Chicken Little

Today--morning and early afternoon, at least--were clear and bright and cold, the sort of day you get right after a big storm. Spouse and I went up on the roof; he patched things, I cleaned out gutters (on one side we have what are called Dutch gutters: a two-by-four covered in shingle, and ours were thick with moss). By nightfall the rain had begun again, and we were noticing that one part of the stairwell ceiling was wet, while previously soggy areas had remained dry.

Tonight, as I was putting Younger Daughter to bed, I noticed an ominous plinking sound from her closet (which is conveniently located right over the stairwell). Opened the door to find the floor wet, her clothes wet, and a big drip in the center of the ceiling.

It is 10:20 our time. Spouse has torn the plaster and some of the lathe off the ceiling, and disposed of a couple of buckets worth of 60s vintage insulation, in search of the leak. Younger Daughter is kipped out on the couch. Older Daughter is lurking upstairs, happy that this isn't her problem. God knows where the water is coming in; wish someone would tell me.

Before Christmas, the girls and I made a particularly beautiful gingerbread house (Wheat Chex make a great thatch roof). This morning we discovered that one of the walls had buckled, from the moisture in the air. I am trying not to take this as an augury of sorts.