Operation ReNewton

furry friends

2011-12-31T18:11:00.000-08:00

sitting out here on the zen porch with scout at my feet. beautiful day, it probably hit 80 today. you know how some days are just perfect days weatherwise for wherever you happen to live? few places have all perfect days - and austin in the summer speaks loudly and clearly for its climactic shortcomings. but today was just a great austin day. thanks for that, mother nature.

so i am sitting out here and the usual NYE fireworks are going off every once in a while in the distance. and while scout is not one of those dogs that freaks out about fireworks (that was barley's job, r.i.p.), they do make her slightly uncomfortable and nervous.

we have this on going battle of the wills, scout and i. from my side of things, i am just not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. to each their own, and i love a good dog snuggle, but we happen to have a couple of canines who feel the need for a new coat every DAY so they are ridiculously prolific shedders. that makes me draw the line and so i am a not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. as for scout, other than the fact that she is really a cat dressed in a dog costume, she also has delusions about her royal status and feels entitled, heck compelled, to sneak up (and i do mean sneak, with crafty eyes, a sideways glance, and quick like a fox) on to the furniture every so often when my back is turned. i know she does this way more often than i have ever caught her, as is evidenced by the well defined, circular, hair-filled impression we find on the beds and couches now and again.

this game has gone on for so long - 10 years now - she sneaks up, and if i catch her i tell her to get down. i have never waivered, she has never argued. it's our routine. in fact it has become so familiar for both of us that when i catch her, we only need to exchange a brief (sideways) glance - no words or gestures required.

so back to the zen porch where i am sitting enjoying the gorgeous evening, and a slightly skittish scout (remember the fireworks) is at my feet, and she so wants to come up here on the couch and cuddle up with me. it's like she knows she isn't allowed but she's giving me the sideways glance anyway. i swear she is wondering if i would mind, if i would let her just this once, seeing as how there are fireworks and all. out of my peripheral vision, i can see that she's actually raising one paw and putting it on the couch, all the while giving me the sideways glance. but if i turn and make eye contact with her, the paw goes down and she looks away. it's pretty funny. "who? me? what?"

i can't believe i am even considering it.

happy new year everyone. i hope the new year brings you all these things in spades: the warmth of a perfect weather day (even if your perfect day is a chilly one), the warmth of a furry friend at your feet, and the warmth of knowing that you're experiencing a life well lived.

lessons and carols

2011-12-25T18:16:00.000-08:00

This one’s been banging around inside my head for a few weeks. Time to get it out.

It’s Christmas 2011, our first Christmas in our new home. We were able to move in back in February, barely missing Christmas 2010 by >this much<. But Christmas 2010 was spent in the rental house, where we were a bit out of sorts and not really sure what to do with ourselves. Last year Aly came home for her Christmas break from Northeastern and was sorely disappointed because we all seemed to be missing a key ingredient – Christmas spirit. But this Christmas is different – we were ready for it, with eager anticipation, joyful hearts, and about 1000 LED Christmas lights.

Last night we followed our something old/something new Christmas Eve tradition. As of 2010, the new part of our tradition is visiting the local fire station to say thank you and to bring them a holiday card and some homemade goodies. There were about 5 firefighters there when we visited, one of whom had been on the second shift at our fire. He immediately recalled the address and the time as I was explaining who we were. From the bottom of our hearts, we thanked them again and wished them a very boring and quiet Christmas Eve.

Parts two and three of our Christmas Eve tradition were the old standbys: Christmas Eve service at Bethany – the once a year when I get to drag my family to church and no one is allowed to gripe about it (well, they are allowed to gripe - first amendment and all - but they still have to go). Bunch o’ Chreasters. I do love the familiar carols and the fellowship. The service was followed by our usual Christmas Eve dinner at Kobe steakhouse where we inevitably run into people we know and enjoy the handiwork of the sushi chefs (and wine stewards) there. Last night was no exception.

This morning came with a chill and some rain, but it was nice waking up in the new house. Jack and I both commented that we had awakened around 4am but were able to fall back to sleep fairly easily. Not a creature was stirring – and silence never sounded so good. Late morning Jack and I went for our four mile walk/jog around town lake while the kids still slept - and then we came home to a few presents and a blissfully lazy day. Cozy and comfortable, in a beautiful new house.

There’s really not a day that goes by that I’m not cognizant of what it has taken to get us here – and of how many people chipped in to make it possible. I don’t think I will ever get used to it – at least I hope I don’t. To be humbled in this way is really the ultimate gift – and I know I am changed forever. It continues to be just shy of too much to bear, which is a good place to be. And though I am getting used to feeling this way, there is still something new to see and feel at every turn. There are still lessons to be learned.

For two years now we have lived with the desire and determination to repay the tidal wave of kindness and generosity that washed over our family. We daydream about winning the lottery and repaying everyone who sent a dime our way, we look for opportunities to make a difference in the lives of the myriad of people who came to our aid. We look for chances to give back.

But we recently faced the realization that an opportunity to truly repay someone would likely come at a high cost. It's been something of an epiphany for me. I have been so focused on trying to find ways to pay back that I just hadn't realized what those opportunities would really mean for the people I was paying back.

