Water Torture: Conclusion



Michelle in the Mallow Meadow at Bowman's Hill Wildflower Preserve

I was lamenting online with Joe DiGilio (Green Light  and Blue Ladies author) about having to deal endlessly with leaks, and I hypothesized, "Maybe I was an evil monster in my previous life!"  And Joe quickly retorted, "Perhaps you were a water torturer!"  And that thought fertilized the egg that produced this story.

This is Part 2: The Conclusion. (Wherein I chronicle the endless relentless pursuit of a solution.)  Hope you enjoy it!
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Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post. I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave me a comment below or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. Also, PLEASE click the green SU icon at the bottom of this post to recommend the blog to Stumble Upon members. It will dramatically increase the "exposure" of our authors' work.

If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! Also, consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family. Thanks again!
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Water Torture: Conclusion (click here for Part I)

 (Click on photos to enlarge them in another window)

Harry Houdini performing Water Torture Cell (Google Image Search)

To call this a conclusion is probably an exercise in “Wishful Thinking.” For while this story will have “-30-” at the bottom of the page, we already know that last week’s “Noah-sized” deluge tested the most recent (April) fix of the veranda leak—and—frankly and sadly, it failed the test. We’re now waiting for our very brilliant and resourceful handyman to come up with a new idea. But at least we have the water entry point isolated to a set of stone stairs in an area about four feet by four feet. That, at least, is progress!

But back to 1995: It’s hard to remember all the details, but there were clues from the beginning—the rust around the baseboards, water streaks down the insides of window panes, crumbling plaster on the bedroom wall, brown water stains on ceiling beams, white “limey” spots on the slate floor along the front wall. But for the baseboard rust, the rest of these “symptoms” appeared gradually over the first year of our residence.

Now, I must tell you—my husband is an 84-year-old stubborn retired engineer with a real Welsh stubborn streak (which is sensible because he is a Welsh colonial).




Granddaughter and "Papa"


He has long been thought of by the 17 grandchildren as the first responder to all broken toys and by his own children (with a loving chuckle) as Mr. Fixit! The chuckle is because my retired engineer (RE) almost never uses conventional fixes for ANYTHING. The fix usually starts with some bit of salvaged “building material” that he saved from OTHER broken objects – the man is incapable of discarding ANYTHING---and he will never fail to find in his collection of stuff SOMETHING that will be a perfect fix. All this, of course, MUCH to my chagrin.



Chagrin. This is not I, but it does pretty much portray "chagrin," doesn't it? (Google image search)


For example, he has done things like: cut rubber patches from old tire tubes to fix small roof leaks;  create a TV antenna from a metal vegetable colander; "repair most other household problems with epoxy or Super Glue.

You probably get the picture, and it’s making me queasy just dredging up all this stuff from the long-repressed recesses of my brain. So just imagine fifteen years of chasing the  freakin' leak around the veranda. And oddly, each fix worked—for a time. Until the next driving rain storm lasting for at least three days. And then there would be a little (or large) puddle in a totally new spot. And the pit in my stomach would begin to throb anew.




No, not I. (Google image search)

For humor's sake, imagine the gutter on the veranda—a concave indentation along the base of the concrete parapet that stretches 50 feet across the deck. There are three small drainage holes ( always getting clogged with tree debris) that lead to pipes that run down the inside of the stone wall to the ground. Well, thinking that the leak had something to do with that gutter, Jeff had a plan: Re-line the gutter! And he proceeded to take a long white PVC pipe, and cut the pipe in half lengthwise, partially flatten each half, and then super-glue them to the gutter. Are you laughing yet? It was only the beginning.

After many years and countless such episodes, "RE" allowed me to call a roofer. I chose one that had over 500 A+ rankings on "Angie’s List" (a lesson to be learned here?). The estimator was a man with thirty years’ experience hunting down leaks—and he seemed to know the business like the back of his hand. And he was a Harley guy; I’ve never met a Harley guy that I didn’t like.

The first solution involved tearing up the flooring of the veranda deck and replacing it with asphalt roofing to extend into the gutters.. Ugly, but if it worked, we could cover it with something more attractive (another story too long to tell).

But it did not work. Alas. Scratching his chin, our man then looked upward to the roof over the main house, scanning it intently for flaws. “Ah!” he exclaimed happily. “THIS is our culprit! I’m POSITIVE of it.” And probably the roof really did need to be replaced---what with Jeff’s inner tube patching and its advancing age.

But in the contest of wills, the leak once again came out winner.

