So where were we? Oh yes, smack dab in the middle of a classic case of renovation hubris. It was Saturday, I had paint on the walls and I could see things unfolding before me beautifully. And, boy was I wrong.
Saturday's set back was not a minor one. I did spend the day painting and prepping walls and then when Martin came home from work we set about moving the appliances back in place. After replacing the stove back to its original position, and rehooking up the gas line from the oven to the main line, we discovered a small gas leak. Though of course it didn't really happen like that. It happened more like this:
We replaced the line using teflon tape and this crazy gas line sealing gunk on each joint just as the friendly fella at Rona showed me the other night. There was mild panic as we had to make a few attempts at lighting the pilot light, but then all seemed fine. We had a gas flame on our stove and I tried to tell myself that was great.Still, I was nervous that something had been dislodged during the whole unattaching process, as it required a lot of twisting and wrenching to take apart in the first place, and those are some old pipes and bolts we've got there. So, to assuage my nerves I ran the gas monitor a few times, the levels were slightly higher than usual, but I reasoned this was from the whole taking a while to light the pilot light scenario. Still, I wasn't satisfied, so I put some soapy water on the joints to check for the bubbles that a leak would indicate. We went about putting furniture back in its proper spots and cleaning up when Miss P came in the room and announced that the kitchen stunk. Both Martin and I turned around. "Really? Stinks like what?" he asked. "Farts," she replied. We both ran over to the gas line. We couldn't see any bubbles but there was a gas smell that was for sure and a sinister hissing was coming from the pipe. As we tried to assess where the leak was coming from (and hoping to all the gods in the pantheon that it was above the shut off valve) Miss P stood behind us repeating: "Do we need to evacuate the building?" like some kind of over eager safety parrot. For the record, this is not a helpful question to be asked aloud as your internal monologue is desperately trying to assess the relative danger of your gas line situation. Two minutes, and 15 "Do we need to evacuate.." later there was a large soap bubble coming off the back of the pipe. We shut off the gas at the valve (for fortunately it was coming from above the shut off) and resigned ourselves to another few days of no coffee in the mornings. I'm very proud of myself for not crying at that point.
We weren't going to pay emergency rates for someone to come fix it on Sunday so we called Monday morning and a lovely fellow came to the house while Martin was here, but he didn't have the right pieces, so he had to reschedule for today.
As I type this that same lovely gas line fellow is here putting a new coded valve on our pipe and reattaching our stove. If all goes well (I can not possibly tell you how superstitious I am about this), we will be able to have coffee at home tomorrow morning and possibly even a home cooked meal this evening (though we'll still be washing our dishes in the bathtub). If that is the case, then I will be the happiest shopper in the food coop this evening, even if I am exhausted.
Sunday brought its own set of problems and delays and they have continued since. I promise to share the delight here as it involves Martin coming to my heroic rescue, but for now I must pay the gas man.
PS: The gas fellow just left and we seem to be in the clear. I feel like cheering from the rooftops. I also feel like a nap. I think I'll settle for a trip to the grocery store to fortify me for tonights attempt at plumbing. Wish us luck!