twas the night before the night before

there’s a chill in the air tonight and one of the neighbors must have had their fireplace going. walking over to the new house for one of our multiple daily visits (really, i highly recommend living right across the street from your construction site if you ever build a new home…while sucky initially, it has been wonderful to go over as much as we want, easy as crossing the street) i got a big whiff of smoke. i’ve learned to not freeze in my tracks anymore, but it was somewhat unsettling to be approaching the new house and smelling that smell. of course that momentary discomfort was erased as soon as we stepped inside. this is a beautiful house and we are overwhelmed every time we step inside. it exceeds our wildest dreams and we comment at least once a day that we can’t believe this is going to be our home someday. we can’t wait. it is filled with the amazing artwork of many fine craftspeople – beginning with kimberly who had the vision, on to kurt who makes it all happen, and even the subs – the guy installing the kitchen cabinets was moved to tears when he asked about our “story”. the humility is crushing.

we’re just a night shy of one year away from it all. tomorrow is christmas eve, and we are going to try and do our usual thing. we’ll go to the 5pm service at bethany, followed by dinner at the local japanese steak house – just as we have done every christmas eve for as long as any of us can remember. just as we did last christmas eve. and afterwards we will come home, put on some christmas music, jack will have his courvoisier and we’ll each get to open one present, just like always.

the new house is not quite ready yet but we are really really close. it been super busy over there the past two weeks with tile guys and flooring guys and cabinet guys and trim guys coming and going. we have heat, and electricity, but no active plumbing and no kitchen appliances probably until next week. despite that, we contemplated hauling sleeping bags over there and spending tomorrow night in our new home.

until we remembered that we no longer have sleeping bags.

but that will not deter us. we have blankets and pillows and so we might just do it. it would be fun, camping out in the new pad. i have wondered what our thoughts will be as we drift off to sleep. i keep coming back to that prayer (i know, so unlike me) that goes “and if i die before i wake…” not that i think anything could or would happen, but the words cross my mind.

i would never want people to think oh poor veek, her last couple of years were so rough. i hope that people would know that i’ve had a life filled with love and laughter. that i have loved and been loved more than most people dream of. that i have been blessed by the love of a great man and have delighted in taking the journey with him. that i have been fortunate to know both the love of a beautiful daughter and the love of a good son and that i have known intuitively how to love them unconditionally because of how i was loved as a child by my own parents. that i have had a strong and close relationship with my brother and lucked into a great relationship with my sister-in-law, and their amazing kids. that i have had the kind of extended family that is a force to be reckoned with - always just a phone call away, no matter if it's been months since you've seen one another or live 1500 miles away. that i have actually had a smooth and comfortable relationship with all of my in-laws, and that while i never had my own sister by blood, i have bonds with a few women that allow me the luxury of imagining what that is like. that i have been privileged to call a great number of people “friend”. that i have been fortunate enough to have seen a fair amount of the world, and have never had to go to bed cold or hungry. that i have had a good run of it. that I’ve had more than my share. and that despite losing everything, i know that i am richer than most.

that is what i would want people to know.

the list

the weather's turned cold for the first time this fall. we enjoyed shorts and t-shirts for a good long time, and now the sweatpants are out when i go on my morning walks with the pups. i even wore gloves the other morning. not that i am complaining, because i know we are still way warmer than many other places, and some people would probably think my definition of cold is somewhat warped. twenty two years in texas will do that to ya. fortunately, texas has failed to warp too much else in my mind.

thanksgiving has come and gone. and even before it went, the stores were bombarding us with christmas carols, decorations, holidays sales. the sun had barely set on thanksgiving day before the neighbors had put up their lights. all year i have been wondering how this time would be for me, how i would react and feel. it turns out that the carols and the christmas decorations make me feel nostalgic. i turn fondly to the thoughts of past christmases, when there was a little friendly competition between jack and ronnie regarding yard decor. the other neighbors always got a kick out of seeing what new addition (preferably inflatable, and huge, and blinky) would be added in our yards. i think of how i would start planning the christmas party practically in october - well, not so much the planning but the construction of my annual invitation, a slant on some familiar secular christmas song. on my long morning walks with the dogs, i would work out the lyrics in my head - weird al style. then picking out the invitation paper, finding the right font, and throwing some confetti in the envelope - just enough to be festive, and hopefully not too obnoxious. i'd also hunt high and low for just the right ornaments for aly and emmett. finding something to represent who they were that year, what they were into, or a reference to some familiar inside joke. i just knew when i had found the right ones, and i was always so tickled. all of these thoughts are bittersweet now, since all of it went poof, but i still like taking that stroll.

what actually surprised me was not my reaction to the onslaught of christmas decor and music, but my reaction to the change in weather. the first time i felt that cold air on my face, the really cold air - so cold that it almost has its own flavor - i immediately recalled christmas morning. it was so cold that morning. we had had some ridiculous winds christmas eve, and it was so so cold standing out in the front yard. funny how 11 months later and it is still *right there*.

11 months! the house is getting so close, we can see the light at the end of our tunnel. it's a beautiful light and we're approaching it with eager anticipation. i still hold out hope that we'll have a move in date by christmas - partly because as much as this rental house has provided our shelter, i've just never felt like it was home and partly because of the emotional milestone of getting through this in exactly one year, being able to turn the page, exhale, and get on with life. but the reality is that christmas may come and go with us not quite making it - inspections and scheduling and waiting on supplies - these things may hold us up. and i am really ok with that, because the end of the tunnel is so so near. i know that sometime soon, we will be sleeping in the new house for the first time. it doesn't really matter if that is christmas eve, or new years eve, or valentine's day. regardless, it is a day that is imminent.

i've been saying for some time that i wanted to have our annual christmas party again this year, in the new house. i think it was part of my healing process - to pick a date at which everything would be back to "normal". months ago we approached our favorite band and good friends, the psychic cowboys, about a date and they've stashed it away for us. and now here we are less than 3 weeks away - and while the light at the tunnel's end is visible, it seems hard to imagine that we'll be ready. there is still a lot of work to be done. and i have come to realize that the date of the event pales in importance when compared to the significance of the event and the real reason for this year's gathering. this is about bringing everyone together - all of the many many people who have reached out to us, friends and family, acquaintances, and even some strangers - who all picked us up, held us together, and lead us through the fog. it doesn't matter when, it matters who - and why.

we've always been blessed with a large circle of friends so the christmas party has always had quite a crowd. and now, in addition to all of the usual suspects, we have so many more acquaintances who have become dear friends as well as old friends who have become renewed. i have been working on this year's invitation list and have been asking friends to help me remember everyone who should be included. it would almost be easier to just take out an ad in the paper, just to be sure that no one is overlooked. so many people.

i asked tracey and theresa to help me reconstruct who all was at the browns house on christmas night - who had taken the time, and given up their own holidays plans, to rally around us. i asked lynne to help me draw up the list of the parade of friends who brought us meals in the weeks following the fire. and i have asked baze to give me the list of people from across the world and across the pages of our lives who so generously donated to the fire fund that he set up from 2000 miles away on that cold day. the cards, and letters, the clothing, the furniture, the hugs...reviewing this list can't be done with dry eyes. we have said it once and a million times that we don't know what we ever did to deserve such love and support, and you can be sure we'll be repaying it every day for the rest of our lives.

we have never been alone in this journey. not for one moment. not since 4:15am on christmas morning.

this is going to be one huge guest list.

when all around you seems dire, squeeze your wubba

aly came home recently to surprise jack for his birthday. and in order to honor the occasion, emmett and i took her car to the special car wash and cleaned it up inside and out. we were also expecting jack's brother and sister-in-law, rick and kathy - so we were in "make ourselves presentable" mode. after cleaning the car, next on my list was to take dogs for a little bath and (for scout) a haircut. as i was driving aly's clean car to the groomer with the dogs in the back, slobbering all over the windows, it occurred to me that perhaps i should have put a little more thought into the sequencing of these events.

but, as most everyone knows, we have always been dog people. and dog people aren't always in their right minds. take for example "the ideal". that was the model name of the 8'x24' trailer that served as our first home on the rim of grand canyon back in 1986. it had a 5 gallon hot water tank which meant if you dropped the soap, your shower was over. we were two sardines in a can with barely enough space to turn around. so what did we do? yes, of course - we got a puppy. that was tai, who was shortly thereafter joined by kirby. and once kirby left us, there was barley. and after tai, came scout.

as you probably know, we spent 2009 with jack being un- or under-employed after being unexpectedly cut loose from his last employer. we had been quietly preparing for my eventual layoff which we expected to come sometime in early 2010 and we got blindsided by jacko's sudden freedom. it was a big blow to us financially, and also emotionally. and the job market was pretty grim, so 2009 seemed to drag on forever. we've always been a 2 dog family, and it had been 2 years since we'd laid barley to rest - but at that particular point in time it would have been totally irresponsible, totally impractical..heck, practically insane..for us to take on the additional strain and responsibility that you sign up for when you adopt a tiny, needy puppy.