Then our estimator was sure the culprit must be the center drain hole in the gutter. So he plugged that hole and THAT seemed to fix the problem. But it was a short-lived fix, to be sure. The leak eventually came back as a veritable waterfall, cascading from one of the ceiling beams downstairs.

And after a year of trying, our roofer gave up. He stopped answering my phone calls.

What next? A colleague at work suggested we engage a structural engineer. This time I went to a different referral service and soon a shining-eyed young engineer was here, doing his $600 inspection. Suffice it to say that he did NOT isolate the problem either, though he did find some other house issues that we subsequently remediated. Another interminable story with a disappointing ending.

It wasn’t until we were preparing the house to be sold—“Staging” it, that our astute handyman spotted something: the stone stairs leading from the veranda deck to the main house entrance had a concave spot where water pooled when we had heavy rain. If the water sits there long enough, he hypothesized it seeps through the porous grout and down into the room below. So we had the slate stair runners replaced, re-cemented them, pointed, sealed, and caulked.

That was last April. And everything held perfectly. After several months and LOTS of rain I was thrilled and FINALLY convinced that we’d licked the bugger!

Until last week, that is. Frustration abounds.


Frustration (Google image search)


But I’m now seeing a great counselor who helps me cope. For example, I did not, this time, throw myself on the floor and scream 4-letter words at the top of my lungs for fifteen minutes! I’m SERIOUS!

And the pond? My advice to you: For a residential water feature: Build one, or have one built, fill it using a garden hose, provide aeration, make it look pretty, and enjoy it. If you thought about damming up a creek…well, as pretty as it is, probably a good idea to forget it.

Let me just list the serial “improvements” with perhaps a few anecdotal remarks” below. It began with a seminar I attended at the local Audubon Society chapter, entitled: “Pond Ecology.” It was very interesting, and I engaged the speaker afterward and asked for advice:

One:  Dredge the pond. Surrounded for the last fifty years or so with magnificent (but VERY messy London Plane Sycamores, tons of organic material had fallen into the pond, creating a deep pool of black, stinking (when disturbed) muck. Once, when it was drained, my husband decided to don rubber waders and walk out to retrieve dead branches.

 He immediately sank in up to his thighs and the more he tried to wiggle out, the more deeply he became wedged (This video isn’t Jeff, quite obviously, but you’ll get an idea of how it was-- ( YouTube video).

I had to throw him a rope, and yank him out. Unfortunately the waders are still embedded in the muck, to be excavated one far-off day by a puzzled future archeologist. Dredging is smelly and expensive, but necessary. We had it done.

Not our pond, but it looked just like this! (Google image search)

Two:   Repair dam. Repair dam. Repair dam. It’s never really permanently repaired. The first fix entailed building a form around the dam and pouring concrete into it, thus filling the gaps.

Jeff fell in love with Hydrofoam, and when new leaks sprang, it was Hydrofoam to the rescue. Sometimes it even works! I cannot find a picture, but it’s a liquid that turns to something like Styrofoam when it makes contact with water. The liquid oozes into a crack, meets with water, and expands to plug the leak, theoretically.

Three:  Try using bentonite clay to plug the holes. Never really worked. I’ve read stories of people sneaking out in the dead of night to collect bentonite to EAT. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geophagy ) Some sort of iron deficiency that makes people do this. It also has the property to expand when wet. But bags and bags of it only had minimal efficacy on the pond leaks.

(Google image search)

Eating Clay  (Google image search)

Four:  Cover the bottom surface with black plastic liner. Not only didn’t it work, but because there was still organic material underneath even after dredging, gases built up under the liner and soon we were seeing big bubbles like gigantic tortoise backs at the surface of the water. The liner was inflating from underneath. We had to drain the pond and pull up all the liner material. Imagine! This is a fairly sizeable pond!


Can't believe I found an image of this! (Google image search)


Five:  Reline the dam with stone. Okay…have the Hydrofoam at the ready.

Six:  OH NO…Water then began GUSHING out via a sink hole between the pond and the road. Had to fill the large sink hole with concrete.

Seven:  Install waterfall for aeration. Beautiful! Landscaper used a crane to lower and place a giant pile of river moss boulders into the middle of the pond, and then worked hoses through them, and attached to a big pump hidden in the rhododendrons. A huge success!



Waterfall  (photo by Michelle Alton)


The above steps in the Relentless Pursuit of a leak repair, have iterated and morphed many times over, and the problem is never permanently solved, not even now. But everyone in the neighborhood LOVES the pond, and it has become a neighborhood landmark. Some have even had their wedding pictures shot here. Others just come to sit on the bench and read a book.


