After the sewer flooded the basement, I couldn’t bring myself to go down there, which meant that Michael had to lug the laundry up and down the two flights of stairs. But even just folding and wearing the clothes wigged me out, so I petitioned for a new laundry room on the second floor in one of the spare bedrooms.
It was a cold, dry January day when I walked down the two flights of stairs to the basement to put a load of laundry in, a trek that was beginning to take its toll. I heard rushing water first, and then looked down to see that the basement was flooded with a good six-inches of brown water.
I used to believe I was more than a novice at following my intuition. But now, not so much. I learned the hard way that the gentle voice of intuition is no match against the roar of desire.
I never felt at home in our new-build Victorian that lacked old-style character,