The Great Quincy Leak: A Rainy Weekend Saga
It’s been raining for what feels like six hundred years here in Quincy, Massachusetts. I’ve started measuring time in units of “stormwatch,” and honestly, I think the clouds have unionized. It was during one of these never-ending Nor’easter tantrums that I discovered something dripping in my kitchen—and sadly, it wasn’t the start of a gourmet soup. That’s right. The ceiling, my once-trusty sky-shield, betrayed me. One innocent drop. Then another. And soon? My kitchen had joined Team Atlantis. At first, I thought maybe someone spilled water. A hopeful thought. Naïve, even. But when I placed a bowl under the drip and it filled faster than a toddler’s snack demands—you bet I knew: I had a leaky roof . Denial → Bargaining → Acceptance → Yelp I went through the five stages of roof grief. I squinted up, wondering if I could spiritually manifest the leak to stop. Then I grabbed a flashlight and climbed into the attic like a budget Indiana Jones. It smelled like wet insulation and r...