Category: House

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Standards (Part 2)

So in Part 1, I chronicled my woes regarding a seemingly simple task: connecting a garden hose to an unused water softener spigot in the basement.  In short, it was not as easy as I had thought, and I had resorted to an unconventional solution.  Unfortunately, that unconventional solution did not withstand the test of time, and when I used the hose later, the sealant popped loudly and water sprayed the wall.  The pressure was just too great.

Curious as to how much pressure was in these lines, I researched what standard pressure should be.  The answer: 40-60 psi, no more than 75.  This only served to cause more questions though, like how deep does water have to be to reach that pressure?  Hmm, back to the Internet.

The answer to this question: about 30-40 meters.  That’s…pretty deep.  I certainly wouldn’t ever want to be that deep under water.  And that’s residential pressure, after the reducer.  It’s no wonder broken fire hydrants turn into geysers, and why water towers are so creepily tall.

But back to the job at hand.  I was determined to get this project to work, so I decided on another tactic that I had toyed with at the time: splitting the washer hookup and connecting a hose directly to that.

This spigot has certainly seen better days

Once again, it was off to Lowe’s to stare at pipe fittings.  I admit–I rather enjoy just looking at components like this, formulating solutions in my mind, then allowing my attention to drift to potential future projects.  The trouble is, staring blankly at rows filled with utility infrastructure sends visual messages to those around, manifesting into thoughts such as: “This guy has no idea what he’s doing,” or “He’s going to break something or hurt himself,” or “Maybe I’ve watched too much 90s-style man-of-the-house-deprecating sitcoms and I’m judging him too harshly when I really don’t know what he’s capable of.”

I highly doubt that it’s ever that latter thought, however, so in general I try not to tarry too long.  Fortunately, my years of work experience have taught me a useful skill: how to look busy when I’m not, and how to look like I know what I’m doing.  I must have pulled it off, because no one approached me.  And besides which, figuring things out is part of the fun of a project.  I don’t want a detailed walkthrough for everything I do in life.

Anyway, I quickly found a copper hose splitter.  But–would this fit the laundry hookup?  I presumed it would, but I also presumed I would find something to fit the water softener spigot, thinking everything in plumbing was standardized and easy to figure out.  Also, the laundry hose stays pressurized, and since I didn’t want to leave a garden hose pressurized constantly, I would need to split the hookup, and then install a value on the hookup I would use for the hose.

Then it occurred to me: I would buy another wash machine line, which is designed to stay pressurized, then terminate it in a valve, then attach the garden hose to the valve.  Plus, having a washer hose in my possession at the store would allow me to determine if the splitter would fit.  So, I wandered over to the appliances, found a set of hoses, opened the box, and attached the splitter.  I was gambling, of course, that the existing hookup and hose were the same size, but since I couldn’t find any size other than 3/4 in the entire store, I took that to be reasonable confirmation that it was a standard.

The next objective: attach the utility hose to a ball-valve.  All the valves were female-threaded, so I had to find a male connector.  Fortunately, that was easy through trial and error, though I later found out that hose threats and pipe threads are different, but a male 3/4 pipe thread will still attach to a 3/4 female hose thread (though not the other way around).  And fortunately, the Internet was pretty unanimous in that doing this, while not the way things were designed, wouldn’t cause any problems.  So, I didn’t bother swapping this out for another 3/4 male pipe to hose thread adapter–which is what I attached to the other side of the valve for the garden hose.  For whatever reason, it didn’t occur to me that utility hoses had hose thread–something new to learn I guess.

The difference is that hoses use pressure to seal against a rubber gasket, because they’re also designed to be removed if desired, whilst pipe thread is meant to be cranked down and left sealed eternally (bypassing the need for a washer), and is so threaded finer to reduce gaps.  For those who weren’t aware of or considered this distinction, myself included, there’s a brief explanation.

Having all the parts (splitter, utility hose, male thread connector, ball-valve, male thread connector to garden hose), I set off for home.

I never did use those hose clamps–they were too big

The splitter attached easily enough, followed by the existing utility hose, then the new one.

After doing this, I asked Liz how old that hose was, which we determined to be the one that came with the house, so it’s probably due to be replaced before it catastrophically explodes

Then it was the fun part: assembling the copper parts.  I really wonder how plumbers do this, because I applied the tape and cranked those bastards down until I ached all over, and they still leaked.  Eventually, after experimenting with additional Teflon layers, I got the leaks to stop…mostly.  The garden hose side still drips ever so slightly, but not enough to bother with taking it all back apart and adding more tape, and only when I leave it pressurized.

