It was actually kinda fun. The wife and I trotting into the hardware store together, list in hand, to buy everything we would need to repair copper pipe in our kitchen.

"We're gonna be plumbers!"

I'm sure the gals at the hardware store were amused. In fact, by the grins on their faces, I know they were. But it felt good, just the same. It's been way too many years since we've gone charging into something unknown together, certain we're going to succeed.

The first gal, who knows the wife, tried to steer us towards "copper epoxy". A patch for copper tubing that local ranches and gas companies apparently swear by. Designed for split pipes.

Which is what we have.

But 1) We came here to learn a new skill, not how to mix and mold epoxy.

2) We have re-invigorated our old plans of placing shutoff valves in each of our utility lines, which you can't do with epoxy. Might as well learn to join copper pipe now.

And 3) Are we really gonna trust a glue patch on a water pipe, especially when we seal it back up in the wall? I mean, if it leaks, we gotta tear the wall open again. And will likely have ruined a lot more than just a small patch of plaster.

Now, mind you, this wasn't an instantaneous decision. Stood there in that back aisle turning that $8 tube of copper epoxy over and over in my hand for probably ten minutes trying to decide. I mean, this was tempting. Mash it around the split pipe, wait four hours, and theoretically, we're back in business. The alternative being to buy 60-some dollars worth of torch soldering equipment.

What it really boiled down to was this: how confident were we that we could learn how to solder copper pipe? Without burning the house down, seeing as how we would be playing with a propane torch inside an old, dry, dusty interior wall?

Confident enough, I guess. We went for the torch.

And the solder, and igniter. And flux, and flux brush. Pipe reamer, pipe brush, teflon tape. Thread adapters and right angle elbows (always, always buy spare pieces). As per store policy, the gal at the register tried to sell us 10 feet of copper 1/2" pipe.

Ummm, we only need 1 1/2 inches, lady.

The friend went to her scrap pile and found us a two-foot piece.

As we checked out, the register gal warned, "We close in less than an hour."

"It is a plumbing job, after all."

She did not share our confidence.

Of course, we were just bluffing each other, so she had every right to be sceptical. I mean, there are so many things that can go wrong with the simplest plumbing task. What if we can't melt the soldered joint on the warped piece? It's been 11 years since it was soldered. Then we'll have to carve a bigger hole into the wall to get to the next possible joint. Or try cutting the pipe, there in the wall, and splicing in a new section.

So many things.

And not one of them did. It all went just perfectly right.

So, here they are.

Our first two soldering joints in our house.

And they're perfect.

Really.

Now, afterwards, it took five tries to get the new faucet attached to said pipe without it leaking. Not until I gave up on the high-tech teflon tape and went back to the 25-year old plumber's putty did we finally have our new faucet set without a trace of leakage.

But it is done!

Other than replastering the wall, which will be another whole new episode.

I should mention... first time we got the faucet back on, with its slow leaks on both sides, we took the opportunity to refill the bathtub with water, as well as the buckets and pitchers.

Just in case, you know.

Well, since we were successful, we then had a bathtub full of water we didn't need.

Seemed a waste to just drain it.

So, some time before midnight, I was dragging a hose into the house, and siphoning the tub water out through the front door onto the flower beds.

Heelers did not like having a hose in the house. They know what comes out of hoses. Little maskless one sat in the furthest corner of the living room, and stared at the green rope running into the hallway. Her masked sister, wherever you were, would come up and lay down with just her paws on the hose.

"Hey! See this thing?"

"It doesn't belong here!"

I asked the wife if "Running garden hoses into the house late at night" was one of the signs they had taught her to look for in a meth lab.

Apparently not.

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