A few weeks ago we made a deal to have a new roof put on this old house. Since then it’s been raining off and on, either fitfully or in earnest, and the project hasn’t gone as quickly as I’d hoped. It’s raining again today — right after the crew stripped the ancient metal from east side of the roof. They were able to get it covered with roofing felt before quitting, but now I wander back and forth on that side of the upstairs, watching the ceiling for tell-tale drips. Not the way I prefer to spend my rainy days.
It was the tell-tale drips that convinced me we needed to replace the damned roof in the first place. The former owners had put off the inevitable by applying some ugly coating to the tin. Over the last year the coating has begun to disintegrate in places. I learned about that the old-fashioned way: wet wallboard and water on the bathroom floor.
A sound roof is like running water or reliable power: You tend to take it for granted. I will now add it to the long list of things I can no longer take for granted. I’ve always liked the sound of rain on a tin roof, but after this project is done I expect I’ll like it a lot more.
Speaking of running water, I have some seeping down the bathroom wall downstairs. I first thought it was related to the roof, but that end of the house is done now so the problem appears to be a leaky pipe inside the wall. Which means tearing out the wallboard to find it and fix it. A couple of weeks ago I had to pull the upstairs toilet off its base to repair a leak that had manifested itself first as a stain and then as a chunk falling out of dining-room ceiling. Words fail, so I must turn to cliche: It’s always something.
Vintage-home ownership is over-rated. Don’t let anyone tell you different.