Hey! Who You Callin' A Drip?

Lots of snow here.
Maybe lots of snow where you are, too.

Snow on the grass, the driveway, the patio

and piled up against the sunroom.

Yup.  That's Dylan and Anne, below.

Yup.  That's a lot of snow.

(They are in front of a six foot fence.)

Howard, trying to keep up with clearing

snow from paths, so the dogs can get about their business!

Eventually, even when it is still below freezing,

the Sun begins to melt the vintage snow.

And replace that snow with . . . ice and water.

So far, our sunroom windows are managing to fend off

the efforts of the melting ice to storm the barricades,

and sneak into the house.

As for another part of the house,

the ice is being more clever.

Walls are not supposed to look like this:

This is the small wall to the left of my desk, in a little windowed

"bump out" that juts from our study out onto the front porch.

Lots of ice on the flat porch roof is damming up

the melting ice, and the water is snaking its way into the house.

Walls are weeping and paint is peeling.

The ceiling is beginning to look a little . . . umm . . . dampish.

The window frame was running with water a day ago.

What nerve.

When you own a house, especially a house as

old as That Old House, there's always something.

Hey. No point in fretting. It's all fix-able.

As my Mom used to say, 

"If it doesn't bleed, don't worry about it!"

Amen, Mom.

(We -- if by "we" I mean "Anne" -- went up to the 2nd floor window that overlooks the

ice dam, leaned out, and shoved a lot of the ice and snow away.

This has slowed down the drips.  Not counting the ones that dripped all over Anne.)

Stay warm and dry, my friends!  -- Cass