I inherited some things from my dad.  He was born in 1916, so he spent his mid teens to twenties scratching for necessities of life during the Great Depression.  You may know people who lived that nightmare from 1929 through most or all of the 1930’s, or even into the 1940’s.

They were scarred, their brains turned into amazing machines of how to get by.  How to never, ever waste anything.  Never ever, ever waste.

So among the things i got from my dad was the “Saver Mentality”.  Stuff can be used even when old.  Re-used or made into other useful things, or parts of new things.  See, you thought the 3 R’s were new hip stuff that came maybe from the hippie movement of the 1970’s.  Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

These are all good things.  We do need to hold true to the 3 R’s, or we will use up and destroy our beautiful earth.  But the original 3 R peeps were not the hippies of the 70’s.  It was those who lived the nightmare of 1929 and the decade after.  Save it, we can use again.  If you reuse things you don’t have to buy them again.  Even the broken things that no longer work can be taken apart and scrapped (recycled!).  My dad made alot of coin by tearing old electric motors (and other broken, or outdated things) apart and separating the copper from the steel to get better prices for the scrap metal.    Save, Save, Save.

Now i don’t like disorganization.  I have many shelves, especially in the basement.  Shelves allow you to save more.  It’s just that i have more to save than i have shelves.  Just so happens that some of the shelves in the basement are in the section where the oil tank is.  One of the sons asked me, “you think the oil tank will fit past the self i front of it?”  I told him – “Ya i think so”.  OK guess again:

Notice how i have hacked the shelf in front of the tank to try and get room to “make the corner”.  N.G.  the tank is lodged against the shelf unit on right, the one in front of it, and the wall behind.  I have already emptied the right side shelf as it needs to be removed.  Such fun!!

Involuntary labor.  Forced servitude.  Subjection.  Are we here discussing man’s inhumanity to man?  Nope.  The failure of my fuel oil tank.  How can we use these words, for this subject you say?

Wait, just wait till you hear the tale of woe.

It began one day when i went to check how much oil was left in the tank.  This is a normal operation at my house, as i do not have automatic oil fill up.  I call when i need oil, and to know if i do, the tank is checked with a stick, and the chart consulted to see how many gallons therein.

So as i am checking, i notice the cement under the tank is discolored, damp looking.  I think to myself, my sump pit must be full of water (at the other end of the tank).  Now since i have lived here there has only been water in the sump pit a few times.  Once, maybe twice, have i pumped water out.  But it does happen (rarely), in early spring.  So i quickly go look at the sump pit.  Nothing.  Empty.  Now back to the discolored cement spot.  Looking under the oil tank, there is a drop of oil hanging.  Drip.  Drip.  The discoloration is fuel oil.  Upon further inspection it looks like the tank may be leaking from both the end and the bottom.

So we did not call for any more oil.  I spread absorbent under the tank and placed a shallow pan to catch the drips.  Found a free oil tank on Craig’s List.  Enlisted the aid of my brother in law and got the new (used) tank home.  Then began the sorry chore of ‘making a path’ through my basement.  Some may know the legends of my basement.  The tale of woe begins . . . .