so of course that's exactly what we did.

there we were, the kids and i, driving out to the deliverance of manor, tx in response to an ad someone had posted on craigslist for "great pyrenees puppies". we had opened the ad and stared at the photo.

a row of 8 little pups, all of them black and brown. i checked the ad title again. "great pyrenees puppies" it had said. so i called, and i had said to the guy on the phone "i don't think they're pure great pyrenees, though, are they?". "oh yes" he assured me. i said "but aren't great pyrenees' solid white?". "no," he said "they come in all different colors". hmm. maybe in deliverance, tx they do - but not in the real world.

anyway, despite their dubious heritage, there was this one. we just couldn't stop looking at her picture and so, off we went as 3 and not surprisingly, home we came as 4 (jacko and scout had opted to stay home). i mean, who goes just "to look" at puppies? no, we were pretty much doomed to suffer the effects of the cuteness overload the second we set out. we instantly fell victims to her powerful spell - all 3.5 pounds of it. i remember holding her in my hand and turning to the kids. their eyes big as saucers, both of them just nodding "yes, YES".

we were in love with her from first glance. well, all of us except for scout who didn't realize that fenway was a dog for about the first month. it took that long for fenway to figure out how to bark and when she let out that first little yip, you could almost see the lightbulb go on in scout's mind. "oh, that's a DOG".

it's amazing how great a totally irresponsible, impractical, spontaneous decision can sometimes turn out. fenway has turned out to be an awesome dog, pretty well behaved with a personality that fills a room.

she had already brought us so much joy and so much laughter and levity in the midst of our troubled times during 2009.

and then the fire came.

scout was with us the whole time that dark morning. but fenway was sleeping in her kennel in the office and was almost an afterthought in the surreal moments during which we slowly realized we were losing our home. "get outside", jacko had said, "i'll get fenway". and he went back into the house - which you are never never EVER supposed to do. ever. and minutes after he and fenway joined us on the front lawn, there were flames shooting out the front door they had just walked through.

they both emerged, and despite some smoke inhalation we all know that the story has a happy, a miraculously happy, ending. and we are so thankful.

jack has told fenway more than once "you better be the best dog ever". and she has been (mostly) a good girl, full of (now) 75 pounds of shenanigans and good nature. she has been a welcome distraction, a loveable nuisance, a tremendous comfort, for all of us during this past year. she somehow represents, for me anyway, the lightness and joy that can prevail under dire circumstance.

christmas morning so many people showed up with so many things for all of us. and two stand out in particular. our friend keri (who didn't yet know us all that well yet obviously knew this one thing about us) brought a big tiger kong wubba for fenway - still to this day fenway's favorite toy (so much so that it has on occasion gone "missing" on top of the fridge, out of sight, we need a break) - and our friends tim and cyn, who brought the world's largest box of dog biscuits (so big that we *just* finished it a week or so ago).

so many times over the past year and a half when i have felt overwhelmed and paralyzed by confusion, or sadness, or self pity, everything is thrust back into perspective as soon as i feel the nuzzle of a cold nose, meet the hopeful gaze of those (literal) puppy dog eyes, and have my ear drums split by the incessant squeaking of the tiger kong wubba.

love us, love our dogs. so very much to be thankful for.

reaching "oh well"

if someone had told me 10 months ago that i would walk through walls, i could not possibly have understood.

as the new house on that old, solid foundation has risen that is exactly what i have done. many times. at first i was just walking around the foundation, remembering what had been there, and looking backwards. then the framing went up, and with it the possibilities and the promise of things to come.

these days i walk from room to room, literally through the walls, noticing this and that - trying to envision how it will look, how it will feel, how it will come to be. i often say to jacko "i can't imagine that this is going to be our home someday". and that's true. it is so much more than we could have ever dreamed. people have done so much more for us than we could have ever dreamed.

but really, it's already our home - though it's in its infancy. it's a part of us already.

the fact that the foundation is the same is obvious, even to the casual observer. it's the same house, but different. it's familiar, yet new. you know when people describe someone as an "old soul"? i kind of feel that way about the house. there are deep roots under the bright and shiny new structure that is rising.

today i took the day off from work. i decided to start going through some of the bags, bins, and piles in the garage. yes, we actually still have quite a mass of sooty things in our garage and shed. mountains of our things were thrown away at demo time, but i was too attached to my things to let go of all of them back then. "surely, this could be salvaged. somehow. someway." and "how can we possibly get rid of that?" - so to appease me, jack helped fill bags and bins with stinky, sooty, soiled items. i guess it's a good sign that i actually had forgotten about a lot of my "must save" things since i hadn't seen them for a while (a clue that i can, despite my conviction 10 months ago, live without them).

so i was reunited with some of my things as i pulled them out one by one and inspected them. and while overall i felt pretty sad, i found that i reach "oh well" much faster now than i did back then. it's become much much easier to say goodbye to things that before i didn't think i could live without. sentimental things, one-of-a-kind things, precious things. but we're stronger. time has been on our side in that regard. we walk through all kinds of walls now.

the club no one wants to join

our friends allie and kevin are expecting their (first) little baby girl sometime next month. and so i recently mentioned to allie how poignant i found it that they are about to welcome their little girl into the world just as we are letting ours go. it seems so cliche to say that it seems like only yesterday, but of course that is exactly how it seems. and so off to boston we went last week to get our aly moved in to her dorm.

there was a flurry of activity in the week leading up to move-in day. i felt anxious, but hadn't yet cried (about *that*, anyway). even jacko had shed tears, holding his baby girl tight the night before she and i headed north. aly was comforting him and he was softly telling her "i'm just going to miss you so much". it was heartwarming and beautiful and the kind of fatherly love that every child should know. and the bittersweet feelings - overwhelming pride, a touch of sadness, joy and a bit of emptiness - that every parent should know.

emmett and jack would come to join us in boston the following weekend, but first aly and i did a tour of new england with stops in NY, CT, RI, and finally MA. we visited family and friends along the way and had some good mom/daughter time roadtripping between. as move-in day got closer, more than once aly mentioned her surprise that i had not broken down yet. i'd respond, with all the sincerity and love that any good mother could muster, by saying "but there's still a whole week for you to drive me crazy!" (likewise, i am sure).

but inside i, too, was surprised. i mean, it's not just that aly was moving away and would be greatly missed, but our relationship was about to be redefined and we were about to pass from one major life phase (child-rearing) to another (parents-of-adult-children) - there is no turning back - in many ways, our job is done. or at least it is changing. in the aftermath of the fire, all of these musings and introspection have intensified for me.

so i admit i was a little edgy the day or two before move-in, but still - no tears. and since i have very little control over when and where the deluge comes, i started to wonder when it might hit. ah, gee, i hope it wouldn't come when we were moving her in. *that* would be embarassing. but that time came and went with smiles and laughter and only a few snips. that night and the next jack, emmett, and i stayed in a hotel in boston - so maybe the tears would come when we actually said our goodbyes to aly before flying home. but we pulled that off too, with big hugs and kisses and smiles. i figured then that the logical point would be when we boarded the plane for the flight home. nope. how about when we walked into the empty house back in austin? wrong again. so i finally gave up and accepted that it would come whenever it needed to.

it's been a week now and while i miss her like crazy, and the house seems artificially, unnaturally quiet, i had not cried.

on saturday, i got a call from anna, my HR director. she said she hated to bother me on a weekend but had i seen the news about the gas explosion in san bruno, california? yes, i was peripherally aware. it turns out that a fellow employee, who i do not know, lived two houses from the one that exploded. his burnt to the ground - and knowing that we are all too familiar with what that feels like she wanted to know what could they do, what should they do, to help. i immediately jumped back to christmas day. the basics, i told her: do they have shelter? do they have clothes? do they have access to money? i also advised that as his employer, they could do him a great service by simply saying "don't worry about work, we've got your back". free him from worrying about his job, on top of everything else. have IT set his voicemail and out-of-office mail for him, ask him if he has anything urgent that is pending, and just remove it from his plate. that would be such a relief.

it was pretty easy to envision what the next 9 months will be like for this colleague and his family, because we have been living it.

it's complicated, she said. this other employee - he has a name, james - thankfully, james and his older daughter were not home at the time of the explosion. but james' wife and younger child were now missing, and presumed not to have survived.

oh my god oh my god oh my god. all of a sudden this is entirely different than the tragedy that we faced back on christmas day. a completely different scale, and my worst fear (and subject of my PTSD anxiety) realized. i suddenly feel completely ill-prepared and unqualified to presume to know what james and his daughter need. everything we have been through, the complete upside-downing of our world, the total disconnect from the life we lived just hours before - seems miniscule compared to a sudden, shocking, tragic loss of life. and james going through everything we went through without the support of his spouse, and in shock from the devastating loss, and trying to still be a father/protector/provider for his other child. it will take herculean strength.

