Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Winter – Water Follies

    Friday, January 27, twenty minutes into the second load of laundry, the computer driven, front loading Maytag beep, beep, beeped and flashed “LF” at me.

    Lost flannels? Lingerie fluctuations?

    I tugged on the washer door. Locked tight. I pushed random buttons. “LF” kept flashing. Sighing, I climbed to the loft to unearth the manual.

    The manual’s explanation that “LF” stood for “Long Fill” made as much sense as my guesses, but the directions to correct the problem helped. Disconnect the machine, restart the load, and call a repairman if the “LF” warning appears again.

    On tiptoes, I stretched over the washtub, reached behind the machine, and pull out the bulky plug. That stopped the “LF” flash. Because I couldn’t see to replace the plug in the shadows behind the machine, I got my flashlight. With the flashlight in my right hand, I stretched my left arm, balanced on three left foot toes, and replaced the plug. Back in an upright posture, I pushed buttons to restart the cycle.

    No beeps. No flashes. The washer jetted through its sixty-nine minute routine.

    Sticking my chest out Helen Reddy “I am woman, hear me roar” invincible, I stuffed the clothes in the dryer.

Invincible vanished the following Friday when the washer beeped and flashed “LF” twenty minutes into the second load. I tiptoed, stretched, and pulled the plug. Water dripped off the supply line hose and onto my hand.

    I ran for my cell phone and called Spence, who had shopped for groceries in Meadville and was driving towards Sheakleyville to buy diesel fuel for his tractor.

    “I can tell from your voice this is an emergency,” he said. “I’m coming home.”

    Whoops. I could have waited till he’d finished his errands.

    “It’s just a little drip. Put a towel under it and restart the load,” he said. “I’ll look at it later this week, or you can call a repairman.”

    I put a hand towel behind the machine, restarted the second load, and called C & A Appliance Repair eleven miles north of us.

    Carl arrived Monday with a satchel full of tools.

    Fat cat George sniffed the bag, gave Carl a green-eyed inspection from brown hair to inside-the-house boots, and sauntered off for a nap.

    Carl was the first repairman I’d ever had that changed out of his outdoor boots.

    After listening to my saga he said, “That could be the supply lines, which get clogged, or your water system flow.” He pulled off the machine’s bottom compartment cover and ran diagnostics. Then he changed boots to fetch two valves and two hoses from his truck. After working more than an hour, he wrote the bill.

    Only $119.68? When he gave me a pen and a refrigerator magnet with his logo and phone number, I said, “Thanks. I’ll definitely be calling you again.” Only I didn’t think it would be in a week.

    The next Friday, February 10, the washer beeped twenty minutes into the second load. I tiptoed, stretched, pulled the plug, reinserted the plug, restarted the machine, and called Carl.

    “It’s not the washer,” he said over the phone. “The supply lines had been clogged, but the new ones aren’t. It’s the water system flow. Try cleaning your water filters and wait an hour before starting the second load so the tank has time to refill. If that doesn’t work, call a plumber to check your water system.”

    Did a water problem mean a break in the underground pipes or an animal clogging the works?

    I pushed water monsters to the back of my mind, did laundry with an hour delay between loads, and waited for a warm day to clean the filters at the cistern hydrant outside.

In the meantime, when I fed the worms in the shower stall of the basement bathroom, water ran in the toilet. Maybe that caused the house water tank to stay low. I called Spence down from his computer key tapping work.

    He wedged a shim under the float arm, and the murmur of flowing water stopped. Setting the tank cover on the toilet seat, he said, “Don’t use this toilet till I have time to replace the fluid master.”

    A few days later, he bought a fluid master for “about $8.00” at the Sandy Lake hardware and installed it. The toilet flushed properly, but the water in the first floor washtub flowed for a second then diminished in volume.

    I continued spacing an hour between laundry loads and resumed my wait for a warm day.

