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LJ Idol, Week 2: My Mount Rushmore
Oct. 14th, 2018 08:27 amTuesday, October 9, 2018 - The best tree-filled, HOA-optional neighborhood within walking distance of the capital in Tallahassee, FL
Toni, it’s just a house. I’ve told myself this thirty times in the last five minutes. I’m trying to pack up, but I keep stalling out. Man, I shouldn’t have had those couple of beers with Elizabeth and Bo last night. I should have come home and cleaned up more and made lists and gotten more organized. But I didn’t.
Instead I drank my second pumpkin flavored beer of autumn 2018 (ironic on so many levels- it was probably still over 90 degrees and eerily humid and still pre-storm weather last night) and a fortified kombucha (it was after climbing at he rock gym, and climbers have gotta have kombucha, right?) and discussed plans for cat and house fortification and dog and family evacuation.
Um, but, I needed to have those conversations- they helped me organize my thoughts. And okay, yeah, we kvetched about our problems and talked about our other friends, too. But Elizabeth promised to look in on the house and the catties, god-willing-and-the-creek-don’t-rise. And so now here I am. I need to make another pass at the fridge. Need to make sure everything on the back porch is well and truly battened down or brought inside. Did I pack underwear for everyone? Was that the door? What are they doing?!
“JASper! Don’t you go out again unless you are certain the cats are secure!! YOU guys, this is a not-kidding-around hurricane!! We have to pull together NOW!! Did y’all ever pick your toys and books for this trip? I need you to do that now. SMALL bags. Yes, I’ll help find you one.” Crap, what was I doing?
Toni, it’s just a house. So, okay, yes I’ve been paying on this mortgage 13 years now. Has it been 13 years? Heh, lucky 13. Yes, it’s arguably my biggest investment. But Toni, it’s just a house. Just stuff. And stuff can be replaced. It will be okay. But you’ve gotta make it as okay as you can now. Gotta keep moving. Gotta hit the road within the hour. Get down the road and get off the road well before the wind starts.
Goblin-cat went to board at the vet earlier this morning. At 16 he needs his wet food multiple times a day and his steroid pill twice daily. I had actually decided to board him for this weekend’s planned trip to visit relatives in Missouri already, just because I didn’t want to call in that big a favor with any of my friends. But when I called the vet yesterday, they said, “We might be closing tomorrow for the storm. Do you want to bring him then?” I had to think about it. Given the storm, it would be harder for any local friends to tend to him. I called my mom.
“So, um, this is looking bad. I think we might actually evacuate.” She liked the evacuation part of the plan. She also liked the idea of us going to them, despite the potential for storm surge at their house that could possibly flood them. Our dog was completely welcome and could stay the weekend.
“So, what about my geriatric cat? He’s super easy to pill. He only needs his steroids twice a day.” She wanted to know how much more it would cost me to start his boarding tomorrow. She said she’d make up the difference to me if I didn’t bring him. Not really a cat person, my mom. Also, her dogs might eat Goblin.
I’m super close with my parents, despite living a couple of hours away from them. Two years ago, when we had our last close brush with a hurricane, I worried about them all night long on the night of the big winds. And it was not without justification. Their house was okay, but only barely. They didn’t move my mom’s car soon enough and it was lost to the flood waters. They live on a river, just a mile from the gulf. When they lost cell service, I spent half the night sick with worry for them, mingling with my worry for our own house, surrounded by our beautiful trees swaying and creaking in the big wind.
When I couldn’t raise my mom on the phone, that night in 2016, I finally just let go and let myself worry. I imagined the worst and let the terrible thoughts blossom and felt my guts twist. I felt the raw adrenaline dumping into my blood, and let the wrenching pain fill my legs from the feet up, through my belly and chest and up to a lightheaded fast-thinking panic-brain. I let the wave wash through me and tow me under to shaky panic land.
I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t get up and pick my way around the girls nested on the hallway floor, where I’d planned to join them if the winds got too crazy bad, shutting doors against our windows, and head to the living room where Roger slept in his chair to tell him, “I have to go. I have to drive out through this now, because I can’t raise my parents and I’m scared.” That wasn’t an option. So I listened to Hermine’s battering winds and was scared for my parents. And in the morning, except for my mom’s car and a great many Tallahassee roads and roofs and power lines, we were fine. But after that, I decided I wasn’t going to ride another one out with that fear. I would evacuate if anything worse than a tropical storm directly threatened Tallahassee again. And I would figure out a way to convince my parents to make good choices too.
And so now here I am getting another small bag down for the girls. And we’re heading to my parents’ despite the potential for ten feet of storm surge there. Their house is probably eight feet above the waterline, right? But it is very sturdy. We’re all strong enough to climb up on the roof using the antenna if we have to. And we’ll park the cars way up by the road where they’ll be safe.
This house, my house, is likely even more sturdy. Littler, but concrete block construction from the late 50s. Even the interior walls are hardened beyond what they do today. It’s hard to hang pictures! This house will probably come through fine. If the big sweetgum out front goes down, or that crazy big spruce pine, it might mean a new roof and new windows, but, Toni, it’s just a house. It can be rebuilt. And stuff is just stuff.