the tears came then - as a parent, as a spouse, as a human - for the loss, for the pain, for the loneliness. for the bad things that happen over which we have no control. the unfair things. the random things. i had to apologize to anna and take a moment to try and compose myself. it was futile. now she was apologizing, feeling as though she has brought this all back to the forefront for me. i assured her that it's never really in the background.

and really, where i end up is here: we are so lucky. we are so blessed. we are so fortunate. we lost only our *things*. we have everything right here (or, at least, 1500 miles away). this thought is pervasive in my mind: but for a moment, there might have been no reason to make that recent trip to boston. also: jack went back into the house to get our pup, something you're never ever supposed to do. what if what if what if.

i'm not religious, but i have been praying for james' family. mostly, for a miracle. a big one. but beyond that, for strength. for the tidal wave of compassion and generosity that has overwhelmed us. and for a sliver of normalcy to come back to them as they navigate these trecherous and unwelcome seas.

every. day. is. a. gift.

the gift that keeps giving

tonight we took the kids to austin land and cattle to celebrate our 23rd anniversary. yes, we brought the kids with us - we're well aware of how few opportunities we may have left to (force them to) share in family time - so we take advantage of every one of them.

as is fairly common these days, talk drifted towards the new house - where things currently stand status-wise, where they are headed, next decisions to be made, personal preferences for this and that, etc. considering we started very early on with emmett's request for a circular bed, sunken of course (so as to achieve the full love-nasium vibe), and a metal commode (not unlike those you'd see in a prison), we feel that these family chats are invaluable in setting appropriate expectations and building family consensus.

we spent some time over dinner narrowing down choices for things like color and tile and cabinet finish selections. within reason, we're giving the kids the opportunity to provide as much input as possible and we're trying to take everyone's opinions into consideration. we all lost out home 8 months ago, and our new home is rising. it is a family affair, and we're all fully vested. it bonds us in a deep and profound way.

when those suggestions arise that are out of the realm of possibility (either because they're simply cost prohibitive, or just plain ugly) we resurrect the lottery fantasy. well, of course that particular idea might be possible *if* we won the lottery. not sure how winning the lottery would enable us to close our eyes to some of the more distasteful suggestions that have been made, but apparently in our imaginary world when you're rolling in the green a lot of stuff slips under the radar of good taste. regardless of the feasibility of it all, the lottery scenario has kept a lot of family discussions from veering way off track.

i don't remember what the specific suggestion was tonight that led us to the lottery game but before long there we were. and something really lovely was unfolding. instead of the immediate thoughts of the usual me-me-me variety, the kids were contributing some great ideas for how our lottery winnings would enable us to help others. first, a million dollars to miracle league. no one second-guessed that. next, what if we could provide our friend logan with unlimited funds to cover his medical expenses for the rest of his life? logan is 10, and he is emmett's buddy from miracle league for the past 5 years. following a stroke and a heart transplant before he was 1, logan has had more than his share of hardship in his 10 little years - and yet he smiles more than any child you know. talk about a hero. and logan's family has not had it easy, but they were some of the first to respond to our situation - with supplies and gifts and a shoulder to lean on - and logan's dad lance has since provided us with the amazing gift of his outstanding talent as a plumber, taking care of all of that for our new home.

next, we wanted to pay our builder and designer what we should be paying them for the tremendous gift they are giving us (yes, they collect a fee for their services, but we know better than to think it adequately compensates them for their efforts and investments). and one step further - emmett offered "what if we figured out everyone who has given us something, anything, since the fire, and paid them back?". or better, what if we could give them 100% return on their generosity?

aly said "but would they want that?"

we talked a bit more. we agreed that some would not want that. but it was still such a lovely exercise in giving. imagining the ability to give without limits. doing for others. letting go. realizing that less is so, so very much more. understanding the gifts we have been given and how we could spend the rest of our lives and all of our resources (real and imaginary) trying to repay all of the kindness that has come our way, and still falling short. and yet how beautiful and fulfilling it is just to try.

what a great anniversary gift. so great to see the kids wanting to give, so selflessly, with no consideration for their own desires.

of course we all came back down to earth from our righteous highs quickly when jack told the kids that, additionally, each of them would be able to choose a car of their liking.

emmett's response: "just one?".

love and laughter

"just remember, i'm only a phone call away" the magnet said. it has a vintage photo of a little girl holding a rotary phone up to her ear.

she's always been just a phone call away, my entire life. i am not fortunate to know what it is like to have a sister. my cousin donna is as close as i have gotten. we're four months apart in age. it's not really important who arrived first, though since you're wondering i will tell you - it was her. i am the much younger cousin.

we have always been close and hers is the unconditional kind of love that people dream of experiencing. she is so supportive, she is always building me up, always making me feel like so much more than i am. she forgives me all my shortcomings, she knows all my secrets, and we share lifelong inside jokes that reduce us to giggling 7 year olds whenever we revisit them. she was part of my wedding, and i was part of hers. when she showed up the morning of the wedding and asked "so what are you doing with your hair?". ummm... so she quick sat me down and whipped up a hairdo worthy of a bride, and added some makeup too. it was a cinderella moment. no chauffeur? no problem - she volunteered her husband to drive me the 1/4 mile to the church. and he even got out and walked around to open the door for me! it's all captured on our wedding video - which is, like so many other things, toast.

she has come to visit me anywhere i've ever moved - new hampshire, arizona, massachusetts, texas. and when we go to new england, she never asks why i'm not coming to see her or stay with her. instead she says "do you have time? can i come to you?". we have started a tradition of getting together with our girls, aly and amy, once a year, and that is some very special time for all of us.




inevitably, silliness abounds.
and so of course she was one of the first people i talked to on christmas morning. and amidst the tears, she found some way to make me smile. as usual.

the first box came, filled with clothes and gift cards for the kids (seventeen years ago donna had my godson matt exactly one month to the day before i had emmett - and my brother's son eli came just a month later - which marked our family's "summer of boys"). and then a second box came with the little "phone call away" magnet, and a copy of the photo memory book she had given us after our two families vacationed together on fire island a few years ago (the original of which had been lost to the fire), and this amazing scrapbook she had made for me filled with pictures from literally our entire lives (some of those hairdos. oh my. i'll spare you. or me.) and her comical commentary throughout...well, it lifted me up. it kept me connected.

and that was not all.

one day we received in the mail a letter from the firefighter's association of NY. in it was a nice note, and a check. donna had taken the time to find this organization, had written to them and explained our situation, and they had decided to send us a donation. from total strangers in new york. as if she had not done enough already.




so happy birthday, dear (much, much, older) cuz. and thank you for never letting me forget that you're always just a phone call away.

transformations

my recent fb update was "every day our house is transformed a little bit. and so am i".

it's been true. i'm not who i was. i surprise myself. and some days i kind of like it.

each day when i get home from work i walk over to the new house, the one that is rising. we're definitely so thankful now that we were able to rent a house right diagonal from our old home. on our little cul de sac, with the familiar neighbors and surroundings. at first it was hard being so close. i felt so sad when i would look at it, all dark and dying. all scorched and littered with remnants of what was. the demo was a tremendous step forward. sad, but necessary. gut wrenching, yet cleansing. i cried a lot back then.

i cry a lot now, but for different reasons.

so each day i spend about an hour just walking through the house, noticing what's new or changed since my last visit. the house is familiar, because we were fortunate enough to retain the slab - so the footprint is basically the same. and yet in my time wandering around over there i definitely feel like i am getting to know someone new. someone who, upon first meeting, you just know will end up playing a big part in your life.

some days the changes are big and impossible to miss - like the first day of framing, the day the roof went on, or the day the plumbing was all roughed in. other days the changes are more subtle - like when the tongue and groove soffits went in - subtle, but so special, one of kurt's special touches. and there have been days when i can tell something is different, though i can't put my finger on it. i'll search and search, but i just don't see it. so i'll ask jack "was anyone working at the house today?" and he'll say no. hmm. i think maybe those are the days when the soul of the house has grown some (can't you just hear jacko rolling his eyes?). all sorts of changes are there, each one bringing us one step closer to our home.

the changes i feel in me are similar. some seem big and all in my face - like my relationship with fire, obviously. i've always loved candles and campfires and fireplaces - i could sit and watch for hours, mesmerized by the power and the energy. now i just see the power and energy differently - there is some fear and some discomfort. and a whole lifetime of respect. other big changes are simple but powerful - expecting less, and giving more. some of the changes sneak up on me. like crying at those iPhone commercials. there i was minding my own business, watching "the office" and feeling fine and next thing i know, we go to a commercial break. deluge. and i thought it was bad years ago when i would tear up over the budweiser commercials with the clydesdale and the little boy in the wheelchair. but iPhone commercials? the line between laughing and crying has suddenly become very, very fine for me. sneaky.

