My eloquent curses would go here

So as I pulled into the driveway after work today, I noticed something no homeowner much likes to see--the sump pump outlet spouting a massive and continuous plume of water.

Yep. Seems that, despite being substantially inland, we were one of the last victims of Hurricane Frances. Granted, it was a long way from losing the roof, as those unfortunates to our south experienced. Me, I just came down the basement stairs to discover more than an inch of water in the basement--the very furnished basement--the basement full of books, clothing, and--a measure of how little fear we had of water--photos, all stored entirely too close to the floor.

Not sure quite what happened. Best guess is the sump pump was a bit slow cutting in due to the cloth sitting on its floater, or maybe it just couldn't quite keep up with the flow. Anyway, by the time I came down to give it some help, there was enough water under the foundation to force it up through the floor around the sump hole, at one hell of a rate.

So we spent a fun evening of pumping out water with a wet vac and portable pump, drying rugs, mopping floors, spreading out waterlogged books and photos.

It's times like these I wish I had the Newfie gift for truly elaborate, creative profanity--like that demonstrated in the infamous message allegedly left by an irate customer for the cable company--a remarkable and seemingly endless tirade of obscenity and abuse. Me, best I can manage is a few of the good old Anglo-Saxon four letter standards everyone uses.

Ah well. We're well on our way, and the dehumidifier seems to be taking the damp outta the place, anyway. And it seems (provided we can get things dry enough before anything starts to rot) there's no serious damage. Though there's more than a few of the books I'll miss if the pages stick irrevocably together.