The kids are crying 'cause the sheets are so cold.
Woke this morning, found my hands were frozen.
Tried to fix the fire, but you know
the damn thing's too old." Phil Collins
I used to listen to that song over and over when I was in high school. I'm not sure what about it appealed to me. It's a bleak little song for sure. I guess it fit my late-night moods.
It certainly fit my mood today. Sweet Potato stayed home from school and was disappointed because she couldn't play her Xbox. She couldn't play the Xbox because we had to move the TV out of the way of the melted snow that was dripping into the house.
I said, "Sweet P, you're upset because you can't play a video game? Listen, I just bought a house, and right now it's raining in my living room. I think I win this pity party."
Luckily R was able to escape from work early fix up the mess, so it's drying as I write this.
Here's what happened: The snow on our roof melted because of the heat rising from the house, it then flowed to the edge of the roof (the eaves) where it's colder and promptly turned to ice. It's called an ice dam. Never heard of such-a-thing before today. The ice dam prevents the rest of the melting snow from exiting stage left. Puddles form. You get the picture.
R went on the roof with a blow torch and melted the ice dam, crazy man that he is. I figured it might work or he might burn the house down, in which case I'd mosey on back to California-- where I hear it's Spring already. The scarier alternative was that he fall off of the roof with the torch. I tried not to think too much about that one.
Despite my disgruntledness over the ice dam, I am feeling cheerier this week, mostly because I enjoyed my first MNO (moms' night out) on Friday and was introduced to my new friend, the lovely little sour patch martini. Green Mama described it as a "water melon Jolly Rancher with alcohol." Plus, instead of fruit or olives, there was candy in the bottom of the glass-- my kinda drink all over. I told R we must learn how to make them at home.
Also, last night I finished The Painted Drum by Louise Erdrich, and I don't think I will give anything away by sharing this passage:
"And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could."