One of the families who came to our rescue – Jim and Sharon and their three girls (friends we used to work with who we really only saw once or twice a year after we no longer worked together) – suffered a tragedy when Jim was unexpectedly and tragically lost in an accident just after Thanksgiving. Despite not seeing them all that often, we knew that we would help. Sharon and Jim showed us that this is the way – whether you see your friends once a day or once in a blue moon, you find a way to help. They had shown up with generous gift cards to both Target and Home Depot that had been donated through their church after they shared our story. Both gift cards were incredibly helpful in putting the finishing touches on the new house, and once again we were humbled by the kindness of strangers and what friends were willing to do for us. Of course we gladly will do whatever we can to now help Sharon and the girls. But in my heart I wish more than anything that this opportunity didn’t exist. I understand now that the opportunity to pay someone back means that they will have to suffer a loss, and for Sharon and their girls – and all of Jim’s family and friends - this loss is heartbreaking. Reminders again that life is precious and fleeting and that everything can change in an instant.

And so it’s with this realization that I now move forward, fervently hoping and wishing that I never ever ever get the opportunity to pay any of you back. I really mean it. Of course if you ever need me, I will be right there to help in whatever way I can. But If I never get the chance to pay you back, I’m ok with that.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

the shoe fits

2011-10-23T17:49:00.000-07:00

I love sitting out in my zen space. It has good joojoo. Immediately after the fire, before we could dare to dream, Kimberly (KK) had to lead us there by the hand and heart by asking the questions that would propel us forward: What would you have changed about the old house? How are we going to get more light in here? Why *can’t* cabinets be painted?

It was hard at first to even remember things about the old house that were anything but utterly and inarguably perfect. We missed it a lot (we still do). I think I’ve talked before about the longing for that space, almost more than the things that occupied it. It was our space, and once it was lost we instantly and conveniently forgot about its warts and blemishes. It had been perfect…hadn’t it? We were fortunate enough to be able to build on the same slab, which saved us a lot of money – and so I think we assumed that we’d build the same house on that same slab. We were unable to imagine anything else, but KK egged us on.

In the old house, all four bedrooms were down a single hallway. This was ideal for most of the time we’d lived there - the kids were small and we liked the comfort of being close. They are teenagers now – living in that crazy place between dependence and independence, child and adult, here and there. And I want no part of that.

I kid, I kid.

The truth is that they are absolutely funny, self sufficient, and unique mostly-adult people (coming from a completely biased mom) who we like hanging out with. But as they grew to adult-size, we found ourselves kind of on top of each other space-wise. So KK led us to the vision of a new master bedroom – clear on the other side of the house. Wait…what? But......there is/was a kitchen on that other side of the house after all! KK’s responses went something like: “So we’ll move it” and “Anything is possible when you start from scratch”. That’s when it clicked for me that the new house didn’t have to be a poor imitation of the old house. The new house could wear the same shoe size as the old house (same footprint) but maybe it’s a brand new shoe.

Once we had planned to move the master to where the kitchen was, we dared to go further. Where, then, would the kitchen go? KK suggested putting it at the back-center of the house, with big bold windows looking out into the backyard. “Anything is possible when you start from scratch.” Indeed.

I found strength in her imagination. I even asked about having a little patio teeny-tiny – just enough for two chairs – leading out from the master bedroom. That was how my “zen space” was born. I secretly suspect that Kurt embraced the idea of the zen space as a personal project because my little “teeny-tiny space” ended up being about 12x12, with a beautiful stone floor, and an amazing hand crafted wooden frame and ceiling. It’s entirely screened in, and has a doggy door too. All of which makes it pretty perfect.

Our zen space is slowly getting outfitted with everything a decent zen space needs, like a twirly marbly hanging thing from my friend Kim, a bamboo plant from Kenzie and Doug, comfy furniture, whisper quiet ceiling fan, and of course the little happy Buddha and the miniature zen garden that Emmett gave to me for mother’s day. It’s really such a nice space, and I am so grateful for it.

And I swear it takes its job seriously. It is peaceful out there, and always welcoming. I get to sit out in this space with a cool drink and a warm dog or two, sharing time with my hubby, talking about the good things our kids are off doing, figuring out how to do this empty nest thing - and there’s just a calm that settles in. It is a deeply joyful place.

So today was one of “those days” - my hard drive died, work was crazy hectic, and the local news was not good – another 1000 acres on fire in Bastrop – on top of what those poor people have already endured. These terrible fires make us cry and ache for the families who are losing their homes. We know all too well the treacherous and exhausting paths down which they are just beginning. We know that they have no way of knowing that it will easily be a two year recovery as it has been for us. We hadn’t known either – how could we have? We could not know, we would not know, until we walked in those shoes. I came home, poured a little wine, and went out to sit with Buddha and unwind. And as I sat there, I was reminded once again how incredibly, humbly fortunate we are. It is still overwhelming, how so many people did so much for us, gave and gave and gave so that we could recover and find ourselves in this beautiful space.

My fervent wish for the many Bastrop and Austin area families who are just beginning down a path we know all too well is that they have someone who dares them to dream, that they have a tidal wave of support and love that washes over them, and that in the end they find themselves with new shoes that are even more perfect than the ones these fires are taking from them.

i nailed it

2011-06-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since I wrote anything here. So long. That's a sign, right? Because as we get farther from Christmas 2009, get settled in a new home, send Emmett off to Texas State, and Aly to Dublin for the fall semester, we get more entrenched in our new normal. We're busy - life goes on, as it should.

There are these moments every once in a while, and they get farther and farther apart. I had one tonight when I put the first nail in a wall. We have been here since February and we have never hung one thing on a wall (well, Aly and Emmett have made their rooms their own, but Jack and I have not started yet). It's hard to make that first nail hole.

