I'm not sure why, but baptism is almost always connected with water and the rite of passage.Tuesday night, though, I wasn't feeling very spiritual -- unless you count the curses being muttered -- despite the fact that we were very literally experiencing our own form of homeowner's baptism.
Let me reel this story back a moment and set the scene. In the afternoon we ran into the city to sign a bunch of paperwork and close on the house. It was very unceremonious. It was just me, Pete and a paralegal in a small room with a child crying outside the door. Then we raced back to Jersey City, hopped in my car, and sped over to the row house. It was ours! This is the photo of triumph over paperwork and the requisite yay-we-got-a-new-house-now-stand-still-so-I-can-post-a-photo-on-Facebook shot:
Now we had just been at the house the night before for the walk-through, but there wasn't a light in the front room. Pete scrambled to locate a flashlight app on his phone while I switched on and off any switch I could find. Outside the light was fading so I walked over to the big front window (you can see it behind Pete in the image) and stopped short. My heart froze.
ME: "Pete ... are the floors buckled over here or is it my imagination?"
And those were our first moments in the new row house! Fast forward through a few frantic phone calls to friends and my father, a trip to Lowe's (for lights), and six calls to United Water's emergency line and the final diagnosis was that the water meter had broken. And there you have it: old home baptism.
So we tore up the part of the floors and then ripped down the curtains in an effort to siphon the water into the crawl space. That Bear Grylls move was all our friend Freddie's ingenuity. And it worked. By the time United Water arrived to replace the meter we were a bit calmer. And we actually made our first decision as joint homeowners: this weekend we are moving the water meter into the crawl space and out of the living room.
And now the adventure begins. Welcome to our row house renovation.