Once you're in, you're in

I waited with anticipation for their responses. I was prepared for a stern look, might have gotten a patronizing head shake, or worse, a tsk. After all, it's family time, it's the most wonderful time of the year, and it's practically sacred. Instead I got a "hell yeah!" in response to my gentle suggestion to the other moms that maybe it was time to change our annual holiday party to an adults only kind of event.

We've been having this holiday open house for years and years. It began about the time the kids started pre-school. I was feeling badly that we're so far from family, and wanted my kids to have some sense of tradition around the holidays. Sure we had our twice annual pilgrimage to church (see article: "Chreasters") and we made a special afternoon of driving to the Christmas tree farm to find just the right tree, Jacko always cooked a special dinner, and Santa always came - but it was still just the four of us and somehow that didn't seem big enough (of course now I know better). It was so different from how I grew up. I grew up with a very large extended family, all within about 1/2 hour drive of one another. I have oodles and oodles of cousins. I never had a babysitter who wasn't one of my cousins. When I was a kid, Christmas Eve dinner was with one set of grandparents, then Christmas brunch with everyone at our house, then Christmas dinner at my Nanny's with aunts and uncles and cousins, and before the night was over either we'd go visit other cousins or they'd come visit us and it was always a big, lively celebration.

My kids would have none of that. So we started having this holiday open house and inviting all of the kids' friends and their families, plus our friends and neighbors. The guest list grew exponentially each year as the kids grew and discovered new friends and new hobbies. Each year when I'd start planning for the next party, I would say to Jack "Maybe we should trim the list, maybe it's getting too big". As the kids friendships and interests ebbed and flowed, there would be some families we didn't even see throughout the year anymore, other than at our party. Did it make sense to keep inviting them? Did they even want to come? But in the end we decided year after year that "once you're in, you're in".

We went all out for the kids back then. While not extremely large itself, the layout of our home is (was) really conducive to large gatherings. Kids came in their Christmas finery, and there was cookie decorating and ornament making, and (because it's December in Texas) a moonwalk and inflatable slide out back. There was the visit from Santa (affectionately known among the adults as "drunk Santa" but still, he made an appearance). There was an abundance of food and libations (never one to skimp, as modeled by my folks) and everyone always had such a good time. This little tradition went on year after year.

Until middle school.

Seemingly overnight, our little cherubic angels got big. And smelly. Cookie decorating became food fighting, and ornament making took on a destructive edge. There was Christmas light unmantling. I'll never forget walking out to the backyard and seeing two of the teens at the top of the inflatable slide rocking it back and forth as if to knock it over - and there was a two year old up there with them.

And so it came to pass that I had this idea, which I presented gingerly and cautiously to the local mom crowd one fall night at a volleyball game and which was met with a resounding "it's about time!". For the past 5 years or so, our holiday open house invitations went to the adults only. Sorry kids, so much for your holiday tradition!

At 2009's party I shared my next great idea. Now that the kids were more mature, and a good number of them would be heading off to college in 2010, we would once again open our arms and home to them at holiday party 2011. I shared my visions of these kids, most of whom we have known since they were 4 or 5, returning to Austin and reconnecting at Christmas time. It would be wonderful. Of course just 12 days later, the fire came.

All of this was going through my mind as I finally took down the Christmas lights from our trees this past weekend while the wind rattled the big blue tarp covering the hole in the roof, and the smoky smell from inside our charred party palace continued to pervade the exterior. There are singed wreaths, ornaments, and other holiday decorations throughout the house and all around the property so it's hard to not think of Christmas when we're there.

I am most melancholy for my darling daughter, Aly, who is (in case you were not sure) the sweetest, most considerate, and simply best daughter in the world. This poor kid has to head off to college in the fall without a home. She's lost all of her "stuff" and is feeling as rudderless as the rest of us and she'll have to pack up and go off to college before the new house is ready. In fact, she'll probably barely see the framing before she goes. I think the transition will be tough for her. The rest of us will be here through the whole process and, good or bad, will be part of every decision. She'll head off to college homeless - first time away from home and without any of her mementos or comfort items - and (hopefully) return at Christmas to BOOM!, a new home. I really really really want to make that happen for her and hope we're settled and not still scrambling come December.