I let it sit for a time, ball-valve closed and the line under full pressure.  For whatever reason, I expected my handiwork to explode violently, embedding me with copper shrapnel.  But rationally, if anything were to fail, it would be that ancient rubber hose that’s been on the line since the 60s.

That silicon tape got a new use–it’s a much cleaner solution than duct tape, although eventually I might get the right sized hose clamps for a more permanent fixture

I feel much more confident with this setup, though my prolonged work back there with the piping shook my confidence with the existing pipework, like that old utility hose and the shutoff to the outside spigots that’s so rusted I can’t turn it.  Maybe next I’ll learn soldering.

–Simon

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Over the Rainbow (Part 3)

When the word burns in thermonuclear fire, I’m going to miss these.  Behold, a pleasant Autumn rainbow–something we don’t get very often:

October 4, 2017; 18:04

–Simon

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Standards

I really like my indoor grow light basement setup.  With the average first frost in the region to be around 10/19, I’ve been revisiting the setup and considering what I’m going to be keeping inside overwinter.  And as I pondered the setup, I thought about how much easier things would be if I had a hose connected down there.  And as it just so happens, it’s only about 10 feet away from the main water line.

This portion of the basement is where the laundry machines are hooked up, as well as a utility sink.  The lines split off from here, feeding two external spigots, and there’s the whole house filter, the water heater, and the general myriad of lines for sinks and bathrooms.  To me, the mess of copper looks like the depths of some steampunk facility.

In the chaos, the main water line passes through two spigots.  The spigots are closed, with a central spigot which bypasses them–open.  It looks like a setup for a water softener.  I don’t know if one was ever installed, because the water here doesn’t need conditioning, but maybe it once did.  Who knows?  Regardless their intended purpose, it gave me an idea–could I just simply connect a hose to one of those spigots?

As it turns out, no.  The threads were much too wide for a standard garden hose.  But surely there’s an adapter, right?

Armed with this logic, I was off to Lowe’s to look at copper fittings.  I quickly discovered that the maximum copper fitting size was 1 inch.  Recalling how wide the spigot was, I gambled and bought a 1 inch to 3/4 inch reducer.  I hurried home to see the fruition of my project, but soon determined that 1 inch was too small.  Curious, why would they not make a copper fitting big enough to fit a copper spigot?

So I went to Home Depot instead.  But I ran into the same problem here.  None of the connectors were big enough.  Staring blankly at the wall of copper, a store employee took pity on me and offered to help.  I explained my plight, and he informed me that they don’t carry anything in copper bigger than one inch, but he could get me the needed size connectors in PVC.

I really wanted copper, but this project wasn’t for any high-impact application, so as long as it would work at all, I could live with PVC.  So, with two PVC adapters and a brass threaded hose connector, I headed back home.  I then attempted to attach the PVC to the spigot, and…it was too big.  What the hell?  I went up one standard size from one inch: 1-1/4.  Why wouldn’t that fit?  And it was only slightly too big, like 1/16 of an inch.  Was this spigot metric?

I stewed over this dilemma, and concluded that I would experiment.  So I wrapped the threads in a bunch of Teflon tape to fill the gap, cranked the PVC down, and filled the resultant void (due to the depth of the PVC threads) with a waterproofing adhesive.  I let it cure for 24 hours.  Maybe that would be sufficient.

It wasn’t.  Even though I didn’t turn the water on very high, it was still the main water line, and the pressure was too great.  The joint failed with a pop and I had to scurry over and shut the spigot.  Curses.

Okay, experiment 2.  I removed all the adhesive and Teflon.  This time, I was armed with self-fusing silicone tape–something designed to seal high-pressure pipes (which I bought on a whim while I was returning the first batch of connectors).  I wrapped the spigot threads with enough tape that it became an effort to crank down the PVC connector.  This stuff was supposed to adhere to any surface and be completely waterproof.  I let it sit for a bit, but it didn’t have any cure time so that hardly seemed to matter.  This time, I decided to test it without any sealant, since the sealant itself wouldn’t hold the pressure anyway.  I turned the water on, higher than I had turned it on with my last attempts.