Neighbor and "Solo" greet me as I arrive home from work. (Photo by Michelle Alton)

We even occasionally find people enjoying picnics on the grassy areas beside the pond.

And yet still, we are often tempted to have the pond drained and filled in. Might make a great garden, if it wasn’t for the deer herd! The Deer! Another tale of endless woe…but you are spared for now—unless, that is, if no one shares a story for next week!

By the way, did I tell you that the house is for sale?

- 30 -

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 Michelle Alton

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Please Note:

*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!} If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please! We haven't a single story on tap. Unfortunately, Part III of "Dark Places for Shining Stars" isn't going to happen, most likely.  Maurice now has a full time job doing P.R. for a radio station, and between that and his hip-hop performances, he hasn't been able fo find time to fact-check or approve content. Sorry.

Give your imagination a stretch--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit, fact, fiction, poignant, or humorous.  I'd love to hear from you and work with you on your story! And we need to keep this theme going!

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Water Torture -- by Michelle Alton

Michelle Alton, flying low over Bucks County (Photo by David Lewis)

That's me, in the Piper Cub (with the pilot) during my recent adventure flight over beautiful Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

The Mid-Atlantic States were hit with a deluge (10 inches in this area) this past weekend.  And since there were no fresh stories to post, I thought the soggy saga below was an apt story for the occasion. This  will set the scene for the REAL relentsess part of the story, coming next week!

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There’s nothing meek about a leak

Especially when its source you seek.

It could be here, it could be there,

it could be almost anywhere

Overhead

Or near your bed

Away for a while

But Never Dead.

-Joe DiGilio and Michelle (inspired by Green Eggs and Ham)


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Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post. I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below for the author or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. Also, PLEASE click the green SU icon at the bottom of this post to recommend the blog to Stumble Upon members. It will dramatically increase the "exposure" of our authors' work.


If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! Also, consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family. Thanks again!


--


Michelle Alton
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This past weekend our area was super drenched with nearly 10-inches of incredibly hard-driven rain. So what could be a better time for a story about Leaks?

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Water Torture!

From Day One, it has always been about the LEAKS!

Probably many of you aren’t aware of this, but the national symbol of the country of Wales is the rather lowly LEEK. Never mind that at a produce fair in South Wales, I once saw a six-foot long prize-winning leek that definitely had an attitude! Generally speaking, though, leeks are sort of meek and unassuming vegetables.

But, as almost any homeowner will tell you, “There is NOTHING meek about a L-E-A-K!

Leeks (from Google Images)

We moved into this house in August of 1995, and have just passed our 16th year here.



House in April

There isn’t an old photograph in my archives for comparison, but one of the things that has changed drastically over the years is the pond.  Back in 1995 it was just your basic mud hole. The pond is fed by a creek that runs through the neighborhood, both under and above ground. Probably more than 50 years ago, a dam was built (just out of the photo frame, to the right) and the pond filled up with water. The dam had a spillway, over which the water overflow trickled, ran, or gushed, depending on weather conditions, and then travelled under our driveway, and into the next-door neighbor’s creek. That creek then spilled into a larger pond behind the house two doors down, and then dropped over a scary ten-foot spillway into a concrete basin. It’s next stop was the Delaware Canal, perhaps another fifty yards away.

But the dam had long since failed, and what remained of the pond was basically muck—occasionally a large puddle if it rained long and hard enough.

Soon after moving in we thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to return the pond to its former glory? “Yes,” we both agreed whole-heartedly. A waterfall would be nice too, wouldn’t it? First of all, the failed  dam would have to be repaired. OK. I’ll return to this part of the saga iater.

Now, to understand the second leak story, take a look at the photo below.

Deer Sentries

Most of the space we live in is on the second level: Living room, dining room, kitchen breakfast nook, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. All the rooms, upstairs and downstairs, have lovely views.  Perhaps that’s why the deer like to dine at our house.

On the lower floor is a large family room, a wet bar, the garage, laundry room, two large bedrooms and two large bathrooms. The family room, with its “ancient” slate floor, and the front bedroom sit just below the veranda -- the veranda from which it was obvious that water had leaked into the rooms below in the past -- leaks that we would RELENTLESSLY chase over the course of the next sixteen years. And they, too, have been LEAKS with attitudes! 

There was evidence of the leaks from the start-- rust on the baseboard radiators, and other clues that would surface later. Once upon a time the “veranda” had been an enclosed sunroom. We had seen a photo of the dilapidated structure when we were negotiating the house. It was long gone, however; the first leaks must have appeared when the enclosure was removed.

We thought of building a new glass conservatory there. But the cost to beautifully enclose a 12 foot by 50 foot area would have been prohibitive.. Still, wouldn’t a Lindal Cedar Sunroom  look brilliant on this house?

