The joys of condo living...

So I'm camped out on the sofa last Sunday afternoon, all snuggly against winter's bite under a warm quilt that I should have made but bought before I knew how, catching up on my TiVo, the cat nestled next to my legs and both of us eagerly anticipating the Super Bowl (Archie loves to watch football) and those wonderfully entertaining commercials, when I hear it:

drip.

I sat up, my head cocked in the direction of my front doorway, which is directly underneath my upstairs neighbors' kitchens. Uh-oh.

drip...drip...drip

In the seconds it took to realize what was happening, it went from drip...drip...drip to dripdripdripdripdripdripdripDripDRipDRIpDRIPDRIPDRIPDRIP to actual RAIN in my living room.

My first thought was, "HOLY CRAP! The piano!"

My second thought was "HOLY CRAP! My sewing machine!"

I thought you'd all be proud of me for putting my sewing machine so high on the list, even though it's replaceable. My grandfather's 90-year old baby grand is not, so it gets top billing on the Worry List.

My third thought, which probably should have been my first, was to shut the water off as quickly as possible.

In a blur I managed to find shoes, throw the quilt over the piano (like that really would have helped), get a towel down on the floor beneath the leak, grab my keys and fly down the flight of stairs to the basement, close the water main and shut down the hot water heater, all the while on my cell phone in a rather animated call to my handy man.

Long story short, my neighbor two floors up left for the weekend and didn't deadbolt his balcony door, which we now know doesn't close all the way unless you give it a good bump. And February in Chicago being just a little windy, and having just experienced the third worst blizzard of all time just a few days before, those winds were a little more active than usual. Of course, the door blew open in his absence.

It's still a little fuzzy as to whether the heat was also turned off, or if the wind blew the furnace pilot out...but that's water under the floorboards at this point.

Two days of sub-freezing air + no heat = burst pipes + a pain in my you-know-what

Both the piano and sewing machine, I'm happy to report, are nice and dry. My walls and ceiling, not so much.

As the (very reluctant) President of my condo association, the past week has been spent juggling four different insurance companies, claims adjustors and an angry owner (the guy on the second floor bore the brunt of it) in addition to sorting through half-soaked possessions from my basement storage locker (also in the line of fire), and anticipating the joy of removing drywall and listening to heavy-duty dehumidifers run non-stop in my living room and bedroom (because leaking water runs wherever it damn well pleases, no matter that the bedroom is on the other side of the building) for 72 hours straight. When all I really wanted to do was watch the Super Bowl, undisturbed, from the comfort of my own couch.

After being barraged for a week, yesterday I refused to answer my phone or check e-mail in an effort to regain a sense of normalcy, no matter how false. I needed to sew, dammit! A little someone I know is due for a doll quilt, so I dug out some charm squares I've had forever and booked a little therapy session with Dr. Bernina.

Happy colors, and easy, mindless piecing. It wasn't much, but boy, it felt good! How is it that just sitting down to the machine and watching that fabric feed under the needle, even for just an hour, makes everything else fade away? For a little while, anyway. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get the phone -- it's my claims adjustor calling. Again.