there are superficial changes too. when we remodeled the kids' bathroom a few years ago, or the kitchen a few years before that, i knew exactly what i wanted (stop laughing, donna). stained cabinets, of course. granite countertops, without a doubt. travertine, and thick saltillo tile. and when we started this journey 7+ months ago, i would have assumed i'd be going down that same road. but of course that was the old me.

when kimberly suggested that we go with painted cabinets ("crisp and clean" she had said), i nodded politely but inside i am sure i was looking at her like she had two heads. and then she showed me some pictures and suddenly, much to my surprise, it was all i could imagine. suddenly granite and travertine seemed so heavy. too much. much more than i needed. i did a 180 in the blink of an eye.

so while some of the personal changes don't sound too appealing (like the spontaneous combustion, for example, or the fire aversion), i am somewhat tickled to be discovering this new me inside of me. like the house, my foundation is the same. but what is going up feels very, very different.

like magic

it was perfectly serene. just aly and i, sitting in the kiddie pool. she was sweetly, adorably, quietly pouring water from one cup to another in her little ruffly bottom bathing suit with the big diaper bum. she was 17 months old. we had it to ourselves, which was a good thing because it was summer in texas which meant an easy 100 degrees, and i felt like i was about 13 months pregnant while waiting for baby #2 any. day. now.

suddenly, the gate to the pool burst open with a bang and a stampede of noisy, dirty, loud, rowdy and rambunctious *boys* came running in, all hollering and shoving, and shooting their super soakers, and nearly sending little aly bum over teakettle.

i froze.

because it suddenly occurred to me that this thing growing inside of me could be...oh say it ain't so...one of them. i always knew there was only two ways to go with this baby thing. and i had become familiar - actually completely charmed - with the way things had gone the first time around. and i couldn't at that moment imagine things going any other way, even though i suppose i had known logically all along that "it" could be "him".

we were living in the dallas area - richardson, to be exact. i was working for the best company that ever existed (and those of you who were with me then know that i am right), we had bought our first house, i was deeply, madly in love with my husband, and we had this precious, gorgeous, smart, and absolutely perfect little angel. life was pretty perfect.

and now it dawned on me that there was a real potential that i was about to f it all up by giving birth to one of those wild and uncivilized little beasts.

i was beside myself. but where was i to turn? we were the first of our local friends to have kids, and my family was 1500 miles away. where could i turn? who would understand? who could guide me? i needed immediate relief from this haunting nightmare.

i turned to my invisible friends on the web. oh the web was new back then, and we didn't necessarily have all your fancy gizmos and gadgets...like GUIs (feh!)...but we had usenet. and usenet had newsgroups. and i had gotten attached to a certain newsgroup called misc.kids.

we were people all over the country, and all over the world - and we talked about anything and everything that had to do with young humans. not everyone was a procreator, and discussions were lively and thought provoking. and since we were so far from family, misc.kids became a welcome and welcoming respite as we navigated our way through as first time parents.

i went home from the pool that day and posted about my experience. GAH. boys! and more importantly, how was i ever going to be able to love this #2 whatever-it-was, as much as i already loved my perfect angel aly? and would aly be cheated because she'd have to share us with another child? really, new parents are pretty close to insane.

thankfully, one of my buddies on misc.kids had children a little older than mine. and he responded with words that stay with me to this day. about how love is really amazing because it is infinite. so it's not like you have one bucketful of love and have to dole it out. he had learned that he didn't have to carve out love for #2 from the love he had for #1. they each got all of his love. because love is magical that way, and 1 divided by 2 equals 2. and 1 divided by 4 equals 4. like magic.

those words were so comforting to me (though they did not specifically address the horrors of little boys). i saved his words all these years. his reply was still on my computer just 7 months ago, and now his words lie with the ashes - but are still strong in my heart and mind (although i will never remember them as eloquently as he had written them).

as our newsgroup evolved, some of us actually had face to face gatherings when time and geography would allow. we made annual photobooks, and we did remote christmas gift exchanges (i once made tie dye shirts for a family of 6 whom i had never met). we shared so much in writing that when we did meet, it often felt like we were seeing old friends. for the first time.

we shared triumphs and tragedies, births and deaths, first steps and first proms, life's ups and downs. these people, most of whom i never met, were a wonderful lifeline for me when i was in the middle of nowhere texas far from my family and childhood friends.

over time i kind of drifted. life got busy, and so i participated less. the kids grew up and as they needed us a little less, i guess i needed that intimate support a little less. i stayed in touch with one or two, but often thought of the others.

enter facebook. which for all it's shortcomings and pitfalls, does have the amazing ability to draw people back together from a lifetime ago. so the fire came and ate our house, and within hours word was out on fb. and somehow someone from my old usenet newsgroup stumbled upon me and learned of our story. and one friend told another who told another who told another, and the love came pouring in. from people i had not been in touch with in *years*.

one day jack asked me "who is kate d"?. what? what do you mean who is kate d? the past blasts to the present. "someone named kate d just made a donation to the paypal account for our fire recovery". oh my word. why? how? it had been so long since i'd even heard her name. and shortly after that, i received a box in the mail with an exquisite, hand knitted scarf in all of my favorite colors. from kate d.

this amazing, talented (she is also world class storyteller), generous, thoughtful woman who undoubtedly was busy with her own life and whom i had not so much as exchanged an email with in, literally, years - she took the time to reach out.

and, by the way, i have never met kate d.

now tell me again how unfortunate my situation is, because some days i seem to be missing that.

so to bring this back around to that day 17 years ago at the kiddie pool, as you all know i did in fact end up having one of those *boy* things. and you know what? he wasn't all loud and rambunctious and rowdy (well, at least not all the time). and my love *did* expand just like that guy said it would. and i am able to love emmett with all my heart while still loving aly with all my heart. magic! and my life has been enriched and expanded and challenged and blessed in ways i never could have expected, simply as a result of his arrival on the planet. so happy 17, emmett!

full tilt, full time

anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes with jacko knows about his love for his beloved new england patriots. and it would only take 5 minutes because, unless it was football season, he might first be talking about his beloved red sox, or his celtics, or his bruins. and so our family room, where the big screen tv was, had become a shrine of sorts. over the years many of us have purchased great photos and memorabilia for jacko. he had footballs from three of the pats four superbowl appearances, a red sox banner from after the 86 year drought, and many many framed photos, some autographed. our walls were adorned with photos of the 2002 snow bowl, and of bobby orr's great, classic 1970 stanley cup goal, of mchale, bird, and parrish together on the bench, and a particularly painful autographed photo of the ball going through buckner's legs in '86 (courtesy of baze, that bastard) - among many others.

baze had come over a few days before christmas with something for jack. since they don't officially exchange christmas gifts, baze called it a "housewarming gift" (perhaps a poor choice of term, in hindsight). it was an autographed, framed photo of tedy bruschi. years ago, when we had all gotten our pats jerseys, jack had chosen #54. what a perfect addition to jacko's collection.

when the big ball of flame came two days later, the family room was one of the rooms that was completely consumed. and along with everything else that was lost, was all of jack's memorabilia. if you're not a diehard sports fan, you may not be able to relate to that loss. but it represented a passion jack that had shared his whole life - with anyone who would listen. it provided endless fodder for conversations with his dad and mine, gave him something to pass on to the kids, something to share with his best buddies up in rhode island (that they had shared since childhood), and - on a personal note - a great source of inspiration for jack's gifts over the years. next to his photographic equipment and all of the many many beautiful photos he has taken, i think he'll miss that memorabilia most.

we hadn't yet hung up the new photo in the family room. it had been on the island in the kitchen where jack had unwrapped it. but unfortunately, the kitchen was another room that was completely engulfed. so the new photo had also been lost.

after the smoke had cleared, a few days post fire, baze was helping us sift through the debris as we somewhat futilely continued to look for anything that could be salvaged. the mood was momentarily lifted when baze uncovered this gem in the kitchen:

all that was left of baze's gift to jacko happened to be a fragment of the photo that prominently showed good old #54. of course tedy bruschi knows his own brand of adversity having suffered a stroke followed by heart surgery in early '05 when he was just 31. knowing that bruschi had fought his way back and had made a miraculous return to the field just 8 months later, we stood there amidst the ashes and commented on his spirit in the face of adversity and how tedy was a shining example for us. he was simply unstoppable.

baze, who with the exception of baseball season when he suffers from seasonal insanity, shares jack's new england sports passion. he has spent many many sundays at our house. he gets jack. and he gets how much all that stuff meant to him. so he got to work - but i don't think even baze had a clue about what he was capable of doing for his friend.

this is not just about how wonderful baze is, though that is certainly where this particular story starts. it's also about more people reaching out - people who we have never met.

baze is a member of an online community of patriots fans. over the years he has developed friendships with several of the other members, in particular the community manager - a guy named randy (aka "zip"). zip maintains the patriots fan web site, which has built a community that spans the US. zip is as diehard as they come. he is a veteran tailgater and even earned the official title "patriots fan of the year" in 2001. and zip knows *his* own brand of adversity, having lost his eye sight to a neurological disorder in 2000.