And…it held.  Huh, maybe this silicone tape is magic after all.  I let the hose stay pressurized for a time, then shut it off and de-pressurized the line.  I refilled the gap with sealant, figuring it might still help by adding support.  And so far, it’s working as I had hoped.  I’m uncertain of this solution’s permanence, and somewhat unhappy with the inelegant and hacked solution, but time will tell.  And if it doesn’t hold up, then I’ll simply splice into the wash machine line instead.  I know I can get proper connectors for that at least.

Still, the irritation lingered, and I searched for an explanation.  Curiously, pipe fittings are not nearly as standard as I had thought, and the actual measurements are approximations which have changed over time.  So whenever this spigot was installed, for whatever connection it was intended, is no longer a current standard.  Sheesh.  Maybe one day I’ll try soldering in a nice ball valve threaded for a garden hose, but for now, I don’t want to risk compromising the main water line and having to call in a professional.

Why the hell aren’t pipes all standard sizes?  Another homeowner lesson.

–Simon

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Art (Part 2)

I thought some bladed weaponry would look good above the mantle.  Dad thought some full-size babe pinups would fit the space perfectly.  But ultimately, I somehow ended up with sunflowers.  I suppose pictures of the reproductive parts of plants is sort of like pictures of babes…roll that disturbing thought through your brain a bit.

Admittedly, I like sunflowers.  I wish I had grown some this year.  And I had been living in fear that the mantle would eventually be adorned with paintings of cabins in the woods, so I can live with sunflowers.

But it’s a lengthy stretch–99 inches to be exact, and Liz had acquired 4 individual pictures.  This would create a ratio that would show every slight deviation in alignment, so they had to be mounted with exacting perfection.  Fortunately, OCD can be leveraged to accomplish such perfection, so out came my tool kit and the drafting equipment (paper and pencil).

Okay…99 divided into 4 equal partitions would be 24 3/4 inches, so if I measure the exact middle, 49 1/2 inches, and the height is 40 3/4 inches, then the middle is…

…Also consider the width and height of the frames, and the locations of the mounting brackets, and the distance between…

I ended up with this nightmarish blueprint:

The kid drew the flowers in, I guess to complete the facsimile

At least the frames were light so I didn’t have to worry about mounts or studs.  Studs are never where they’re needed, and mounts always seem to have a 50/50 chance of ripping the drywall out.

One more wall decorated.

–Simon

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Slash and Burn

One should always strive to maintain a tentative peace with the neighbors, but as I’ve complained about before, I really dislike how a certain hippie neighbor (The Landscaper) pays no regard to his feral children running through my yard.  Still, it’s a minor concern, so I let it go.

The Landscaper is a landscaper, so he told me.  I don’t know when he landscapes, because I never see him leave his house, and his yard is maintained by said feral children.  There are indications of professional landscaping, like the ornamental grass and the lilly of the valley patch, and his battle with BP that ultimately concluded in him getting to keep his oak trees, but that’s about it.

On one occasion, I spoke with him as he was outside spraying the property line with what I can only assume was Agent Orange.  There’s even a patch where he had a 10-foot wide swath of barren and poisoned wasteland, because I guess he got overzealous–but it was all on his side so I couldn’t really complain.  He dug a large hole there, which I had hoped was for a screening bush, but that was seasons ago and the hole still sits there, so I’ve taken to using it as a waste bin for everything his kids leave in my yard (footballs, golf balls, empty beer cans, etc.)  At the time of his war on weeds, he had offered to spray my side, before BP defoliated the area themselves, but I had politely declined.

On another occasion, I saw him up in one of his oak trees with a chainsaw.  A storm had broken a branch and it was dangling precariously, and he was dutifully addressing the hazard by cutting it down…3 weeks later.  He had successfully sawed through the branch, but rather than dismount from the arboreal giant and then pull the branch away, he was attempting to throw the branch away from the tree while he was in it, but the branch was long and he couldn’t accomplish the task because he lacked the leverage.  Rather than witness The Landscaper’s untimely demise at the limbs of a tree he fought so hard to keep, I helped him remove the branch, which he then ultimately threw into my yard–ironic, as I’ll explain, since I then cut it up and burned it.

I’ve split all the wood from my own oak trees that physics would allow, yet I’m left with a pile of tree branch joints.  I can’t split these, because any way I strike them, the axe blade starts to go against the grain.  So I’ve taken these chunks and sequentially thrown them into the fire pit, where they gradually burn away over the course of multiple fires.

One weekend day, as I was engaged in my general assortment of outdoor gardening/landscaping chores, I had such a fire going.  Then, from The Landscaper’s house, I heard the screeching of a harpy:

“Put that fucking fire out!”