Jacko's out of town for a week and the kids are both working so when I saw a box in the closet labeled "Framed pictures", I got motivated. And what was the first thing I hung up? You want to know, don't you? Well, the first *picture* I hung up is the autographed photo from Tedy Bruschi (see "full tilt, full time" from July 2010). Prior to that I actually had hung up one of those Greek charms that ward off the evil eye. It seemed appropriate to break the ice with that one - but Tedy's was the first of three pictures that I hung tonight.

Of course it takes me half an hour to decide where to hang each thing so it's exhausting. This makes me take frequent breaks. Which prolongs the process. But regardless. On one of my breaks, I walked out in the backyard to check on all of the lovely things we have planted (well, *Mike* has planted, but whatever :-) and was happy to see that the storm we got last night really livened things up out there (we've been in this exceptional drought for quite a while). And while I was checking things out I saw that little patches of purple queen wandering jew (go ahead, make a joke) that used to grow in the far back corner of the backyard pre-fire, were popping up all over. After being completely neglected for over a year, and in a drought, after being bulldozed and backhoed, darn if that little succulent son of a gun wasn't coming back. What resilience.

And *that* made me thing about resilience. I think resilience is something I can say, with a fair amount of confidence, that I have - and that feels good. BECAUSE whenever I read one of those stories in the news about a guy jumping on subway tracks to save a fellow human in distress, or similar acts of profound bravery, I can't help but wonder if I would have the chops to do something like that if I were in that situation. I have to admit I am not 100% sure I would, and for those brief few moments when I am reading or thinking about that story, I am plagued by the fact that I don't know. I find it reassuring to know absolutes about myself, one less thing to worry about - and I can't say with certainty that I am brave. Since it is a trait I greatly admire, I am wistful. Since I'm not 100% sure, I am hopeful. I may never know.

I just had to stop right now and ask myself where am I going with this, and of equal importance - when will I get there? I guess just that it's nice to know that I am resilient. I may have never known before but now that I have been bulldozed and backhoed, I know.

This is what goes on in my head. No wonder it takes me two hours to hang a picture.

a moment and a homecoming of sorts

2011-03-18T14:09:00.000-07:00

we've been officially in the new house for a little over a month now. we finally moved out of the rental house in early february, 13 months after we had moved in with a 6 month lease. i'm sure it worked out well for the landlord since he got to raise the rent after the first 6 months - but at the time we didn't feel we could commit to anything farther away than 6 months, and even that seemed an eternity. in the end while we waited for the new house to become habitable, we kept bargaining for one more month, one more month - until he could offer us no more months because he had new tenants moving in.

move day was going to be tuesday. the weekend prior was really nice - the first 70 degree weekend we had since the fall. people were busting out the flip flops and wearing shorts. but there was something on the horizon, and that something hit on tuesday. a cold front brought the temps back down to freezing just two days after we'd been basking in the sunshine. there was no budging move day, so we bundled up and spent all day lugging our belongings across the street. our good friends again heard the call and came to help, and were so optimistic as to comment how moving with the freezing temps was better than moving in 100 degrees. crazy, wonderful, insane, shivering friends.

we continued paying our mortgage on the house that was no longer, and our great insurance company, Allstate, footed the tab for the rental. all those years of paying homeowner's insurance, one of life's necessary evils - or so we thought. but when we really needed them - they were more than on our side, better than a good neighbor, way less anoying that an aussie gecko...(and you know how i feel about gilbert gottfried so don't get me started on the duck).

anyway, we got everything moved on tuesday and overnight the snow came. it was impressive, by austin standards - emmett even got a snow day. the one little snag is that the main water line into the new house had been left uncovered pending final plumbing inspection which was needed to get the certificate of occupancy. that was monday, and the pipe was much less enthusiastic about the freeze than emmett and his buddies were. and so we ended up the first three days in the new house with no water. no burst pipes, but no flowing water either. so the yin to that yang was that the freeze delayed the new tenants and we still had keys - so it was kind of like camping where you'd bundle up and leave the comfort of your campfire to dart over to use the bathrooms and showers. three days later, through some combination of sheer vulcan willpower backed by a tented heating contraption, worthy of rube goldberg, aimed at the uncompromising pipe, kurt beat the freeze and the water flowed.

little by little we're settling in now. the house is about 95% done so each week we get a little closer. spring has sprung and as i write this i am sitting out on my as-yet-to-be-screened screen porch in shorts and a tank top. birds are chirping, the redbuds and salvia are blooming, and you can just smell spring everywhere. i love it because you can't help but think about growth and rebirth during this time of year. spring will largely be about the landscaping, which has taken a beating during the reconstruction. i'm really looking forward to making permanent homes for the few plants i saved who will comprise our "garden of what was".

i entertained for the first time last week. jack was out of town so i invited over a bunch of lady friends for a girls night in. about 15-20 came, and it felt good to be doing something for *them* for a change. the night before i decided to bake some cookies and needed saran wrap. we didn't have any so i called mo who said she'd meet me at the fence to lend me hers.

