Be Careful What You Wish For

No Telling


It’s been the hottest summer I can remember. Day after day with a heat index of 110+ and the whole world feeling like it’s on fire. Not a drop of rain in weeks, no matter who’s doing the rain dance or how fancy. Those liars on the Weather Channel had promised rain for days. Yes, Jim, even you. Still nothing.

This afternoon the lie became the truth and in less than half an hour Em was outside sweeping water furiously away from the back door.

We needed sandbags, but sandbags are an emergency purchase that seems all-important when you can’t drive through flooded streets to buy them. To make matters worse, the place selling bags doesn’t have sand, and vice-versa. Somehow, I always put those on the to-do list after a hard rain and then forget about them entirely. It might be time to break that cycle.

Better yet, we might want to put in a french drain so we’ll need neither sandbags nor spare flood brooms. There’s an idea.

15 thoughts on “Be Careful What You Wish For

  1. Looking at that picture, I have to wonder why on earth anyone thought it would be a good idea to put a sunken patio in *anywhere* in the swamp that we live in? I'm surprised the water table isn't nearly that depth; it is in Old Town.

  2. Hey Friend,

    After all, now this. Thank God you've got a water sweeper living right in your home! Looks like four inches deep. Our home isn't in flood danger anymore, now that the school schmoozed the city into developing Western. But I do have an Arkansas sudden pop up summer storm story. We were in the middle of a big project when the sky darkened. Suddenly after a single lightening flash, the sky opened it's deluge. There wasn't a single shingle or bit of tar paper on one-third of the roof! Water dripped from the light fixtures. Like you, we survived. But a French drain sounds like a good idea. I'll bet Cantore knows how to do that. It's the least he can do.

    Mike Teacher Food

  3. Indi@, I should've taken pictures from the front steps. Watching all my flowerbed mulch running down the street was a sight.

    Laura, you know builders. My house was one of the first out here. As the others were built, mine became lower and lower. Next time we'll have sandbags and a bigger broom.

    Yes, Mike. Jim Cantore owes me one. And he should be shirtless, because um, it'll be hot out and such.

  4. Julia, down here we sweep everything. What we needed, though, was a giant squeegee or a truck load of Sham-Wow.

    Christie, look out. When the rains come on such barrenness, it's nothing but flood. Build an ark while you can.

  5. Me? No, that's my daughter Emily slinging water and sporting the cut-offs. The wellies are mine, though. I can't TELL you how happy she is that I posted these pictures!

  6. I'm not sure who Jim is but I think I need him for a paint job. It's hot in New York so he can just leave his shirt at home. Does he like sweet tea or just lemon?
    Love the Em pics. We've done the sweep thing in our basement. Then my daughter had a brilliant idea and we just started pumping it into the utility sink. I always wondered what that thing was for, now I know.

  7. Gypsy, I almost linked to a picture of the shirtless Cantore. Glad to hear we're not the only women sweeping water, although none of should have to.

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