zip is blind, but like tedy he is also unstoppable as recent articles about him can attest (http://wbztv.com/local/blind.hiker.washington.2.1769438.html and http://www.ledgertranscript.com/article/focusing-on-his-abilities).

so baze knows zip (though they've never met) and they share a bond. and zip has, over the years as a #1 fan, gotten friendly with a certain full tilt, full time patriots linebacker (you guessed it, #54).

jack <-> baze <-> zip <-> tedy.

baze had obviously told zip of our situation because one day in february, a package arrived. we all stared at the return address. it was hand written. it said "bruschi".

this is what we found inside:

unstoppable indeed.

thank you, zip and tedy, for the kindness you have shown to people you have never even met and for the role models you continue to be. thank you baze for helping to bring a smile back to jacko's face (after the tears in his eyes). you all make *us* feel unstoppable. tedy's photo is already helping to make our temporary rental house feel like home and we could not imagine a more perfect first memento for our new family room.

a house becomes a home

it's kind of nuts, some days.

i've been riding the emotional rollercoaster for months now and have joked about how i have zero control over my emotions these days - like i don't even try to control it any more and i have come to accept that on occasion i will spontaneously combust, usually at the most inconvenient times. like at work, or while driving down the street, or while talking to an acquaintance. as i have said before, the time when i feel like i should or would break down, when i am with my nearest and dearest, i usually don't. instead i feel a surge of strength or stability or something. i've come to accept this.

i have pretty much always been close to my one and only brother, paul,

except for those few pre-teen years when he teased me unmercifully and i thought he was wicked (and not in a good way). of course if we didn't have those years, i'd find our relationship too stepford-like - but those memories add just the right amount of normal to our history.

arriving on the planet a full two years ahead of me, he really has grown to be the perfect big brother in so many ways. he shoulders a lot, has built a beautiful, model family, and is always without fail there for me. he's always there for everyone, though - not just me. but i know i have a special place as his "little sister". and so his was one of the very first phone calls that i made on christmas morning. i knew my parents were on their way to his house to celebrate the holiday, and i wanted paul to be able to break our news to them as gently as possible. i was afraid that i'd break down as soon as i heard my parents' voices, and that would worry them, and leave them feeling fairly helpless at 1500 miles away.

and so i called my big brother.

it was early, 9am maybe? the smoke was still rising - but they were already up probably hard at work in their kitchen making some amazing tapas and his awesome focaccia like they often do for their guests. i think i asked paul to get my sister in law chris on the phone too. and once i had them both, i started to tell them what had happened - that we were ok, that the house was gone.

we talked about how best to tell my folks - we would wait until they arrived at his house. there was no point in calling them on their cell phone while they were in transit - i was worried that the shock would be too stressful. then he reminded me that "they only turn on their cell phone when they need to call someone" anyway :-) once they arrived at his house, he'd sit them down and tell them that - first and foremost - the four of us were ok, and then the details. we had a plan, and then i would call them later once the dust had settled and i felt more in control of my emotions.

of course our plan fell to pieces as we were standing outside mo and ronnie's at about 11am and my cell phone rang. caller ID told me it was my parents. wow, that was fast. my dad sounded surprised at the sound of my voice. but wait, i said, you called me so how can you be surprised it's me? he told me that he was trying to call my brother, to let them know that he and my mom were running late. somehow he had dialed me instead. knowing they were en route, i quickly debated - do i tell them? or let them get to my brother's house first? i've never been anything but an open book so it took about a nanosecond before i was telling my dad everything. and then my mom got on the phone. i held it together as i shared it all with them.

in the days and weeks after the fire we had many heart to hearts with my brother and sister in law. one january day, jack and i arrived home at the same time and walked in to our rental house together. we were stunned momentarily by what we saw. there, displayed across the kitchen table, were a dozen beautifully framed photos of our family - all ages, all stages. we both wept. we embraced.

aly was there and had unpacked the box when it arrived. she was responsible for the display, which was simultaneously overwhelmingly gut wrenching and amazingly heart warming. a big box had arrived from my brother's family. in it, a photo collection of our lives, delicately and thoughtfully framed and ready for us. photos i had assumed were gone forever. there were more than the framed photos too - generous gift cards for each of the four of us, sweet heartfelt notes, and a lifetime's worth of other photos and videos on CD and DVD. everything paul and chris could pull together, they did.

it's funny how you don't necessarily know the things people notice about your home. when i called to thank them, chris said that she had been thinking of our house and how we always have had a multitude of family photos on the walls - which was really true because i always felt my kids got jipped by living so far away from their extended families. i just never knew anyone noticed. we always made sure to capture moments, vacations, holidays - to have photos of so many cherished family members all around us. after all, 2D is better than no-D.

chris and paul not only knew how devastating the loss of our photos would be for us, but took the time to sift through their own collection and try to recreate ours. in an instant, that one box they sent had transformed a little, temporary rental house into our home.

i had been feeling so uncomfortable in the rental house. this was not my house. these were not my things. i was living with a stranger. and once i had familiar photos to spread around, my perspective seemed to change. instead of feeling like "these are not my things", i saw a kitchen table from rick and theresa, dishes from cathy and dave, a sofa from lori, a fridge from the danielsons, and so much more - the house and its contents became a composite of the goodwill we had received from all of the people who had reached out to us.

and in a moment, a house became a home.

a good trade

i had never met them before. they were friends of our friend kimberly. back in september, she had brought them to an event hosted by an organization we both belong to. her friends were not yet members so when the cool tchotchkes came out - awesome retro lunchboxes with our organization logo on them and a jazzy space-theme - kimberly's friends were left high and dry. tchotchkes were a perk for members only.

not surprisingly, kimberly had already given her ultra cool lunchbox to these friends when we finally mingled around to them at the event. michelle and kurt mentioned that the cool lunchbox would be a hot commodity at their house, with both of their kids probably grappling over it. as a mom i understood, and so i didn't really think much about it when i offered them my lunchbox. now they had two - grappling problem averted. happy to help! after all, we had received two - more than enough.

we didn't really have a chance to hang out with michelle and kurt after that night. so it was quite unexpected and so very appreciated when they ended up bringing a big hefty bag for us on christmas day. in among all the clothing was an envelope with some gift cards that their children had sent for our kids. again, we were humbled to think that they had stopped their own christmas day celebration to gather these items for us. again, we were touched that their children were moved to donate their own christmas gifts for my children, who had none. again, we came face to face with the kindness and generosity of people we barely knew - all because we had given them a lunchbox.

and that was only the beginning.

it turns out that kurt is a builder. and i don't really know whose crazy idea it was but within a few months, kurt was on board - right alongside kimberly who was designing the new house. and he wasn't just offering to build it, but to do everything in his power to find us deals and discounts, call in favors, beg and borrow - to shrink our insurance shortfall as much as he possibly could.

all because we had given them a lunchbox.

what kind of person does that? who accepts a miniscule, a little scrimpy act of goodness and decides to repay it by committing to a year of hard work, personal sacrifice, and total dedication?

in the months since we've gotten started, kurt has become more than an acquaintance, and certainly more than just "our builder". he is a friend. and he is part of a triad that is holding our family up as we work through this tough time, along with kimberly and basile. there are so many people who have helped in one way or another - and of course we appreciate each and every act of kindness - but they are here, day in and day out, making it happen for us.

all because we had given them a lunchbox.

today marks exactly six months since christmas day. the journey is long, but we've not taken a single step by ourselves. i'd call that a good trade - a lunchbox, for a home.

lester, chester, and morris

some days just seem astronomically tougher than others. the pressures of work, the pressures of insurance bureaucracy, all of the emotional baggage from demolishing a home and rebuilding a home, the discovery or memory of something precious that was lost, the receiving, the thanking, the normal teenage stuff, the large economy-sized teenage stuff, aly's graduation, realizing that i can practically reach out and touch the day when my darling daughter, my dear friend, moves 1500 miles away to fulfill her dreams, and the constant villain in the darkest corner of my mind - the villain of "what if?". what if we weren't celebrating a graduation? what if i didn't have to lie awake at night wondering when they'd get home (because they were never coming home)? it brings me to my knees. i can't wait to beat that guy some day.

anyway some days when just one more thing gets piled on the already full plate, the plate of many stressful things, the plate that currently seems to hold way more bad than good, the plate that obstructs my view of the horizon, and of the new day dawning - i find myself thinking that i just can't take it. it's weighing down on me, i can't breathe, it is a crushing feeling.