"meet me at the fence". how many times have we done that in the 10+ years we've been neighbors? lending this or that, tasting this or that, just chatting. probably a thousand times. when we re-did the fence we put privacy everywhere except on mo and ronnie's side. there we all agreed that a wrought iron, open fence was preferable - because we all liked the idea of meeting at the fence. mo commented when we met for the saran wrap exchange. she said "just like old times". and we agreed that it was a special, poignant moment. one step closer towards normalcy. we had gotten back one of the things we always loved, and we felt it on a big scale. so simple, passing a roll of saran wrap over the fence, but so special.

today the big truck rolled up from san antonio. we had called the

storage/restoration people who had emptied the house in the days following christmas and told them "we're ready". they had stored things for us all this time and honestly, we couldn't even remember what they had. we knew it was stuff from the garage, since that did not burn. and we knew they had my grandparents' bedroom dressers which jack and i have had since we got married and, due to the extreme cost of restoring damaged furniture, were the only things we chose to have them restore. three young guys showed up, introduced themselves and said "ma'am, we have your things". after i smacked them for calling me ma'am, they got around to unloading. the garage is now absolutely full with these potential treasures. and god knows what the heck is in there, but it's in about 75 boxes. i see our bicycles, and jacko's golf clubs, assorted tools, and 75 boxes. we'll be busy for a while.

i have to admit that seeing the guys unload my grandparents' dressers was an emotional moment for me. they had packed them so carefully - and once unloaded i watched as they gently disrobed them from their protective blankets. the last time we saw these, they were absolutely caked in soot. and while not perfect, they now look pretty amazing. i had the guys put them right into our new bedroom. i thanked the guys, and told them they were part of our story now - the final chapter.

the dressers are literally the first familiar things in the new house, and i was there to welcome them home.

a journey in a single day

2011-02-13T15:40:00.001-08:00

he looked at me like i was completely nuts.

"you want to do what?"

"mow the backyard."

"WHAT backyard?"

it's true that while the house is 95% completed and we are 100% moved in and maybe 60% unpacked, the yard is 99% a construction war zone. landscaping is planned for the spring, but we've got to take a breather on the spending and have a little financial recovery time.

still, after the couple of weeks of freezing temps, today was absolutely stunning. sunny and warm, bright blue sky - the kind of day that lures you to do yard work, and you don't even mind. but there's a lot of trash out there, and remnants of the different stages the house has been through, and one of the things we *did* manage to save from "before" was our lawnmower. jacko didn't want me to kill it the first time i mowed at the new house (not to mention that there isn't actually much grass back there at this point).

so instead i went on my own little reconnaissance mission. the dogs have been hanging out in the backyard (when it hasn't been freezing) and fenway still has a lot of puppy tendencies (all 80 pounds of her) which leads her to think that chewing on rebar scraps is a good idea and that styrofoam is meant to be ingested. so i went out there to see if i could clean things up a bit (and with secret hope that i would do such a stellar job that jack would agree it was mowing time).

the stuff littering the backyard lead me back through our journey of the past 14 months, though not sequentially this time. i found scraps of things that had been on the deck during the fire, shattered and sooty, next to bits of roofing shingles. lots of broken glass was aside rebar and PVC tidbits. i found the fluorescent "warm zone" tape that the firefighters had wrapped around the exterior perimeter of the backyard tangled up with the temporary electrical pole that had been erected when we first brought power to the construction site. i found discards from literally every stage of our journey. it made me realize that i wish i had taken photos of all the many different crews who had worked on the house since, as i told them, they were part of our story now (usually in my broken spanglish). i wish i had been organized from the start and had written down every single donation and every single hug - who gave and said and did what. i wish i had kept a detailed record of the reconstruction - where everything came from, how much it cost, models and colors and styles. unfortunately, none of that happened. and i forgive myself. a lot of things are still strong in my memory but not always the things you'd think you'd remember. sort of like how you can remember things like the phone number you had as a kid (totally useless information at this point) but not necessarily where you just put down the car keys (very useful, and timely, information). memory is a funny thing that way.

the last thing i saw in the backyard before i called it a day was something that fenway actually brought to me. neither singed nor sooty, it was (most of) a tennis ball. clearly a tennis ball from "before" that had sat in the yard, neglected, and watched the whole story unfold for 14 months through beating sun and pouring rain, and yes, even snow. and now, since i was depriving fenway of perfectly good rebar to chew on, the tennis ball had found it's rightful purpose once again. it was very funky, filthy, and extremely weathered. just the way fenway likes them.

twas the night before the night before

2010-12-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-30T20:14:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-01T19:26:00.000-07:00

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"

2010-10-11T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-13T13:42:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-12T20:05:00.000-07:00

"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

2010-08-12T18:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-22T11:34:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-14T19:34:00.001-07:00

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

2010-07-11T20:09:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-25T16:14:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-06-07T20:34:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-17T18:10:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-09T14:22:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-04T20:36:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-02T16:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-22T11:45:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-08T19:06:00.001-07:00

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

2010-04-05T09:06:00.000-07:00

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.

Once you're in, you're in

2010-03-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-10T18:53:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-01T13:28:00.000-08:00

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.

Lessons learned: Use it or lose it.

2010-02-15T15:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas night the obvious choice was to stay right next door at Mo and Ronnie's. They were in Paris (Texas) visiting Ronnie's folks, so the only one we'd be imposing on was Drew. He's hard to impose on - and I don't mean that it's uncomfortable to impose on him - rather he is so laid back, you never feel for a second that you're imposing. We set up camp with Drew Christmas night. Same for the next night - we were scattered in assorted beds and couches at Mo and Ron's. After they arrived home on Sunday and we had spent some time together crying, and laughing, and crying some more, we told them we were going to move on to Mary Beth and Jim's house for the next few days since they were out of town til New Year's.