I need to take pictures of everything. The neighbors are saying to do that on social media and they’re right. It would make the claims process easier to have pictures. And I need to make sure I grab the flood policy and the homeowner’s policy. For a minute as I do that and tell Rog to start taking pictures of everything he cares about and isn’t taking with us, I start to feel that adrenaline dumping, that gut twisting, and I tell myself, Toni, it’s just a house. You can think of it as a stuccoed blue monument to your life, or you can think of it as a functional collection of a structure that can probably keep your cats safe even from 100 mile an hour winds. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a house.
Should I try to take any of our art with us? I almost lose it again thinking about that. All told, it probably isn’t worth that much, but I have some originals that I really love. Also stuff that was done by relatives and things owned by relatives before me. What do I have that cannot be replaced? Photos? Jewelry?
“Mom, we airlocked the cats. It’s raining so hard. Is there anything I can do?”
They are what is important. We need to get down the road.
Three coolers of everything I care about in the fridge and freezer, because if nothing else, I’m certain the power will be out awhile. I took pictures of what I could. The living room and shed are filled with bikes and kayaks. I didn’t run any art or albums out to the full-to-brimming car in the deluge. I have two girls and a husband and a dog. I think I have enough stuff packed for us still to comfortably go to Missouri this weekend if the entire panhandle isn’t devastated. That’s the best I can do.
———————————————————
I am overjoyed to report that although I still haven’t made it home yet, Elizabeth tells me the cats and house are just fine, though it seems they are still without power. And we made our pre-95th birthday rendezvous with Rog’s grandma and had a great visit with his mom (who I hadn’t seen for almost two years) too. The veterinary hospital where Goblin weathered the storm had a generator running within hours after the storm. The storm surge at my parents’ place was less than five feet and never truly threatened their house. All that said, we were very lucky. If you’ve seen the news, you know that not everyone was. If you want to help in a more personalized way than donations to the Red Cross or the like, here are a few awesome smaller places and people that I know could use some help:
Gulf Specimen Marine Lab teaches local kids to love our estuaries and their denizens and they evacuated resident sea life ahead of the storm in addition to sustaining significant damage. You can find them here: http://www.gulfspecimen.org/get-involved/
A former client and friend who lives closer to ground zero and has contacts in the tiny town of Altha passed this along: . . . contacted Altha First Baptist Church last night. They are actually going to have some meals there today. I asked where people could send $ so that supplies/food can be purchased - please send your money donations to the church at PO Box 327, Altha FL 32421. Thanks to Pastor Brandon Witt, who messaged me last night after I visited the church's FB page and inquired. My fantastic mail carrier, REDACTED, says the mail will be running Monday.
I’ve heard that our city animal shelter is already overrun with displaced pets even though they were able to evacuate many dogs in advance of the storm. This local rescue organization will be doing its best to help Tallahassee pets: https://www.blackcatsolddogs.org
My dear friends’ cat went to the emergency vet just before the storm and their whole family will now also be suffering light paychecks due to reduced hours in the wake of state office closures for Michael. They are collecting donations to defray costs here: https://www.gofundme.com/ollies-emergency-vet-costs?pc=fb_co_shareflow_m&rcid=r01-15387041754-eac4774cd5b34859
Toni, it’s just a house. I’ve told myself this thirty times in the last five minutes. I’m trying to pack up, but I keep stalling out. Man, I shouldn’t have had those couple of beers with Elizabeth and Bo last night. I should have come home and cleaned up more and made lists and gotten more organized. But I didn’t.
Instead I drank my second pumpkin flavored beer of autumn 2018 (ironic on so many levels- it was probably still over 90 degrees and eerily humid and still pre-storm weather last night) and a fortified kombucha (it was after climbing at he rock gym, and climbers have gotta have kombucha, right?) and discussed plans for cat and house fortification and dog and family evacuation.
Um, but, I needed to have those conversations- they helped me organize my thoughts. And okay, yeah, we kvetched about our problems and talked about our other friends, too. But Elizabeth promised to look in on the house and the catties, god-willing-and-the-creek-don’t-rise. And so now here I am. I need to make another pass at the fridge. Need to make sure everything on the back porch is well and truly battened down or brought inside. Did I pack underwear for everyone? Was that the door? What are they doing?!
“JASper! Don’t you go out again unless you are certain the cats are secure!! YOU guys, this is a not-kidding-around hurricane!! We have to pull together NOW!! Did y’all ever pick your toys and books for this trip? I need you to do that now. SMALL bags. Yes, I’ll help find you one.” Crap, what was I doing?
Toni, it’s just a house. So, okay, yes I’ve been paying on this mortgage 13 years now. Has it been 13 years? Heh, lucky 13. Yes, it’s arguably my biggest investment. But Toni, it’s just a house. Just stuff. And stuff can be replaced. It will be okay. But you’ve gotta make it as okay as you can now. Gotta keep moving. Gotta hit the road within the hour. Get down the road and get off the road well before the wind starts.
