High Waters

A few days ago, Man and I came downstairs to see a small wet spot on the floor.  It had rained all weekend, so we assumed this was partially to blame. 

Except that it was in the middle of our basement and not under our porch.

So we checked with out neighbor to see if they had any issues.  Negative.

We shrugged and reassumed the rain was the culprit.

And then the puddle grew from about 8 square feet of damp cement to about 20.  Still perplexed by the obviously non-rain induced water, I began to inspect the walls, the water heater and the pipes for any sign of initiation point.  

Nothing seemed wet.  And then, as I was reaching towards a wall to feel for dampness, it hit me.  Literally.  For as I leaned in, my face had moved into the perfect proximity to feel the a tiny misting stream of water that had been misting out of a capped pipe.

Which is why, a mere two weeks after our first mortgage payment, my two favorite Chinese men were crouched in one corner of the basement, tinkering around with wrenches, blow torches and solder.  

I am pretty sure I understood enough of what happened to help Man replicate the procedure if necessary (and I have been informed that my creme brulé blow torch will suffice for pipe welding).  However, the new words I learned did not stick to my pregnancy-stiffled brain, so I shall let the pictures tell of our adventure:

Take that, First Home Sorta-Emergency.  Consider yourself vanquished.