It's very hard to not feel like an imposition when you are four large humans (of fragile mental health) and two large canines (one of whom is still learning her manners) and when hefty bags full of donated clothing and toiletries and the kind souls who are donating or transporting them follow you. It's not that we don't appreciate the hospitality, or the love, or the generosity, or the kindness - we do, more than we can ever express. This is just when it really hit me that we no longer had a home. And *that* felt very strange (and sad). I want to go home.

So off to Mary Beth and Jim's for a few nights and then back to Mo and Ronnie's for a few more. In the midst of all of this, our amazing neighbors George and Barbara and Mo and Ron were scurrying around - they were on a mission.

There is exactly one house on our cul de sac that is a rental. It happened to be vacant. The neighbor brigade went to work.

The landlord lives in Houston. Another family on the cul de sac (neighbors of the rental house) act as his "property managers". There were a few things stacked against us. First, one of the property managers is deathly afraid of dogs of any size or breed so I know she was not really pulling for us since that would put our 100+ pounds of canine right next to her home. Secondly, the landlord didn't want to rent to people with two fairly large dogs. Thirdly, he was not happy about leasing for less than 12 months. But these hurdles did not deter our fearless neighbors. They apparently begged, and pleaded, and negotiated, and cajoled (and quite possibly threatened, though they'd never admit it) and just 9 days after we lost our home, we were handed the keys to the rental. Our same cul de sac, our same awesome neighbors. This was a great comfort because it was familiar at a time when everything seemed upside down, and there was the added benefit of being close by for the reconstruction. And, oh yes, there will be a reconstruction.

I've digressed so far that my title is no longer in sync with my story so bringing it back around - the lesson that I intended to share was this:

We were seriously not operating on all cylinders. We didn't know what to do - there was no protocol - so we leaned on our friends. We didn't think we should spend money until the insurance folks provided guidance (which took a few days and a few conversations because - get this - the "emergency" team wasn't working seeing as how it was Christmas and all). We stayed with friends and ate their groceries. Later we would learn that insurance would have covered any and all living expenses beginning with minute one after the fire. Of course this came with certain stipulations. There is money set aside for emergency living expenses, and it's a fairly generous amount - but they are particular about how it can be used.

Once we found this out, we asked - can we be reimbursed for any meals? The answer: no. This is because we stayed in places that had kitchens and in that case, meals are not covered. How about using it for grocery bills? Or to have our friends' homes cleaned? Nope, and no. It didn't occur to us that we should be living it up it a fancy hotel and eating at restaurants. Had we done that, insurance would have gladly footed the entire tab. As it turned out, trying to save money (both ours and the insurance company's) by relying on the kindess of our friends meant that the emergency living expenses pool dried up. None of what we did could be reimbursed.

Funny how things work.

Lesson learned: You use it, or you lose it.

Today's hero: Jack (not that Jack)

2010-02-11T13:37:00.000-08:00

Stories like this are too wonderful and overwhelming to keep to ourselves. While we are blessed to have had many of these types of experiences since Christmas day, as a mom this one really touched my heart.

Our friends Jens and Suzie are wicked Chelsea fans and are planning a charity football match (that's soccer to us) in our honor. The match is being scheduled in May. It originally was going to be held this month, but there were issues with finding a field and coordinating everything. Apparently that delay was unacceptable to one young man, who we have never met. His name, coincidentally, is Jack. And he is 9 years old. Jack's dad is one of Jens and Suzie's soccer buddies.

Jack wanted to get our little charity fund going and he did not want to wait until May. So he put together a little pool for a recent Arsenal/Chelsea game: guess the time of goal, guess the goal scorer and guess the final score. As Jens told it "They sold tickets which had the name of a player, a time of goal, and a final score to the fans who were at Cuatro's to watch the game. A dollar a piece, with a percentage of the kitty going to you guys. At the end of the game, Jack's dad came over and handed me $25 for your kitty."

What an amazing little guy, huh? If he reaches out like this at age 9, what will he be capable of as an adult? It's so heartwarming and we are, once again, extremely humbled. So I wrote young Jack a little thank you note which I'll share here:

Dear Jack,

Jens told us today about the wonderful pool you set up for the Arsenal/Chelsea game and that you had wanted to donate some of the kitty to our family. We wanted to let you know how very much we appreciate your effort in doing this. And even more than that, we appreciate your kindness and your thoughtfulness.

It was a very sad and scary thing to have our home burn down on Christmas morning. I hope that no one you know ever has such an experience. However, I hope that every day of your life you get to feel the amazing love and support that we have felt since the fire - not only from our friends and family but from people who do not even know us, like you.

Jens tells us that you are 9 years old. Your mum and dad must be so very proud of what a wonderful, compassionate young man you are. A lot of 9 year olds might not have thought of reaching out to help a family of strangers who had just suffered a loss like ours. It shows tremendous maturity and kindness. You should be proud, you are a hero.

We can't wait to meet you so that we can thank you in person. Your thoughtfulness and actions have made a big difference to us, and you have made our day brighter.

