What was that I was saying about dripping being a delightful sound? The drip trolls heard me. It may be a wonderful, hopeful sound outside the house. On the inside? Not so much.
It was Sir Mattie and Miss MaisyMae that clued me in. During dinner tonight, they both kept staring wide-eyed into the music room, on alert, hackles raised as though something or someone's appearance was imminent. I have to admit, they got my attention!
With the usual evening routine: tidy the kitchen, pull the blinds, close the drapes—I heard it too. Drip-drip-drip. Yup. No mistake. Heart-sinkingly distinct.
Sure enough, the large window behind the piano is leaking, the sill already puddled, and tell-tale rivulets streaming down the wall.
There’s not a thing we can do about it, especially at this hour. So with towels on the sill, plastic and more towels on the carpet beneath, I head off to bed knowing there’s going to be a whole lot of Kilzing going on in a couple of months. Oh happy day.
We’ve had worse in years past, chunks of ceiling disintegrating, carpets saturated—serious stuff, and likely it’s that vivid memory that has my stomach churning about now.
So what was that I was saying about drip-drip-drip being a cheerful sound? Perish the thought!
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