Normalcy

The inevitable round of summer farmhouse fix-its has begun, and it's not pretty. A trip through the basement revealed that the submersible pump could no longer be coaxed into removing air conditioner condensation from the property. Take a look: clearly, this sump pump has lost its will to live. Our new best friend, Service Call Ed, did some forensics on this former pump to determine the cause of death. "These look like mineral deposits. Do you drain the hot water heater into this pump?" he asked skeptically. Um. Well. Meta Cranky shuffled her feet. "How often do you do this?" Really, Ed. Isn't that a little personal? "About three times a year," Meta Cranky admitted, unable to make eye contact. Ed certified that the Crankies' hot water heater had killed their sump pump, and he swathed the new pump in protective mesh to prevent further carnage.

In light of this basement drama, MC reflected that residents of most households don't drain their hot water heater more often than they change the oil in their car or have their teeth cleaned. Yet the yuck-factor of the Crankies' water well means that it's completely normal to drain the heater, repeatedly; otherwise, the water smells disgusting. What passes for Normal Maintenance at Cranky Girls Farm would be Inexplicably Revolting for the people of the metroplex.

Want more examples? Cranky #2 points out a hole in the circa-1924 concrete watering tank. It's been drained to reveal the source of its leaks, and Second Brother mucked out most of the whiffy, primordial goo on its bottom.  Two fiberglass patches later, and we're good to go. Wading up to your knees in La Brea tar pit-quality goo? Again, completely normal. Just hope you don't slip and fall in the ick. That's a gross-out even for the locals.

Some fix-it projects are heroic and deeply satisfying. A paint job, for example, is eye candy. Maybe some new landscaping? Cute! Love what you've done with those bedding plants! Sump pumps and patched tanks, however, are nearly so not sexy. MC will not be inviting friends over for high balls and a tour of CGF's new fiberglass installations. Sadly, this is the manner of most of the CG farm fix-its.

When the Almost 100-Year-Old Homes Tour swings by and asks what the Crankies have done to maintain their historic home, they can report improvements such as:
1)Notice how the house hasn't burned down from an electrical fire? When one too many white-faced electricians asked, "Lady, do you know you've got knob and tube wiring in your attic?" the Crankies came across with an upgrade.
2)Notice how the air conditioning works, even when it's really hot? Not so long ago, the AC tripped itself off when cooling the house was just too much trouble. Commonly, on a 100-degree-plus day, Meta Cranky would notice that, as the afternoon stretched out, she'd become even more irritable than usual. Then it would dawn on her that it's freaking hot in here.  At this point, she'd walk out into the blazing heat to flip her breaker. An observant maintenance person asked, "Lady, do you know your air conditioner is 40 years old?" Really? You mean they aren't collectible, like a '67 Belvedere? Again, the Crankies dipped into their Deferred Maintenance account.

An old house sincerely wants to fall down. Making it stand upright, with working plumbing, sewerage, and electricity is the unnatural act. The long-ago person who poured our ancient concrete tank took the time to scratch the date into the top. Fiberglass is a tricky medium, and the Crankies can't make an addendum to note our own fix-it. They'll just observe: Repaired 2010.
--MC