Ice Dam that is. As I type, I hear a cacophony of drips into various pots and pans in my kitchen, collecting the disgusting water that is leaking through the roof. I’ve had to pierce a hole in the drywall to allow the water to drain in one part of the ceiling, there’s another leak through a light fixture over the sink – that was well placed even though the idea of water and electricity mixing frightens me, and a third in the corner that is draining into the only cupboard that held my dry goods. I’m not putting them back there again — going to put plates and stuff in there after this I think.
We traipsed outside and knocked down the icicles, and removed what we could, but it’s now really up to mother nature to melt the ice that is causing the backup. Except the weather man says it’s going to be cold for the next week.
So much for Wiarton Willy and Punxsatawney Phil’s predictions for an early spring.
The strange thing is that yesterday I wrote a scene where my character wakes up to water dripping on him when the roof leaks. Am I prescient or what? I guess I’d better not write about tornadoes or earthquakes or fires or anything had I?