Wednesday, January 03, 2007

noise of water leaking

Thanks so much for all your kind words regarding the grant. I'm grateful. I've emailed some of you, but it's hard to find everybody's email address. This is a group thank you...sorry! All of your comments are important to me. You're my cheering section, and I so appreciate it. (Don't know how I kept my chin up before having a blog sometimes.)

At around 7:30 this morning, I was greeted by this at my front gate:No, let's be honest. I heard banging. Sally started her high-strung panic barking. We all rushed to the windows. First I asked, "What are you doing here at my house?" The municipal utilities workers told me there's a water leak on the street right in front of my home. A leak so small that they can only fix it today. A leak so small no one in my household noticed it.

"Oh," the husband says, "I saw them spray painting on the street last week." We thought it was to locate the gas lines, since a car accident took out a utility pole a couple of weeks ago. Then the utility workers, based on the gas company's careful instructions as to where the gas lines were? They hit a gas line. Huge fire - A block from our house. Luckily, no one was hurt. Just a 25 foot column of flaming gas, some diverted traffic, a lot of sirens, some house evacuations. Not mine though, so no biggee, right?

Today though, I am gifted with banging. This is not the drip drip drip of a dripping faucet. This is intermittent asphalt banging and animated discussion on the street. I walked and then crated the dogs so they'd stay calm in this ruckus. I hoped they wouldn't hit a gas line again.

I asked the nice men when they'd be done. They felt so harassed by my question that I saw this when I went back inside:

caption: Straight men comfort one another

Yes, I'm a mean person. Horrible. Obviously deranged, asking when they might finish up, asking why no one notified me beforehand so I could have worked during the weekend, that sort of thing. Before I even identify myself as an outsider, they know fact, people think my east coast Northern Virginia accent means I'm a Yankee. (no sir, that's not what it means, but I won't bore you with Civil War history.) Anyway, I imagine they're all saying, "Yankee Witch!"

Inside, I'm saying, "Please, please be quiet so I can just finish this knitting related article by the deadline. Please." I imagine (GASP!) a completely blank magazine page, one of those magazines we fibery folks can't wait to get in the mail... "Please. " I've written this during a lull...but now Sally's barking again. It's going to be THAT kind of least until lunch, when they say they're going to leave...right.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

well, at least it is the city's issue, not your own water main. don't ask. you really don't want to know.

January 3, 2007 at 10:58 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The whole Yankee thing is creepy. My mother's cousin, who lives in Georgia with the entire clan except us, asked me if I was a Yankee. "Now, you're not a Yankee, are ya?" I said no. "What are ya'll over there?" I wanted desperately to say we're f&*#%@& tree huggers but discretion somehow got the better of me. Freakin' southerners.

January 3, 2007 at 9:08 PM  
Blogger e's knitting and spinning blog said...

Aw Joanne that sounds like it is not fun! i hope they get out of there as quickly as possible.

January 4, 2007 at 7:22 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Im right confused..

I dont see how anyone could mistake a Virginian for a Yankee.

Even if they're in northern virginia. Of course most of northern virginia has people from all over... but thats still odd.

January 20, 2007 at 11:20 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home