other side. A minute goes by, and then he jumps up against the door and hits the latch. The door swings open and bangs me in the head. I lose my balance and put a hand down in the fresh paint. I curse Lagniappe with a loud "Dammit!" then I slam the door shut and notice the new hand-print on the door. Yup. I'd just used the hand that I'd put in the paint.
So I grab a breath, clean my hand, compose myself, clean the door with paint thinner, and begin to paint again. However about five minutes later I learn that the door hadn't latched when I swatted it shut. How do I find out? Simple: the door swings open about a foot and a tennis ball is dropped out of the opening. It's meant as a gift and/or an invite to play but of course it lands right in the fresh paint.
I push the door shut again and this time I hear the latch click. And I make sure not to get any paint on it this time. I pick up the ball and throw it into the yard and immediately realize that the ball is covered in paint. Son of a... The dog got me again via that stupid ball.
I clean my hand off again and resume painting.
All goes well for a few minutes, and I almost forget that I have a dog when suddenly another tennis ball comes out of nowhere and bounces through the fresh paint. What the...?
I look up and Lagniappe is now standing on my raised deck looking down on me. My sliding door from the house to that deck was open and he'd found another tennis ball somewhere and launched it at me through the deck rails.
I holler at him and use a few words that no parent or dog owner should use and he takes off around the corner. He knows that I'm mad now and I figure he'll hide or sulk for a bit and hopefully that'll give me time to finish this job. I touch up the spots where the ball bounced and resume working on the steps.
All is quiet for the next half hour or so. I'm almost done and I'm feeling good because it's looking sharp. Suddenly I hear feet in the leaves and I look up and there's Lagniappe behind me. He'd apparently opened the basement door and gone down the steps and out the door that leads from my walk-in basement to the driveway. I don't want to stop now to screw with him because I'm just about done, so I tell him to sit down. Instead, he takes a couple of steps forward and puts a paw smack down on the lid to the paint can that's sitting on a flagstone near me. Of course the lid is bottom side up and covered with paint, and his big paw is now covered with paint.
I meant to say "Lagniappe, I wish you hadn't done that." I really meant to say that, However it came out as: "You ASS!" And in dog language, that means: "On your mark...get set...GO!" He spun and took off like a rocket, leaving a trail of paint paw prints as he ran. And he was running straight for the open basement door again.
Envisioning my basement floor, steps, and living room hardwood floor covered with brown dog paw prints, I yelled "Noooo!" This didn't stop him though but fortunately I got a bright idea just as he reached the door. Picking up a nearby stick, I whistled and threw the stick down the driveway. This did the trick because, just as people have a "flight or fight" response that kicks in when they get excited, dogs have a similar response--the "flight, fight, or chase sticks" response. The stick-chasing drive is by far the strongest in this dog and he forgot all about being in trouble and changed course away from my house to pursue the stick. He grabbed it and brought it back to me, and I had to set the paint brush down for a minute and play a few rounds of "fetch" with him. Then I cleaned his paw with paint thinner and penned him up in his run (where I probably should have put him in the first place) until I was done. He didn't care for this but he forgave me after a few more tosses of the stick. He's really not a bad dog... but if brains were dynamite he wouldn't have enough to blow his nose.
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