    Because I used sunny, 71ºF (22ºC) February 24 to clean my stinking of dead fish car, I had to wait till March 1. On that 57ºF (14ºC) Wednesday, Spence turned off the water lines, disconnected the three filtering canisters, then helped me lug the canisters, two buckets, a new sediment filter, two replacement ceramic candles, and cleaning supplies outside. With a gentle rain wetting my head, I peered into the sediment filter canister. Normal dirt soiled the filter, and no minnows or baby water snakes swam around it. I scrubbed the plastic walls and inserted a new filter before tackling the ceramic candles. None had broken since last summer. With a green scouring pad, I rubbed the dark, egg brown candles till they turned an off white coffee creamer color. Brown ceramic goo splotched my coat, and cold, snow melt water bit my fingers.

    Spence helped lug everything back inside, reset the O-rings, and screwed the canisters back in place. Except, when he reset the O-ring on the last canister, it slipped out of his hands and off the water tank top. Crash. The canister hit the floor, and all six candles broke.

After picking up the shards, I inserted our only two replacements.

Spence smeared plumbers grease in the groove, set the stretched O-ring, and screwed the canister in place. He flipped the levers to turn the water back on, and water sprayed from the canister. He turned the water off, unscrewed the canister, reset the O-ring, and replaced the canister.

    Water on. Spray. Water off. O-ring reset. Water on. Spray. Water off.

    While Spence patiently repeated the process, I lost count of the number of times he tried. “Let’s put a bucket and a bath towel under the canister,” I said when the spray diminished to a trickle. “After we install the four new candles, the leak might stop.”

    March 4, UPS delivered the $225.36 Doulton order containing two sets of ceramic candles (in case more broke) and a sediment cartridge for the next cleaning. March 5 we inserted four candles. Water dripped from the edge of the canister.

    “It might stop in awhile,” Spence said.

    But it didn’t.

    I lay another bath towel under the bucket. Spence shut the water off overnight, and we took turns emptying the bucket during the day.

    On Sunday, March 12, Spence asked “Do you want to try resetting the O-rings again?”

    “It’s worth a try,” I said.

    Spence found some rough surface on the outer edge of the canister and a missing chip on the inner edge. He scraped to smooth out the rough spots and reset the O-ring.

    Drips continued.

    Monday, the leaks accelerated to a gallon per hour. Tuesday, the rate doubled.

    I called Jones Plumbing and Heating in Meadville, sixteen miles away, and related my saga.

    “The damaged canister will never seal properly,” the plumber, who didn’t give his name, said. “Buy a new canister then call me back. I’ll install it for you.”

    I ordered a Pentek ten inch Big Blue filterhousing, O-rings, and paid extra for next day delivery. The bill totaled $67.66. UPS brought the supplies late Wednesday afternoon.

    Toting the box downstairs, I said, “Do you think we can use the old mounted top and just replace the bottom part of the canister?”

    “That’s my plan,” Spence said. He shut off the water and took down the leaking canister.

    I transferred the candles to the new canister.

    He screwed the filter housing in place and turned on the water.

    A circular waterfall cascaded from the canister.

    Spence quickly shut the water off.

    After three more tries with a repeating Niagara Falls effect, Spence put the candles back in the old canister, screwed it in place, and placed the bucket underneath to catch the trickle.

    Thursday morning, I called the plumber and dashed off to volunteer at the Learning Center and swim laps at the YMCA. I came home to Spence tapping keys on his computer. Setting down my gear, I said, “Did the plumber come? What happened?”

   “Two plumbers came. I took them down to the basement, showed them the materials, and let them get to work. Five minutes later, they came up and said the job was done.”

    “What?”

    “They’d put the new canister on the old top and tightened it so it didn’t leak. The bill was $160.00.”

    “No parts? Just five minutes of labor?”

    “Yep, plus their travel time.”

    Sheesh.

    So, this past Friday after seven weeks and $580.70 (₤468.34), I started the second load of laundry as soon as I put the first load into the dryer. The second load ran through a complete cycle. No beeps. No “LF” flashes. Instead of sticking my chest out Helen Reddy “I am woman, hear me roar” invincible, I sighed in relief.