Thank you so much,
Vicki and Jack and Aly and Emmett Newton

Virtual Reality

2010-02-10T17:06:00.001-08:00

After we had the communal Christmas dinner at our wonderful friends Tracey and Steve's home, they drove us back to Mo and Ronnie's where we set up camp for a few days. It was the first time all Christmas day that the four of us were together, and alone (except for those first surreal and scary minutes before our neighbors were alerted to the fire). All was calm. We were exhausted, still somewhat in shock, and just beginning to comprehend it all. We all sat in Mo and Ron's living room together, just quietly talking. I'm not sure who started it, but we began telling one another what had been under the Christmas tree for each of us, and what had been in our stockings. It sounds so sad, but it really wasn't. We were all so gracious to one another, saying things like "I knew it would have looked so nice on you" and "Oh *thank* you, I would have loved that!". It was very sincere, and from the heart. The underlying message could not have been more clear if it had been spray painted across the living room wall. We were all there, together. No one was in a hospital, or worse. Despite the awful situation we are in, despite the sadness and the destruction, we have one another.

We'll always refer to this as our virtual Christmas.

An open letter (part one)

2010-02-05T21:25:00.000-08:00

It is hard to ever imagine finding enough ways and enough time with which to send individual thanks to each and every one of you who have made your own special difference in one amazing way or another during this rough patch in our lives. Every kind word and deed, every hug, every unselfish act, every donation of spirit and object, has meant more than we can say. I hope to some day reach everyone on a personal level to express our deep, deep gratitude. In the meantime, there are some things that I would say to each of you. This is part one of a series. Some of you may have heard this from me already. Here goes:

On the one hand, I pray that none of you ever are in a position to need the kind of outpouring of love and support that we have received in the days since Christmas. On the other hand, I wish that you could feel it every day of your lives. It's a very powerful, very humbling, and very overwhelming sensation. We find ourselves asking what we have ever done to deserve such kindness.

Your compassion has given us the strength that we need to get through the next steps. If there is one more thing that we can ask of you, it is this: please check your smoke detectors. It is without a doubt the thing that saved our lives.

We love you all
V+J+A+E

Lessons Learned #3: The way things work

2010-02-03T18:34:00.000-08:00

You might be wondering how the heck the whole insurance settlement and mortgage thing works in a case such as ours. This was one of 3,627 pressing anxieties that we had in the days immediately following the fire. We are six years away from paying off our mortgage, and we're deep into principal now. It is very rewarding to see your mortgage go down by leaps and bounds when you're in this stage and the mountainous interest isn't making up the majority of your monthly payment. And so it was that prior to December 25th we were happily winding down on the mortgage and figuring that we'd have about 5 rough years ahead with both kids in college during this final slide down the mortgage hill. But then...then we would have a house paid for and no college expenses and wouldn't life be wonderful and grand? We envisioned ourselves sitting poolside while gorgeous cabana boys with colorful accents served us fancy drinks with little umbrellas in them. Ok, maybe that was just me.

So when that fire ate our house, we immediately felt doom and realized that our perfect little plan was now spiraling out of our control. What we thought would happen was that the insurance company would give us the structural settlement (aside: there are multiple settlements and adjustors to deal with, just to keep things lively - you have your agent, the structural adjustor, the contents adjustor, and an auto adjustor - plus a whole cast of characters who crawl out of the woodwork and, believe me, I do mean characters) and we would have to pay off our mortgage first and foremost. Then we would take whatever was left over to use as a down payment on a new/rebuilt house which would of course come with its own 15 or 20 year mortgage. For people who were already not firing on all cylinders, this prospect was so overwhelmingly depressing. Pile that on top of ten tons of stress and 2 boatloads of anxiety, and it was not a pretty picture.

However, this piece of this particular story has a happy ending. We came to find out that the insurance company would indeed write us a single settlement check for the structure - which we would then turn over to our mortgage company. Since we have decided to rebuild, the mortgage company would be responsible for paying the builder (of our choice) in thirds. We just keep paying our same mortgage payments each month as if nothing had happened. In the end, the goal being that we have a new house with a 5 year mortgage left on it, at our current rate. That news brought serious relief, and we're hopeful that it actually goes the way "they" all tell us it will.

And that's the way that particular thing works.

MWF ISO LTR w/ Normalcy

2010-01-28T07:19:00.000-08:00

There is only one rental house on our cul de sac and it happened to be available at the time of our fire. The rental house is, amazingly enough, diagonal from our home. This has its advantages (availability and convenience during reconstruction) and its drawbacks (constant reminders of a sad and scary day).

Last night as I was walking from the rental house to Mo’s, I stopped in the street and just looked at our home for a while. I was tempted to go sit on the lawn for a spell and just visit with it. I told Mo “I feel sorry for my house”. She looked at me funny - but I genuinely feel badly for it. It sits there, all damaged and abandoned, alone in the dark. Our dear friend Baze has suggested that we have suffered a death of sorts. And even though (by the grace of all that is good in this world) we are not suffering that kind of tragedy, in some ways it does feel like a death to me. I mourn the spirit that our home had. It was a living, breathing part of our existence for 14+ years. It was a member of our family, a good old friend, with all of its quirks and charms. We loved it. It protected and sheltered us. It frustrated us and some days drove us near crazy. We transformed it from a house into a home. It had a soul, and I slowly see that slipping away. It makes me sad and I wish I could have done something to save it.

Our homes are such a huge part of the normalcy in our lives. They are our ultimate comfort zones – and to have that stripped away so unexpectedly and so suddenly is surreal. This whole experience has been surreal. Of course at the same time it is painfully, devastatingly real.