I want this to be the best holiday party ever. There is so much to celebrate! So many people to thank. I can't even imagine the size of the guest list this year. I might as well take out an ad in the local paper inviting everyone. We've been so blessed.

When our designer/architect friend Kimberly first met with us to share her ideas on the reconstruction she said "I want the house to reflect who you are and the feeling I get is that you are the type of people who open your arms to others and once they're in, they're in." I think she gets us.

spontaneous combustion

i saw a firetruck on my way home from work yesterday. full on sirens and lights, they had to drive in the wrong way lane at one point - and blasting the horn for the idjits who have not yet figured out that they should get out of the way. i literally burst into tears at the sight and sound. it was a tidal wave.

i wonder how long that's going to go on.

i pretty much have no control over my emotions these days. there have been times when i assumed i would totally break down - like when i heard my dear cousin donna's voice just hours after the firetrucks left our house that morning, or seeing my family for the first time after the fire, or the first phone call from my best high school friend (that's a 30+ year friendship for those keeping count)...and i was very surprised when i didn't. i assumed that i would collapse in their arms (or ears), open the flood gates, let it all out, reveal my deepest vulnerabilities, take off my brave face. instead, somehow i felt stronger just hearing or touching them - like some sort of vulcan mind meld where we exchanged my despair for their inner strength. so instead, my voice barely cracked.

but on the flip side, god help the cashier who says "have a nice day" to me. pity the coworker who comments about the weather. it's completely out of my control, and it's completely nuts, which does make for interesting days.

11 days

It's worse when Jacko is out of town. Those nights I lie there, fighting my heavy eyelids and listening to every sound. My mind races, and it goes places I don't like. Those nights I am the only one here to protect the kids from the evils that come in the night.

I've always loved to sleep. I am a big sleeper. Sleep is magical. Sneaking away on a weekend day for a little nap is heavenly. Well, little - who am I kidding? If I go to napville, it's a two hour trip. Minimum. Those people who say that a little 20 minute catnap refreshes them? I cannot relate. It's all or none for me.

So you can imagine how distressed I am that sleep is no longer a happy place for me. When Jacko is home, it comes easily enough - when I allow it. But even then it doesn't last very long. Any noise (sometimes even the sound of silence) or any dream is all it takes to awaken me. There is no sleeping soundly.

When Jack is not here, I've discovered that it is worse because then I have a hard time letting go of awake so I don't even get that first little blast of sleep. I was lying there last night, there was tossing, there was turning. I plumped my pillow, I tried covers on and covers off. I was tired - I could definitely feel that - but I was hanging on to awake with everything I had. Sleep just doesn't feel like a safe place for me right now and so I fought letting go.

Speaking of sleeping, if anyone ever wondered how long it takes for the habits of your beloved to become once again irritating after a traumatic event, I can now tell you. It takes exactly 11 days. Sleep was totally evasive that first week or so, for both of us. When Jack would finally find his way there and his sleep serenade would begin, I actually felt comforted. It literally gave me joy to hear him snore and to know that he had finally relaxed enough for deep sleep.

That lasted 11 days. On the 11th night, I gave him a good nudge (he might call it a shove) to make him stop. I was struggling with my own insomnia and I realized at that moment that I was actually feeling slightly irritated by this disturbance. And that made me smile. It was probably the first taste of normal that I'd felt since Christmas day.

I hold out hope that one day I will once again find myself threatening to smother him with a pillow if he doesn't stop. Then I will know I'm on the road to recovery. I am sure it is a long way off, but a girl can dream.