i know logically that "the only way out is through" and so i try to turn my focus to my inspirations. it's a challenge because wallowing is such sweet sorrow. but i think of so many people - really, SO many people - who have been dealt a much tougher hand than i've been dealt. to name a few:

my good friend lisa who lost her best friend, husband, and father of her children to a brain tumor almost two years ago. out of nowhere, it claimed him in about 9 months. chuck was describing the surgery he was about to have when i bumped into him in the grocery store the night before thanksgiving 2007, in his ever animated and expressive way - and by august he was simply gone. and while lisa secretly admitted to me that she had many moments alone crying in her closet, she took care of him right up until the end, always found a way to keep her home happy and balanced, and was an amazing example of grace and true love for her kids, sarah and sean. if only i could know her grace.

another good friend, jackie, who got her breast cancer diagnosis in january and took that kick in the gut like a prize fighter, who had her surgery in april and made it back at work as a teacher before the end of the school year, who still has the long reconstructive road ahead. not one day have i seen her without her contagious smile. other friends and loved ones, who have faced this and now are the welcome wagon for new recruits - kate, and lynne, my mom, my aunt helene, and countless others. if only i could know their determination.

my best friend and the love of my life, jacko, who not only has weathered every hardship i have weathered - but on top of that got his kick in the gut from a trusted employer and spent a year under the stressful anvil that is un (and under) employment in this sucky economy, and lost his dear mom nancy - all within that year's time frame. how anyone can weather all that and still wake up each day without complaining, without why me?ing, and continue forging ahead, through the fog, is nothing short of inspirational. and as if that is not enough, he shoulders all of that and gives me a generous gift of infinite proportions by allowing me the total luxury of breaking down while offering his already overburdened shoulder for me to lean on. his actions say "if your load is too heavy, i will carry some for you". he loves me that much. he is strong and he is steadfast. if only i could know his strength.

and my little friend marisa, mo's niece. a typical athletic, smart and smart mouthed teenager who suddenly found herself facing a benign but life threatening brain tumor 3 years ago. marisa went into a 12 hour, highly risky surgery with an unpredictable outcome followed by a long and tedious stroke-like recovery. with months and months of rehab and hard work, that little girl fought her way all the way back to where the effects were barely noticeable. and then the tumor returned just this spring. did she throw a fit? did she have a pity party? did she get mad at the world? i don't really know - she might have done all of those things (and who could blame her?) but she also named the three shunts they put in her head: lester, chester, and morris. in the midst of facing the possibility that she'd have to start all over again, this young lady found some humor in naming her shunts. if only i could know her courage.

i dug up a few of the plants that had rallied after the fire. i am going to plant them in my new "garden of what was".

at least three of them will have name plates. meet our amazing survivors: lester, chester, and morris - reminders that there is always a choice in how you respond to the hand you are dealt. a lesson i keep learning from someone who is 1/3 my age.

i know there are many many more friends, family members, acquaintances, and total strangers across the world who are facing tremendous hardships of their own.

my great grandmother used to have this little thing she said. she said "if you sit around a table with all of your friends and everyone lays their troubles out on the table, you'll take your own troubles back."

now, what were my troubles again?

Blue is the colour...

So the house is down, except for the garage which will be last to go (gotta give those guys some shade since it's already in the 90s every day here). It's weird to look at the slab. It looks so small. I can't imagine it held all the rooms that were once there. We were relieved to find out that we could reuse the slab. Structurally it is sound, but the plumbing running through it is probably compromised and most likely out of code, seeing as how it's 40+ years old. So we are doing all new plumbing. And by "we", I mean "they" - the guys sweating it out in that 90 degree weather.

People continue to be incredibly supportive and generous. With the house finally down, we can actually start to see the horizon. That was a major turning point for us, demo day. Sad yet hopeful, reluctant yet resolved. But overwhelmingly, the way people have reached out to us has been our lifeline. I could really see how something like this could have totally knocked us down. We have had our moments. But our family and friends and acquaintances and total strangers have been refusing to let that happen. It affects us to our cores. Everyone I pass on the street could be someone who reached out to us.

Our friends Jens and Suzie are diehard Chelsea footy fans. I mean they are so diehard that they get up at 6am to go to the pub to watch the games. In full Chelsea regalia, and full of Chelsea spirit(s). They are the ones who told young Jack about us (which I blogged about in "Today's hero: Jack"). So there are these two recreational footy clubs in Austin (well, there are more than two, but *these* two in particular) - Chelsea and Arsenal - and once or twice a year they engage in a little friendly competition by playing a benefit tournament. The players all pay to play, and then one of the players who owns a pub (Cuatro's, near the university) hosts them for lunch afterwards. All proceeds go to the charity.

We were (again) incredibly humbled when Jens first came to us and told us that we would be the beneficiaries for this tournament, which was held in early May. He and Suzie organized the whole thing, and there was quite a turnout. Our whole family went out to the field that day and watched some entertaining soccer. It ended up going in Chelsea's favor, but the comradery and goodwill of the day was palpable.

Back at the pub, Jens asked if we would present the trophy to the winning team. So the four of us stood up there, as Jacko eloquently expressed our deepest gratitude and appreciation to this roomful of strangers. I could barely express any intelligible words seeing as how the water works got turned on (again). I've given up on trying to control it. Anyway, when the gathering came to a close, there were no strangers in the room. Each one of them had become part of our story. I even got my own Chelsea t-shirt from young Jack's dad so I guess we'd become part of their story too.

Here were these guys - these young, handsome, sweaty guys (which I merely point out as a data point for those of you who might find that kind of detail relevant to the story) - there must have been 40 of them, who didn't know us from a hole in the wall - but heard the call and decided to help. Gave from their hearts and their pockets and had fun doing it (well, except maybe for the Arsenal guys). I made sure to go around and thank each of them personally. It's all I can do to hold it together when I thank someone I have never met for caring about my family. Over and over and over again. It's hard, but I want and need to do it - to touch everyone on the arm, look them in the eyes and say sincerely, thank you. I'll spend the rest of my life doing that.

A very sweet part of the whole day for me was when Jens told me that several of the guys had told him that this was the best benefit tournament they'd ever held - because we were there, and it was all very personal, and they could see how much their kindness and their efforts meant to these specific people. This normal, everyday family whose lives had been upended - and they knew they made a direct difference. It makes me feel good when something positive like that can come out of our situation.

There are more stories like this, and I want to chronicle all of them because I never ever ever want to forget for one moment how wonderful people have been to us. Not that I think I ever could or would, but to writing it down preserves the details better than my rapidly deteriorating memory.

why old people should wear their glasses

as my texas friends know, we're a little dramatic with the weather down here. for example, we don't just turn up the heat in the summer - we roast you, we fry you, and leave you crackly crispy (yes, donz, *burnt* to a *crisppppp*). and we don't just have little wimpy pea sized hail - we go for the baseball sized hail that comes plummeting from the heavens, right through your windshield and making swiss cheese of the roof on your house. likewise, when we have rain, it doesn't turn gray and quietly drizzle all day. it is more of a deluge, complete with john phillip sousa at 115 decibels and fireworks all around - and then 30 minutes later you're looking at a bright blue sky wondering if it was all just a dream. tonight we're having one of those kinds of storms.

it started while i was still at work. jack's out of town and the kids were both at work so i came home to an empty house. the dogs were happier than usual to see me, since they had been in the backyard when all the fun started. i let them in and toweled them off, and noticed that the air conditioner was on. the storm had cooled things off so i went down the hall and turned it off. as i came back into the living room, there was an absolutely deafening, house-shaking, crack of thunder. and at that precise moment i smelled....something burning.

crap.

i ran through the kitchen - saw nothing. i went out in the backyard and looked at the roof (in the pouring rain)...also nothing. you can imagine what i was thinking. i couldn't believe this was happening. what are the odds? and then it dawned on me. i hadn't been wearing my glasses when i turned off the a/c.

it is amazing how much "heat" looks like "off" to the mature (though unadorned) eye.

the best mother's day

i hurried over to my neighbors' home the other night for one of those in-home home decor parties (in this case, "southern living" for those who are familiar). we had just finished up 3+ hours with our designer at our favorite gas station - finalizing interior and exterior drawings, choosing windows and doors, and window and door placement, and in general tidying up all the loose ends. yes, we meet with our designer at a gas station. but this is no ordinary gas station - it's positively amazing - and it is probably one of austin's best kept secrets. well, until now that is.
anyway, i was running a bit late (having gotten caught up deciding on the elevation of the back patio - higher, so as to provide a nice continuous flow from the interior, or down at ground level, for more privacy - such are the challenges of a sloping piece of real estate). i almost always accept these home party invitations to support my friends, but try to limit myself to purchasing a single item. of course these days the temptation is to say "i'll have one of everything" since we're starting from scratch.