But I digress.

Winter view, from Bedroom, looking Upward

Spring view, from Bedroom looking downward

So now we had a leaking dam and a leaking veranda. Between the two, the challenges to our psyches and pockets would come to be EPIC!  Yes, dear readers, we had on our unsuspecting hands a modern-day “MONEY PIT.”

I’m tempted to keep going here, but I know I’ll lose your attention if this meanders on much longer. So, stay tuned for the hilarious second part of this wet saga, in which you learn how this story got its title.  (Oh...and it WILL get to the "Relentless Pursuit Part," I assure you!)

  (to be continued)
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  --Except where otherwise noted,, all photographs by Michelle Alton

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Some Bonus Shots  (from my recent flight over Bucks County)
[Click on photos to enlarge them in another window.]

The Piper Cub, coming in over the grass air strip at Van Sant Airport

Us and Our Shadow



Delaware River Meanders



Field "Hieroglyphics"

Bridge to Lambertville, NJ



The River Runs



Near New Hope, PA.  The low dam that provided water power for the old saw mill (now luxury condos)



Your guess is as good as mine!

Crossing the River

Controversial Quarry, Solebury, PA

Life among the Trees



Another Crossing

A biplane, done for the day.

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Please Note:

*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!} If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please! We haven't a single story on tap. I'm working on Part 3 of "Dark Places for Shining Stars" but it won't be ready for next week. Give your imagination a stretch--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit, fact, fiction, poignant, or humorous. And I'd be appreciative if you also take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you and work with you on your story!

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Dark Places for Shining Stars: Part 2



Michelle Alton

My friendship with Maurice "the Authentic" Hayman began serendipitously on a hot Summer's day in Center City Philadelphia in 2010. He was a Hip-Hop performer doing a free midday concert in "Love Park." I was a clinical researcher on my lunch break--with camera, of course. It wasn't until a year later that I learned that this talented, brilliant young man was on a lifelong quest that would take him down a path that not even he could have imagined. Learn about Maurice's life and his relentless efforts to help Inner City youngsters understand that they can be SHINING STARS.

I'm tagging along on this journey for a while. Please join me here as the story, "Dark Places for Shining Stars" unfolds. In Part 2, we begin to learn about Maurice and the "Authentic Minds College Fair" that he organized in "Brewerytown," North Philadelphia.
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Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post. I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below for the author or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. Also, PLEASE click the green SU icon at the bottom of this post to recommend the blog to Stumble Upon members. It will dramatically increase the "exposure" of our authors' work.


If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! Also, consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family. Thanks again!
--
 Michelle Alton
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(Click Here to read Part 1) 
Part 2:
Welcome to Brewerytown, Philadelphia! (by Michelle Alton)

What I did not know as I prepared to drive to Philadelphia on June 11 and--would not learn about until the next week--was that in the early evening hours of June 9, Maurice had had a strange and scary encounter. On that Thursday evening, as he was leaving the Public Library on Locust Street in the posh Rittenhouse Square neighborhood, he heard a man’s voice holler, “Hey, Yellow Shirt!” Maurice is always dressed impeccably, and prides himself on doing his own laundry and ironing. He was wearing a crisp pale yellow polo shirt. But he kept walking. “Hey, Mother F—ck’r!" Maurice kept walking.

In the next moments he was grabbed, hands yanked behind him, face smashed against a stone wall. He heard himself being cursed at and a crude voice callng him names laced with repetitions of the adjective above and others and all ending in “Nigger.”

No, he was not being mugged. He was not being robbed. He was being arrested. But for what? He would be abused verbally and physically for another 15 minutes before the officer told him what crime he was being nabbed for committing. Maurice had calmly refused to be taken anywhere until the cop provided the information. It seems a purse had been snatched in the neighborhood by a black man wearing a yellow shirt. It did not seem to matter that the perpetrator had also been described as being tall and husky. Maurice is about 5’ 10” tall and weighs about 150 pounds. But as mentioned above, on Saturday morning I had no knowledge of this bizarre event having occurred.

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On June 11, I decided to drive myself to the “Authentic Minds” College Fair that Maurice had organized.  Despite having worked in downtown Philadelphia for six months, I had no idea how to use public transportation to get myself to Brewerytown. But Maurice assured me that there was plenty of street parking in the neighborhood. My trip was uneventful, and I found myself arriving at the Martin Luther King Jr. Recreation Center (the "REC") a full hour before the event was to begin.