Goblin-cat went to board at the vet earlier this morning. At 16 he needs his wet food multiple times a day and his steroid pill twice daily. I had actually decided to board him for this weekend’s planned trip to visit relatives in Missouri already, just because I didn’t want to call in that big a favor with any of my friends. But when I called the vet yesterday, they said, “We might be closing tomorrow for the storm. Do you want to bring him then?” I had to think about it. Given the storm, it would be harder for any local friends to tend to him. I called my mom.
“So, um, this is looking bad. I think we might actually evacuate.” She liked the evacuation part of the plan. She also liked the idea of us going to them, despite the potential for storm surge at their house that could possibly flood them. Our dog was completely welcome and could stay the weekend.
“So, what about my geriatric cat? He’s super easy to pill. He only needs his steroids twice a day.” She wanted to know how much more it would cost me to start his boarding tomorrow. She said she’d make up the difference to me if I didn’t bring him. Not really a cat person, my mom. Also, her dogs might eat Goblin.
I’m super close with my parents, despite living a couple of hours away from them. Two years ago, when we had our last close brush with a hurricane, I worried about them all night long on the night of the big winds. And it was not without justification. Their house was okay, but only barely. They didn’t move my mom’s car soon enough and it was lost to the flood waters. They live on a river, just a mile from the gulf. When they lost cell service, I spent half the night sick with worry for them, mingling with my worry for our own house, surrounded by our beautiful trees swaying and creaking in the big wind.
When I couldn’t raise my mom on the phone, that night in 2016, I finally just let go and let myself worry. I imagined the worst and let the terrible thoughts blossom and felt my guts twist. I felt the raw adrenaline dumping into my blood, and let the wrenching pain fill my legs from the feet up, through my belly and chest and up to a lightheaded fast-thinking panic-brain. I let the wave wash through me and tow me under to shaky panic land.
I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t get up and pick my way around the girls nested on the hallway floor, where I’d planned to join them if the winds got too crazy bad, shutting doors against our windows, and head to the living room where Roger slept in his chair to tell him, “I have to go. I have to drive out through this now, because I can’t raise my parents and I’m scared.” That wasn’t an option. So I listened to Hermine’s battering winds and was scared for my parents. And in the morning, except for my mom’s car and a great many Tallahassee roads and roofs and power lines, we were fine. But after that, I decided I wasn’t going to ride another one out with that fear. I would evacuate if anything worse than a tropical storm directly threatened Tallahassee again. And I would figure out a way to convince my parents to make good choices too.
And so now here I am getting another small bag down for the girls. And we’re heading to my parents’ despite the potential for ten feet of storm surge there. Their house is probably eight feet above the waterline, right? But it is very sturdy. We’re all strong enough to climb up on the roof using the antenna if we have to. And we’ll park the cars way up by the road where they’ll be safe.
This house, my house, is likely even more sturdy. Littler, but concrete block construction from the late 50s. Even the interior walls are hardened beyond what they do today. It’s hard to hang pictures! This house will probably come through fine. If the big sweetgum out front goes down, or that crazy big spruce pine, it might mean a new roof and new windows, but, Toni, it’s just a house. It can be rebuilt. And stuff is just stuff.
I need to take pictures of everything. The neighbors are saying to do that on social media and they’re right. It would make the claims process easier to have pictures. And I need to make sure I grab the flood policy and the homeowner’s policy. For a minute as I do that and tell Rog to start taking pictures of everything he cares about and isn’t taking with us, I start to feel that adrenaline dumping, that gut twisting, and I tell myself, Toni, it’s just a house. You can think of it as a stuccoed blue monument to your life, or you can think of it as a functional collection of a structure that can probably keep your cats safe even from 100 mile an hour winds. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a house.
Should I try to take any of our art with us? I almost lose it again thinking about that. All told, it probably isn’t worth that much, but I have some originals that I really love. Also stuff that was done by relatives and things owned by relatives before me. What do I have that cannot be replaced? Photos? Jewelry?
“Mom, we airlocked the cats. It’s raining so hard. Is there anything I can do?”
They are what is important. We need to get down the road.
Three coolers of everything I care about in the fridge and freezer, because if nothing else, I’m certain the power will be out awhile. I took pictures of what I could. The living room and shed are filled with bikes and kayaks. I didn’t run any art or albums out to the full-to-brimming car in the deluge. I have two girls and a husband and a dog. I think I have enough stuff packed for us still to comfortably go to Missouri this weekend if the entire panhandle isn’t devastated. That’s the best I can do.
———————————————————
I am overjoyed to report that although I still haven’t made it home yet, Elizabeth tells me the cats and house are just fine, though it seems they are still without power. And we made our pre-95th birthday rendezvous with Rog’s grandma and had a great visit with his mom (who I hadn’t seen for almost two years) too. The veterinary hospital where Goblin weathered the storm had a generator running within hours after the storm. The storm surge at my parents’ place was less than five feet and never truly threatened their house. All that said, we were very lucky. If you’ve seen the news, you know that not everyone was. If you want to help in a more personalized way than donations to the Red Cross or the like, here are a few awesome smaller places and people that I know could use some help:
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