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.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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.
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.
happy mother's day, one and all.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
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.
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.
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