The Buddhists have been right all along

Not that it's a news flash, but the Buddhists have it right. Less is more. I have a love/hate relationship with material possessions, especially now. In general, I've long felt that there are some days when it seems so easy to get caught up in the wanting, which totally skews your perspective of what "enough" means. Other days it's easy to see how more stuff makes life more cumbersome. We're less agile, we can't be spontaneous, when we're weighed down by things. Post fire, it's even weirder. I start off trying to salvage absolutely everything - I just want some remnant, any remnant of life before - even stupid things, even easily replaceable things, and even things I never really liked all that much in the first place. Before long we're smashing sooty dishes and throwing away things I used to define as keepsakes, in an almost cavalier manner. It's all a big rollercoaster ride.

Since it all went poof, for me there has been quite a broad range of emotions. I miss my stuff and yet I never want to have that much stuff again. I feel a bit rudderless without my physical world and yet it's simultaneously liberating. I'm sad and happy, wistful and relieved, lost and found.

A lot of people might think it would be exciting to have to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe. But every time I go to a store, I am almost paralyzed. I wonder to myself "Well, what do I need?" and the answer that comes back is always the same "Everything...and yet nothing." I wander around like a zombie for an hour, then eventually buy something - like a single pair of socks - and walk out. At this rate, it's going to take a loooong time.

After the fire people were amazingly generous. You would not believe the bag upon bag upon truckload after truckload of stuff that showed up. As I keep saying, it is all so very humbling - there are moments when I'm not sure I will ever be able to dig out from these deep, deep, and enormous feelings of humility. "Pay it forward" has become such a cliche' but I know that it is the only way.

Within four days of securing temporary housing, it was filled to the brim with every creature comfort imaginable. We felt like we had to apologize when people would stop by, and explain how the heck we (the poor homeless fire survivors) manage to have the world's biggest big screen TV in their (temporary) living room. We've actually had to bring things to Goodwill. This feels good because it's like a gift that truly gives twice. First to us, who are over and over again so very appreciative. Then we realize that, even now, we have enough - and so the second gift is to someone we'll never know. Receiving, and then giving. Two gifts for the price of one.

So with the insurance situation, there are separate settlements for structure and for contents. Two separate clauses in your policy, most likely. And so we have two separate adjustors, two separate claims. When they decided to total the house, things were relatively simple. We had a maximum amount that the structure was insured for and so the insurance company wrote us a big fat check and said "Good luck". That was it. The rest is for us to figure out.

Contents are another story.

They have totaled our contents. Yes, every single thing in our home has been declared "unsalvageable" except for our two bedroom dressers, which came from my grandparents (and for which I am extremely grateful). Like the coverage for the structure, we also have a maximum amount that our contents are insured for. So where's my other big fat check? Not so fast. For contents, we have to provide a detailed inventory of every. dang. thing. in. our. home. We have to include its age, purchase price, where purchased, etc. No, I am not freaking kidding you (which was my first question). Just think about your kitchen alone. Mentally open each drawer, each cabinet, what's on the countertops, what's hanging on the walls. Even for people who don't have a lot of stuff, there's a lot of stuff in there. Add on top of that, well, the room and the stuff don't exist any more so can you make that list from memory? While functioning on half your cylinders after a traumatic experience? And working full time? The task is daunting. Yeah, I'm whining.

Supposedly once we provide insurance with these inventories for each room, they go about determining the fair *depreciated* value for our things. And that depreciated value is what we'll get. So the stoneware that we've had since we got married 23 years ago? I imagine that'll bring in about a buck and a quarter. We're actually sort of penalized for having old things. You may be thinking "Well, phew, thank goodness we're covered for replacement value, not just depreciated value". To that I say simply, "Yeah, so are we."

The game goes like this - we provide this detailed inventory, and we get the check for the depreciated value of everything. If and when we actually go out and purchase the replacements, and provide the insurance carrier with the receipts, then and only then do they give us the full replacement value. If we don't play the game, we don't get our full insurance coverage that we've been paying for all these years.

I can see that, like it or not, we are going to have a long and intimate relationship with these guys.

In my next life, I plan to have less stuff. Hoard less, detach from more. I am going to be so much smarter in my next life.