It gave me pause, not simply due to the rude nature of the comment under any circumstances, but also because I wasn’t certain if it was The Landscaper’s wife, or one of his kids.  Either option would be a tad appalling, but I concluded it was one of the kids, because what adult would really speak in such a manner, unprovoked, to a neighbor?

The Landscaper’s wife

Ultimately, I shrugged it off.  I’m fairly accustomed to rudeness, having spent about 13 years in the service industry, besides which–I don’t answer to other people’s children, or anyone shouting from the window.  I continued my practice of frequent fires, perhaps more frequent than before, for after all, I’m a suburbanite, and I default to passive-aggressive retaliation, because that’s what keeps me out of prison.

…besides which, I had checked the city’s ordinance on “recreational fires”, and mine always adhered to the requirements.  So were I a total dick, I could light them as much as I wanted.

Then, recently, as I was ripping out my dead pumpkin vines and throwing them into my yard waste pile by the fire and chopped wood, I saw The Landscaper.  He was approaching me, rather deliberately I might add, and without any indication from me that it was okay, crossed the property line (I now see where his kids get that from).  His gait was more purposeful than I had witnessed previously (as on the rare occasions in which I do see him, he stumbles around slowly), which concerned me, but he’s an emaciated hippie, and I was holding a garden hoe at the time, so I suppose I could have just whacked him across the head were things to escalate.

But violence did not ensue.  He announced his concerns: “Your fire…I have a problem with the fires.”

I waited, patiently, for further explanation.  His initial statement had been blunt, and a tad rude, so perhaps he was revising his next words.  I watched as the two neurons in his skull synapsed and he elaborated: “The smoke blows in our windows and it stinks the place up.  I get having the occasional bonfire, but a fire for the right reasons, and not with anything wet.”

I considered.  A bonfire would be against ordinance.  And I wasn’t burning anything wet–maybe he thought I was burning the pumpkin vines.  And what exactly were the “right reasons”?  But rather than instigate an argument, I replied with the appropriate amount of fabricated concern to end the conversation as quickly as possible without appearing dismissive: “Oh, I wasn’t aware it was bothering anyone.  I’ll be more mindful of that in the future.”  I glanced past him at the smoldering stump, which was currently only emitting the tiniest wisp of smoke.

But The Landscaper continued: “Because it’s blowing into the house and it stinks the place up.  It’s the wet stuff.”

I reiterated: “Okay The Landscaper, I wasn’t aware it was causing anyone problems.  I’ll be more careful about that from now on.”  Maybe he didn’t hear me.

“Because it’s blowing in the windows and it stinks.  So…if you could just…not the wet stuff…”  His train of thought had apparently exhausted itself, and he turned and left.  I resumed weeding, having instantly pushed the conversation from thought.

But The Landscaper turned around as he approached the property line, and returned.  “I dunno if we’ve met before, I’m The Landscaper.  What’s your name?”

I paused for a moment.  Not only had we met at least 3 times prior, but I had used his name in this current conversation.  That, and introductions are usually given at the beginning of a conversation.  “Simon,” I said.

“Nice to meet you neighbor.  I’m not trying to be a bad neighbor, you know, it’s just that the smoke comes in the windows and sticks up the place, so if you could not burn the wet stuff, and, you know, I understand the occasional bonfire for the right reasons…that’s a nice garden you have…”  This went on for several minutes, but eventually The Landscaper left.  I resumed weeding, this time musing on what those “right reasons” might be.

A few minutes later, The Landscaper returned with something in his hand.  “Hey, I want you to have this.  I have a tree that grows these.”  He held out a paw paw.  I had picked them in the woods before, sometimes when hunting.  The gesture amused me, but I thanked him for it.

“Ah, a paw paw.  These grow around here don’t they?”

“Yeah, we have a tree.  They’re pretty good.”

“Thanks, The Landscaper.”

“Yeah, it’s just that the smoke blows in the windows, and…”  He reiterated another version of the above monologue, apparently using the fruit as a peace offering and excuse to express his concerns yet again on the smoke, the wet stuff, and “the right reasons”, but eventually The Landscaper left.

I recounted the story to Liz, and we revisited the plans to create some type of impassible barrier against that property line.  Next year’s project–a survey and raised gardens.  Hopefully raised beds will avoid the Agent Orange, and serve to further minimize unwanted conversation with a particular neighbor.

–Simon