(Click on photos to enlarge in a new window)

Girard Avenue, North Philadelphia.  The Center City skyline is partially visible inthe distant background.


I parked along the curb, adjacent to a playground surrounded by 10-foot chain-linked fencing. Instantly two passers-by, observing that I didn’t seem to “fit in” there, came to advise me to park the car closer to the curb. I was about 10 inches away and my SUV was sort of hanging out onto the street, where trucks might roar by and knock off a mirror or a fender. My helpful advisor took it upon herself to fold the mirror in for me and then I re-parked. We chatted for about 20 minutes and then I took my leave to walk the block to the “REC’s” main entrance.

Basketball at the "REC"

There were groups of people congregating on the sidewalks, and I received several welcoming greetings from people who had been strangers to me until I walked into the gym that was to be the site of the College Fair. It was now only 30 minutes before the starting time of the event, but there were only three people setting up a booth inside. The gym was not air conditioned, nor were there any ceiling fans. The only breezes would come from two doors that would be left open all day. I was glad that I’d brought two bottles of water. I was going to need them because there would be no refreshment concessions  at the fair.

I went back outdoors to wait for Maurice to arrive. It was MUCH TOO HOT inside the gym. I stood there looking a bit lost for a minute or two, before a man sitting on a folding chair near the doorway asked me if I wanted to sit down. He was a stocky, middle-aged black man, with his cap on back-to-front and several key teeth missing. His black and white tee shirt had “Golden Gloves Boxing 2010” stamped on it.

“Yes, that would be great,” I quickly replied. He went inside and came back with another folding chair. “Where do you want it?” I said that I’d like to sit and chat with him!” He seemed delighted, and I sat down beside him.




Chuckie Mills


Chuckie Mills is the boxing trainer at the “REC.” He asked me if I’d like to see the boxing gym, and I said “Yes, sure!” As we walked through the building, Chuckie introduced me to everyone we met. I felt like a celebrity. We headed down a dark stairway, and at the bottom was a corridor with freshly-painted walls, and murals of boxing scenes painted on them.

A young man was jumping rope in the boxing ring. Chuckie introduced us. This was Aaron, who was going to fight in his first competitive match the next day in Allentown. AND…Aaron was the artist responsible for the murals.

Aaron Jumps (He won his match the next day)

Life Imitates Art

Chuckie wanted to teach me how to jump rope, and I'm sure that it would have been an adventure, but I was already feeling sweaty, so I declined the offer. Whew…close call! I had never been able to jump rope as a child; always a bit clutzy where my feet were involved. So we headed back up the stairs. Chuckie explained that Aaron had been a lost, wandering, depressed and hopeless soul, sinking to the depths until he had been introduced to boxing. Now he was engaged, happy, disciplined and on a training mission. He told me he was interested in photography as well as painting, and that he dreamed of having his own small gallery.

In the next few hours (I would come back outside periodically to cool off) I was to realize that Chuckie Mills was in the “business” of “saving" kids. As was Maurice—each in his own way.

It was thirty minutes past the scheduled start time for the College Fair. Most of the school representatives were setting up their tables, but Maurice had not yet arrived. There were some people milling around on the gym floor and performers were beginning to turn up with their props. The DJ was doing sound tests.



DJ at Work

 A few minutes later, Maurice arrived, dressed in a pressed khaki shirt and a “Mr. Cool” tweed hat. He looked very handsome, as he walked with an attractive light-skinned black woman who was helping him unload the car. She is his girlfriend, Annette.

When he spotted me sitting beside Chuckie, he stopped to greet me, thanked me for coming and gave me a little hug. A short while later, an older woman came up to me and introduced herself. She was Wendy Harvey, Maurice’s mother. She said that her son was really happy that I had come and so was she! Wendy raised her three children as a single mom, and is the founder of a new online magazine called “Solo Parenting.”

Kevin Miller (poet, engineer), Maurice, Wendy Harvey

“OK,” I thought. “Let’s get this show (Authentic Minds College Fair)  on the road!”

(to be continued)
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Bonus Shots:

The DJ and Maurice

Volunteer worker at the "REC!"

Participants

Young Participants

Aaron takes a rest from training

Greeting Me

Columbia University Representative



Future College Prospect

Schmoozing

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  All photographs by Michelle Alton



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*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!} If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please! We haven't a single story on tap. I'm working on Part 3 of "Dark Places for Shining Stars" but it won't be ready for next week. Give your imagination a stretch--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit, fact, fiction, poignant, or humorous. And I'd be appreciative if you also take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you and work with you on your story!--



--


Michelle Alton

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[Click on the green SU icon below to recommend this blog to Stumble Upon Members]
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