A few days after we moved in to the rental house (a virtual stranger, it felt uncomfortable and weird), Emmett had asked about spending the night at a friend’s house. At 16, they are a little beyond the “sleepover” phase and so we know that this is a thinly veiled attempt to shroud the fact that he wants to be curfew-free for the evening. This has always made us nervous, mostly because we remember what we were doing at that age. As our parents will attest, we were no angels. Of course, as much as we may be tempted from time to time, we cannot keep our children locked up through these trying years. Kids this age take all sorts of stupid risks and as their parents our job is to somehow give them the tools to calculate and balance their stupidity vs. the risk vs. the adventure - and come out without harming themselves or others. So far, so good. But in the aftermath so soon after the fire, I was just not up to the added anxiety and stress so I gently refused his request. The conversation escalated. Emmett was frustrated by what he perceived to be overprotection. I was frustrated by what I perceived to be additional, and unnecessary, stress.

At one point, he turned to me and said “I just want things to be normal!” Oh….honey. I took a deep breath. My frustration made room for empathy. He had finally expressed what we all have been feeling. I said “Don’t you think we all want that? But we don’t have ‘normal’ any more. We need to build a new normal and we’re just not there yet.”

Whatever life you live, your normal undoubtedly feels comfortable. It’s your routine. And while choosing to trade your routine for adventure and risk can be exciting, it’s a very different feeling when it’s thrust upon you. Normal also isn’t a calculated state – in my experience it’s what happens as you go about living your life and it kind of builds upon itself and falls into place over the years, almost unnoticed. Trying to create a normal from nothing is probably a futile exercise. I mourn our ‘normal’. In a second, I would take it back – lumps, bumps, and all. I know we all would.

So we have to begin the task of creating a new normal for our family. But what *is* normal when you are in someone else’s house, wearing someone else’s clothing, sleeping in someone else’s bed? For me, starting from square one seems a monumental task. Our lives have changed, our relationships have changed – we have changed – as a result of this experience. Some of the changes are obvious and immediate, while others are revealing themselves as time moves us further from Christmas morning. We can’t go back to what was because, well, what was is not there anymore - both physically and emotionally. We’re not the same people for whom it was. These are uncharted waters. As much as we want to meet our new normal right now, instantly, embrace it and get to know it, I suspect time is the only thing that can reveal it.

For now, through the amazing love and support of so many people, we have patched together a creaky, limping façade of normalcy while we rebuild our lives and begin the journey of staking a claim to a new normal. Hang on, I keep telling myself – don’t look down and don’t hold your breath - it’s bound to be a rollercoaster of a ride.

Lessons learned #2 (part 3 of 3): Keep your sh*t together

2010-01-22T08:19:00.000-08:00

Today is exactly 4 weeks since the fire. We noticed that it is the first day that every article of clothing Jack is wearing is actually his own. That's a milestone of sorts. I'm still in borrowed jeans and sweaters but we'll get there. And speaking of jeans, this is where this third installment of "lessons learned #2" comes into play. Eventually.

After we had spent the first couple of nights post-fire with Mo and Ronnie, we moved on to the home of our friends Marybeth and Jim Welch. The Welchs (Welches?) were out of town and generously offered us *their home* while they were gone. All 6 of us (big dogs in tow), and with the insistence that the kids feel completely at home, invite friends over, eat whatever we wanted, etc. This is on a slightly grander scale than the standard "borrowing a cup of sugar" between neighbors. They allowed us to borrow their home - akin to opening their hearts wide open. Again, deeply humbling.

So Monday morning we wake up at the Welchs' and think of all the myriad of things we have to deal with. Positively overwhelming. Where to even begin?

We just had to start somewhere so our first order of business was to try to get our home phone number redirected to Jacko's cell phone. I realize this is a transition from wired to wireless but it's all AT&T so how hard could it be? Well, it was hard enough that it took transfers to 4 different AT&T teams. When we got to number 5 (which was also number 3, now we're going in circles wheee!) I gently suggested that AT&T should really have some sort of crisis number that people can call in situations such as ours and have a single, dedicated customer care person handle all of details. Judging by the response I got from the AT&T rep (after he yawned), I'm sure they'll be implementing that suggestion any day now.

While all of this is going on, dear Jack is in the background - and he is getting increasingly agitated by the circuitous route we are having to take through the labyrinth that is AT&T just to complete what should have been a fairly simple task. After an hour on the phone, and without any resolution, we hung up with the direction to "Call this other AT&T number". It would have been so easy to just lose our sh*t at that point. I mean, we were a hair away. But I said something to Jack along the lines of "We just can't lose it over this. We just can't." I mean, there are going to be a million of these types of interactions over the next months and we'll combust if we let each one drive us to the brink. We have to keep our sh*t together.

And now, the jeans. We heard back from the restoration people in San Antonio yesterday. They are the ones who took anything left standing in our home after the fire. Clothing and bedroom furniture took a trip to San Antonio in hopes of being power-cleaned and returned to a usable condition. No such luck. They're recommending to our insurance people that we total everything. Soiled and sooty. Uncleanable. Though tempted to lose it, I had to remind myself to keep my sh*t together. I had held out hope for at least some of our favorite items. Those perfectly comfy sweats with the hole in the knee, the t-shirt from that great concert, my Smokey the Bear hat - that kind of stuff. I will miss them. And mostly, I am distressed about having to say goodbye to my favorite jeans. These were not just any jeans, they were good ass jeans. And you just can't put a price on the value of good ass jeans. These particular ones are not made anymore. RIP, GAJ.

