Notes from the aftermath

A full two weeks since our casa was flooded, I'm still cleaning up. That's not all I'm doing, we are in the last weeks of an annual publishing deadline and that takes priority, but there are still papers to dry out, objects to clean and surfaces to spray with vinegar in hope of fighting off mold. There are happy discoveries: yesterday my iPod turned up, long after I'd given up hope of finding it. Our checkbooks got wet, but I was able to dry them. The Capt has been able to save all his hand tools, by soaking them in transmission fluid.

Though we're not likely to be inundated again this season, we went ahead and raised the two-foot stone wall in front of our place a couple more feet, and a strong metal gate is going to be installed. This was part of the plan that we'd put off until next year. Ironically, much of the water seems to have come in from the front door, after we spent considerable time and money fortifying the back.

 The stonemason, Ivan, has been toiling in the hot sun for a week and is almost finished, having topped the wall with ceramic tile yesterday. Next we're going to look into getting a pump installed in a concrete-lined pit in the front yard; we may even be able to use one from the boat.

We replaced our now-defunct washer and dryer with a stacking set we bought used, which entailed bringing in electricians to install 220 wiring. Nothing is ever simple, everything requires unforeseen preparations. Part of the learning process.

We've been busy learning about living in a flood zone. I've vowed not to put any valuables on any bottom shelves or in bottom drawers. I'll use baskets to contain objects in low areas, so they can be more quickly swooped up. Next time I hear of a hurricane that's definitely expected to affect us, I'll probably just remove any bottom drawers, since they get warped and need work to fit after they get wet. We are going to fill those 15 sandbags that had been stuffed in the back of our closet, just to impede the high water long enough for all that swooping.

It's also been a time of choosing what I can live without. Forgotten things I spent good money on and never used, as though I bought them for someone else with more creativity and time than I have. Someone living in an alternate universe or dual realities (you can tell we've been watching episodes of "Fringe," the Capt's new favorite sci fi show).

 Joshua Jackson as Peter Bishop, investigates on "Fringe" (Fox)

Either I need to make time to take up the activities they represent (what? give up "Fringe?") so I actually put these things to use, or I need to toss away my illusions and lighten my load. I've already started, by giving a huge bag of wet yarn to a friend who knits doggie sweaters and scarves as part of her livelihood.

There's a big box of beads, thousands of them. Fabrics I've hoarded for over a decade. Art supplies in a wooden box that somehow kept them dry, and sketchbooks that sadly got soaked before I ever made a single drawing in them. Dozens of skeins of embroidery thread and several embroidery hoops now in danger of rusting. A whole file box full of songs I used to sing, now a sodden mass of paper. A whole collection of books on the craft of writing, half of which I've had to toss.

Hard to believe, but the paragon of creativity who used all these things was yours truly, at one point or another in her life. This excavation has turned out to be not only one of material objects, but old ideas and urges that just may not fit me anymore. So why are they so hard to give up?