There is a joke about how owning an old house means hearing weird noises and hoping it’s ghosts and not something broken or malfunctioning that needs repaired. I’m here to assure you, that is no joke.
In our most recent little “attack of charm,” we never heard a peep. Apparently, falling in — or in our case, out — of hot water is a silent situation. It’s also two adults trying to pretend they are not having a mechanical issue when they clearly are having a mechanical issue. Nothing to see here, indeed.
Mr. Wonderful and I tried to pretend everything was fine. We really did. Imagine me trying to wash dishes, do laundry and fill a mop bucket. I was running the hot water tap, yet in none of those instances was I getting any hot water.
I was slow to catch on. I let the water run for like five minutes and just kept willing it to get warm. My puzzled face as I waved my hands under the still cold water assures me I would never have made it as a pioneer.
I am absolutely at a loss if the water does not just magically become hot. I don’t know how any of that works. My involvement ends at the handle.
Accordingly, I went to the brains of our operation and pointed out the issue to Mr. Wonderful. He, realization dawning, mentioned that his shower the night before was lukewarm.
“I forgot to mention it,” he said.
Dear readers, do we think he “forgot?” Or was he just fervently hoping it was a weird anomaly?
Spoiler alert. It was not an anomaly.
After exactly 29 years and 15 days of faithful service, our electric hot water tank took its last gasp, blew a breaker and died. To be fair, it had a good run. The new models come with a 6-year warranty, so that tells me all I need to know about the presumed lifespan of the replacement.
On the other hand, BoyWonder just replaced a hot water tank that was nearly 50 years old. So, I guess I am definitely in my “They don’t make ‘em like they used to” era.
It’s funny the things you can get sentimental about. Mr. Wonderful went down and sent me a photo of the now-defunct tank from the basement.
Side note: I don’t go into the basement unless a funnel cloud is spotted, and I mean it has to be basically knocking on my door. I don’t do basements.
As basements go, our basement isn’t terrible. It’s dry and has really high ceilings and pretty brick walls. No matter, it’s underground. The spiders can have it. I’m not a basement gal. Thus, I have to settle for photos sent back from the depths.
He had installed that one about five minutes after we moved in. He had scrawled the date on it in black marker: 11-3-96. I laughed when I saw it, contemplating how different life was in autumn of ‘96.
We were brand new old house owners and were already finding out that it needed a brand new fuel oil boiler — expensive. We also needed a brand new hot water heater — also expensive.
I was pregnant with our first child. Mr. Wonderful said, “I know I installed it really quickly.”
I said I’m sure he did because he undoubtedly had a pregnant wife, sobbing that she couldn’t live like this. This house was a lifelong dream come true, and I immediately regretted it once we moved in. Fortunately, that feeling passed.
The photo that Mr. Wonderful sent me shows a dusty old tank up against a brick wall. Above it hangs a portrait of Jesus. That art was there when we moved in. The way things were going — mechanically — from day one, we decided it was best to leave Jesus be. Whatever protection he reigns over our mechanicals, I’ll take it. I figured if the tank ever burst, he could, at the very least, part the water?
I shared the news of the tank’s demise with our family via text because we all get a kick out of the trials and tribulations, don’t we?
GirlWonder immediately replied, “How different your lives were on that date.”
So, that’s why I’m over here getting sentimental over an electric hot water tank. We were not yet 30. Had no idea of the joys of parenting (yet) and had no clue what the future had in store for us.
We were overwhelmed, but so excited with the prospects of this house, parenthood and life. What a ride it’s been both in — and out — of some hot water. I wouldn’t change a thing.