the party was well under way when i got there - the little presentation had already been done and most of the ladies were sitting around chatting or filling out order forms. my neighbor christy always gives such a warm welcome, and she introduced me around to the other guests. i was introduced to one elderly woman - i'm guessing she was over 80 - and christy explained to her that i was the one christy had told her about, the one who owned the burned down house across the cul de sac. the older woman gave a heartfelt pat on my hand "you poor dear", she said. she asked if we had been able to salvage anything and i told her that pretty much everything had been destroyed, either burned outright or exposed to such intense heat, soot, and water damage so to render them unrecoverable. she tsked and shook her head "oh, my, the photos, and the memories..." and i added "the christmas ornaments, the little cards and drawings made by our kids when they were small..." - we both understood that it's the little things that are the hardest to part with, for they are truly irreplaceable.

it was obvious that she felt terrible about my situation so i said "but i just try to stay focused on what i did get - my two children, my husband, and even my two dogs - no one was hurt and we are so grateful for that". we chatted about how, in the end, everything else is just "stuff" and that we did indeed get the most important things out, how my children and my husband are by far my most valuable "things" in my life. she touched my hand and we locked eyes. she said "i lost a son, you know, when he was 20". my stomach dropped. my eyes welled up. i said "oh my gosh, i am so so sorry". she gave a slight smile and said "well, dear, it was quite a long time ago". i said to her "but as a mom, i feel for your loss, and i am sure it is still right here", i patted my heart. she smiled. "yes", she said, "you can never really get over it, even after all these years". we agreed that it is never supposed to happen that way, the parent outliving the child.

i didn't ask what had happened to him - it's not important, really - but i wish i had let the moment linger a little longer. i wish i had asked her about him, what his name was, what he looked like, what kind of shenanigans he might have gotten into. because every single day i think about what could have happened to my own children on christmas morning. it's an overwhelming, crushing feeling: the stark realization of how close i came to having my life irrevocably, fundamentally, and drastically changed all in the blink of an eye. and here was this woman, who had lived with that very pain, my worst fear come true, for more than half of her days. i imagine that when memories are all you have left, there's a bittersweet comfort in someone asking you to dig them up. i wish i had taken that extra step with her.

i weep for her, and i weep for all moms who have had to bury their child. today must be an especially difficult and painful day for them. i can only imagine how absolutely horrible today (and every mother's day to come) would be for me if things had gone slightly differently on christmas morning. just 5 more minutes. if the unimaginable had been realized.

but instead this mother's day i am going out to dinner with both of my amazing, unique, bright, frustrating, wonderful, creative, challenging, and often hilarious kids, and my rock-of-gibraltar husband. this is by far my best mother's day ever.

i'll be sure to remind myself of that even when the kids start bickering about who gets to sit shotgun on the way to the restaurant.

happy mother's day, one and all.

farewell, humble abode

as i have been whining and moaning about how molasses slow this entire thing has been, people have said "things will drag for a while and then all of a sudden...boom, there will be progress". i think we finally know what they mean.

tonight we met with our designer and our builder to review final plans and nail down some specifics, one of which is the timeline. after ironing out some this and some that, we got down to it. jack asked "so when is the demo?" and without skipping a beat kurt said "how about thursday?".

gulp.

you mean *thursday*? as in, like, today is tuesday and then generally comes wednesday if memory serves and the one after that is...thursday?

wow.

so if all goes well, we make a final run through the good old tried and true tomorrow and then say our farewells tomorrow night. when i come home from work on thursday, she'll be gone. she has been our shelter, our home, our anchor since 1996.

we have watched our kids grow up there - learning to ride bikes, then ride skateboards and scooters, and finally drive cars in her long driveway (with varying degrees of success).

we have seen animals come and go under her roof - tai (crisco eater) and kirby (who caught birds midair, without breaking a sweat), then after kirby left us came barley (aka melbourne milkshake), then after tai left us came scout (a cat dressed up in a dog costume), and now fenway (fatway). and the non-canines - iguanasaurus rex, the gerbils, the fish (all named "fish", except for the sucker whose name was "little sucker dude"), and kenny the cockatiel that landed on aly's shoulder in the driveway and ended up staying with us for several weeks...

we've celebrated some milestones - assorted birthdays for each of us, and anniversaries 10, 15, and 20.

there was the time when emmett was about 3 and i was in the driveway when suddenly i heard a little "hi mama!" - i whipped around to see him *up on the roof*.

so many memories. so much life has been lived under that very roof.

this is a whole new kind of transition for us. i am thinking a solemn gathering, a few kind words, and possibly a champagne toast in her honor may be in order.

going postal

i noticed that i have written fewer and fewer blog posts each month. this is a good thing, i am sure you'll agree. some days i feel much closer to the "enough about me, how's by you?" kind of thing. surely this is a huge milestone in my healing process, and i welcome it with open arms. it's not a comfortable place to be when you're all you can think about.

so life goes on, spring has sprung, we're getting ready for aly's high school graduation (don't try to do the math - i already know there is no way i can have a kid this old). there are good days and not-as-good days (pretty much like everyone's life, right?), there are starting to be more days when it feels like we're making progress and fewer days when i feel like we'll never get through this. but last week when the contents adjuster reported that our entire initial contents claim had been rejected, i have to admit i momentarily considered going postal.

i had sent the contents listings for the kitchen, laundry room, and foyer. three of the fifteen areas for which we will have to provide inventories. one fifth of the way done, i had hoped. it was 28 pages long and i had painstakingly checked and rechecked to make sure that all of the info they required was there, that it was easy for them to read, that i backed up my claim with urls to make their jobs easier...i was aiming to be the model client. we were going to get our money.

except...

somehow i had f'd up and sent 30 pages, so page 1 was a duplicate of page 8 and page 2 was a dupe of page 9. this apparently threw them into code red lockdown mode. unable to comprehend, much less process, this aberration they did the only logical thing - they rejected the entire claim. instead of simply removing pages 1 and 2 and getting on with things or, here's an idea, picking up a phone and calling me to figure it out. but admittedly, it was my mistake and i would have to pay the price.

it's kind of absurd how the whole contents claim thing works, as i have mentioned before (see "the buddhists have been right all along", from march) - but making it even more absurd is the fact that they do everything the realllly old fashioned way. by that i mean: paper. and US mail.

i thought i was doing such a great job initially - i had cut and pasted hyperlinked urls into the spreadsheet to aid the insurance company in identifying the exact models of things i had listed and giving them a reference for and/or substantiating the values that i had put down. when i had finished the kitchen, laundry room, and foyer, i had called the adjuster to let him know that i was about to email him the first of our completed room inventories. he said it would be better if i would send them to him via US mail.

me: "huh?".

him: "yeah, because i work out of my home most of the time and my printer is very slow so it will be better if you print it out and mail it to me".

me: "but if we do it that way, you'll lose all of the hyperlinks - some of which are really long - and someone will have to re-key all of that in by hand."

him: "oh, no one is going to do that."

me: "huh?"

apparently, i was to send him a hardcopy of the inventories, which he would then mail to some clearing center where "the girls" would start searching on the internet for comparable items to those i had listed. i said "so no one is going to use all of these links i have entered?". "nope."

at this point i may have launched into a slight diatribe wherein i touched upon how totally, ridiculously, infuriatingly inefficient this was, and how they really should consider joining the rest of the free world in the 21st century where we don't use slates and chisels anymore, nor do we communicate via smoke signal anymore (in case he was in doubt), and how they were making a traumatic, extremely painful experience ten times worse for their customers.

he totally understood my frustration, said i was preaching to the choir and that he complained about this to his boss practically daily. then he offered this consolatory gem: "well, i guess you could fax them to me."

well, yes, i guess i could do that.

big becomes little and little becomes big

it's april 22. almost four months exactly since christmas day. for four months we've been working through everything - the emotions, the insurance stuff, the reconstruction plans. for four months we've been looking out the front door of our rental house at the burned shell of our home.

we know we are so very lucky. still, it is something i have to remind myself of almost daily. i have to make a conscious choice to see the good, each and every day. it's like my logical self is on board - i mean, obviously, look at the overwhelming wave of love and support that has come our way in the aftermath. it's staggering, really. we've never even come close to not having a roof over our heads, clothing on our backs, and food on our table. in fact, as i have said before - even now, we have more than our share. even now, we have more than enough.

i am reminded of this each morning as i try to button my pants.

oops.

anyway, my emotional self is another story and that's where i have to make the conscious choice each day - because the deep and dark and negative seems to have this amazing pull. it's like an eddy, or what i imagine quicksand or a vortex would feel like. it could be so easy to surrender to it. so i have to fight it every day. i have to pick up my head and focus outwards, rather than in. easier some days than others.

we have selected a builder. it's such a huge relief. we had solicited bids from three, and kind of had a gut feeling about who we wanted from the very beginning - but went through the process for the sake of due diligence. in the end, we went with our guts. we made the decision just yesterday and confirmed it with our designer over the phone. she relayed the decision to the builder and he was out there today with a couple of his subs, evaluating this and that. we talked about the demo, how we need to go through the house one more time before they come take it down, and how we need to salvage any landscaping we want to try to salvage before demo day.

i mentioned that i thought it would be very emotional for me to see the house come down. our builder said "you guys should just go away for the weekend, go to fredricksberg or somewhere, and when you come back, there will just be a slab." jack likes this idea. i, of course, have mixed feelings. i see the value in the "poof!" approach, but part of me also wants to be with the house in its last moments, so as not to abandon it and also to give me the closure that i think i need. i told jack that it was very sad, that our house has a soul and that it is languishing, and dying a slow death. with all the gentle, heartfelt empathy he could muster jacko said "that's only in your warped world." god i love that man. he helps make my bigs things little.

recently, emmett came back from jamaica and brought me a little braided bracelet. very simple, bought from a street vendor. it's probably the type of thing that won't last too long - but it's become so precious to me. i don't ever want to take it off. then, last weekend we went to a WWII reenactment and i found a deer antler in the battlefield. i've been driving around with it in my car for 4 days now. this has got me wondering - what the heck is going on on my warped world? why am i developing these deep attachments to the simplest little things? over time, it's actually gotten easier to detach from the material things we lost on christmas day. so why now these exaggerated attachments?

part of what makes some otherwise unspectacular, ordinary little things in my life have meaning (and therefore immeasurable value) are the memories that the little things evoke. for example, that's what makes losing the christmas ornaments so difficult. i bought each of the kids a christmas ornament every year since they were born. the idea i had back when they were tots was that when they moved out on their own (a concept that is rapidly settling in) i would be able to set them off with a starter set of 25 or so ornaments representing every phase of their lives. the little hallmark ornament that i found one year when emmett was about 2 - it was a little puppet stage with tiny puppets - in and of itself may not have had much value (about $7.95, if i recall). but the memory of toddler emmett walking around for weeks saying "puppet area" is a cherished one. we would ask him "what are you saying?". he'd look at us as if we were daft: "puppet area!". we'd say "puppet area?" and he'd say "no!!! _puppet_area_." to this day we have no idea what he was saying, but that puppet ornament took on such meaning for me because it would bring me back to that precious time at least once a year when we unpacked the christmas ornaments to decorate the tree, even now almost 15 years later.

there were many little things like that throughout the house - of insignificant value to those not in the know, but possessing a world of meaning for us. so the sadness i feel is not so much over the physical loss of the little things, but it's representative of the fear i have over losing the memories tied to those little things. and so emmett's little jamaican bracelet, and the deer antler found in the field last weekend, take on extreme importance as i try to attach them to new memories.

big becomes little, and little becomes big.

those people

tonight i finally wrote the thank you note to the family we've never met who gave us their own christmas presents on christmas morning. i wrote about it back in january ("hello, kind stranger") - how overwhelming this whole ordeal has been, how overwhelming and extremely humbling it is to be on the receiving end of so much love and support. and it is tenfold when it comes from people we have never even met.

humility is such an intense emotion. i am sure i have experienced it in small doses throughout my life, who hasn't? but to be absolutely buried by the tidal wave of kindness that has been bestowed upon us - it is almost too humbling to bear. it changes the source of the "why us?" question that is ever present in our hearts and minds since that day. instead of "why us?" with regards to the fire, and our loss, which would be such an easy road to head down - it is transformed to "why us - why are we worthy of this much kindness?" and then "how can we ever repay everyone?". it really boils down to simply being overwhelmed at the undeniable realization of just how very much we are loved. humbling, indeed.

i know that people have said that we shouldn't worry about thanking everyone personally, that the giving is a two-sided gift, in and of itself. people do it because they want to do it. people feel good when they give. logically, i get that. and it's certainly what i would be saying if i were on the other end this time.

but i am not on the giving side this time. and there are moments when i am simply overwhelmed and at a loss for what to do or say. the list is endless. the acts of kindness and generosity have been endless.

on the phone that morning with basile, i remember saying (among many other ramblings) "i don't want to be *those* people". we don't know how to be these people, the people who everyone gives to and cares for". when basile shared this with some of our friends, our friend ardie said "be sure to tell veek that, no, you're not _those_ people, but you are indeed THOSE people, meaning the ones we cherish."

humbling, indeed.

the phoenix all around us

random musings about survival....

half the house is basically gone (kitchen, office, family room, and living room), and the other half (the 4 bedrooms) had severe heat and smoke damage - severe enough to actually melt the light fixtures, and to melt photos. severe enough for insurance to declare all of the contents a total loss. everything in those rooms is jet black, covered in soot. the broken windows are all boarded up so there's no daylight - it's pretty eerie in there. the bedrooms are in total disarray, mostly due to the tireless efforts of our courageous fire fighters. so it struck me as odd that in the jet black, pitch dark, smokey guest room, in which everything is totally covered in soot, and knocked over or turned over, there is a lone white styrofoam cup from sonic sitting on a table in the corner that appears untouched. it barely has soot on it. apparently styrofoam can withstand heat that can even melt metal.

i apologize to my fish whenever i go into (what is left of) the living room. it's a little ritual, i'm not sure why i do it but i always tell them that i'm sorry i couldn't save them. there were about 20 little mickey mouse platys in a 30 gallon freshwater tank on a stand in the living room. they were all named "fish" (we were very close). there was also a pleco (sucker fish) that had survived for years. he had seen many of the other inhabitants come and go and he had outlived most of them. his name was "little sucker dude". i'm sorry i couldn't save them - truthfully they didn't even cross my mind that morning - but i couldn't have lifted the tank anyway. i am hoping that they thought "hmm, it's getting a bit warm in here" and then it was over. at least that is how i like to imagine it.

in the first couple of months, i also apologized to my japanese maple and mountain laurel, which stood in the little garden area to either side of the front door. they were all singed and black, and it made me so sad because i loved being greeted by them whenever i came or went. but they were mere feet from the flames that shot out the front door, so i knew their prognosis was grim.

i was thoroughly surprised and thrilled when i walked the property a couple of weeks ago and saw that spring would indeed revive the mountain laurel and maple despite their harrowing experiences. both trees had fully bloomed new leaves on the side facing away from the house. the mountain laurel even gave me flowers. i greeted them like old friends and told them i was proud of them. yeah, i'm weird. i could see exactly what branches and small limbs would have to go - on the side facing the house, where they were jet black and barren. it was almost as if i would have to cut the trees from their tops right down their middles vertically. sure they'd look a little weird, but maybe over time they'd regain a more symmetrical shape. their determination and tenacity renewed my own.

yesterday i decided to go sweep up the glass in the driveway, pick up the toasted ornaments and wreath remnants, bag all of the live oak leaves, mulch-mow the front yard, and maybe start selectively trimming the mountain laurel and maple. i think our neighbors have been more than patient, and they've been oh so supportive. i was determined to make my poor little home the best looking burned out shell on the block. as always, i checked on the mountain laurel and the japanese maple. their front-facing sides looked good. pruners in hand, i moved around the back of the mountain laurel to assess the situation there. i was drawn to a little bright green growth sprouting out of a blackened branch at eye level. i looked up, there was another. i backed up and saw little bright green dot after little bright green dot all over the otherwise black barren branches. it lived! the maple also had new growth. they were working so hard.

in a raised bed in the backyard i had an on-going and usually frustrating relationship with a tall strawberry pot, and the strawberries i tried to grow each year. it's just too darn hot down here, or too dry, or we had enough rain but it all came at once, drowning the poor things. no matter what i tried, it seemed that i rarely got more than half a dozen tiny strawberries. per season. but yesterday there was my strawberry pot, ignored and forgotten over the winter and since the fire - and darned if there aren't 5 or 6 strawberry plants all hale and hearty poking out of the pot. no berries yet, but at this point i won't be surprised. i know they are mocking me, but i don't mind.

speaking of the back of the house, things are much more grim there. that is where the fire was the worst, and there are big gaping holes in the roof and rear exterior walls. i had been delighted a few weeks ago when i noticed some things blooming in the backyard garden areas. a small bunch of daffodils came up, and the lantana and salvia were both doing their best to come back.

and finally, on the burnt deck itself - which is the blackest of the black and the most charred of everything - where once stood a multitude of potted plants, there are now just clumps of singed and scorched dirt. the pots are all gone, either smashed or melted (there are also toasted cans of beer still standing on the deck even though the cooler that held them was melted away). the plants themselves are just charred remains now - or gone altogether. but yesterday i saw the first signs of life in those clumps of dirt. my asparagus fern is fighting the noble fight and coming back, despite the fact that it's been completely ignored for the past 3 months: winter temperatures, no shelter, no water - heck the poor thing doesn't even have a pot. but it is coming back. it is trying so hard. i made jacko take a picture - i wanted to capture that kind of fortitude.

when construction begins, hopefully in a couple of weeks, i know that the mountain laurel and japanese maple cannot stay where they are. before i knew if they had even survived, i had asked my friend stan about transplanting them until the new house is completed. he gently gave me the sad news - neither one takes to transplanting too well. and especially in their condition, we probably wouldn't be able to save them. i just know this one thing: we have to try.