Instead of losing my sh*t, I am working hard to keep my sh*t together. I thought I'd write about it here and turn tears into giggles. Here's to keeping your sh*t together.

In your face, 2009

2010-01-21T07:12:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that 2009, how shall I say, *sucked* for us. Of course it is all relative but in respect to the life we are accustomed to - it fell far short. It actually started in the end of '08 with Jack being unexpectedly and unceremoniously laid off from a job that he loved, with people he loved, and a company that he loved. With barely a handshake, and without being given a chance to say goodbye to the team which he had built, he found himself out on the street - so to speak. Not to mention the 2/3 income cut to our family. Yeah, I am still a tad bitter over that one.

Jacko's always had great work experiences and has usually had more than his share of offers but in the current economy middle management has been squeezed out and so basically for all of 2009 he worked a variety of short term contract gigs. Don't get me wrong - we know we were lucky to have those. Many friends and former colleagues reached out to him, offering encouragement, support and the occasional opportunity. Our dear friends at both Monkee-Boy Web Design and BackRow Design offered him continuous, part time employment and basically saved our butts financially. But stress and anxiety permeated our year.

Then in June of '09, we lost Jack's mom Nancy who was recovering from triple bypass surgery. Aly and I had visited her in the hospital two days after the surgery. We were up in Boston doing college visits. Nancy was alert and seemed to be doing well, despite the tubes and machines and the giant scar. Two days later she lost consciousness, and shortly after that she was lost to us. Nancy is the first parent that we have lost between us, and Jack was very close to her. I couldn't have asked for a nicer mother-in-law and her passing brought us a tremendous wave of sadness.

And of course we ended 2009 with the fire.

Yeah, not one of our better years.

And yet.

On Christmas Day, the fire trucks pulled away and friends started to disperse to give us a chance to hopefully sleep a little, or at least get a shower. Tracey and Theresa said "We'll be back to pick you up at 5pm, ok? We are all going to have Christmas dinner together." Now, both of these families are extremely family-oriented. I know for a fact that the Fuellings had plans to visit Theresa's mom and sisters in San Antonio that day. I am sure the Browns had plans with their extended families as well. Normally I would decline ("No, don't be silly, you have plans...") but in our weakened state, we simply nodded. "Ok, we'll be ready".

At 5pm, they came to retrieve us. I wasn't sure we were really up for any form of socializing, but we went anyway. We figured it would be a good diversion for the kids. There were cars lining the Browns' street and I remember thinking "Oh yeah, this is a normal, joyful day for so many people in our neighborhood". We walked into the Browns' home and were met by a small army of dear friends. There must have been 10 families there and everyone had brought their Christmas dinner with them - so there was a veritable feast spread across their kitchen. All of these families, who undoubtedly had prior plans of their own, had changed everything at the last minute - and all for us. How humbling is that? Sweet Kim led a prayer circle, and just 12 hours after our disaster we were strengthened right then and there by all of these amazing friends.

A few days later my friend Cathy left a message. Cathy and Dave always have a big New Year's Eve party and even though we are sworn anti-New Year's Evers, we've made an appearance at Cathy and Dave's for many years because of the warmth and fellowship we find there. Cathy said that she knew we probably weren't in the mood, but that she hoped we would come at least for a bit - because they were having this year's party in our honor. Well, the truth is that we did not feel like being sociable, and certainly didn't feel like we had anything to celebrate. But at this point (fire+6 days) we had started grasping for any remnants of normalcy, so we pulled it together and went.

The Swofford's was filled with another set of our friends, about 30 in all. In addition to their kind words and ample hugs, they had all brought gifts for us. Later I would say that it had been like a wedding shower. It was a little too overwhelming to open the gifts in front of everyone, and they were all very understanding. And at 11:30 when I told her at that we were going to leave, Cathy asked if we would just stay for the fortune cookies. It's part of their New Year's Eve tradition to pass around a big bowl of fortune cookies to their guests and then everyone reads theirs aloud. Jack and I went first. My fortune read "Big journeys begin with a single step". There was a collective "ooOOooohhh" in the room - how appropriate considering our situation. Jack went next. He read his fortune: "Big journeys begin with a single step". Really? Really. I joked with Cathy - had she maybe gotten a box with all the same fortunes from the discount bin at the Chinese market? We continued around the room. No one else had our same fortune. What are the odds?

So in the midst of this deep, dark time for us - when it seems that nothing is going right and everything is going terribly, horribly wrong - we cannot help but be lifted up by the people who have gone out of their way to surround us and who refuse to ever let us feel alone, even for one moment.

Today I came in to work and there was a gift on my chair from a co-worker. Karen had written "It's not a lot but hopefully it'll get you motivated". Inside there was an abundance of brand new workout clothes. Karen and I are gym buddies and often see each other at the company fitness center. In fact, our paths cross there more often than they do in work-related business - so she knows how important my workouts are for me. And she thought of that, and she thought of me. Karen is a single mom.

Everyone giving from their hearts. It's simply overwhelming.

So in your face, 2009. You have not gotten the best of us.

Lessons learned #2 (part 2 of 3): Don't lose your sh*t

2010-01-19T10:48:00.000-08:00

First vignette: When the sun came up, the smoke had cleared, and we were finally allowed back into the house, we began to assess the extent of the damage. Half of the house was reduced to charred studs and ash. This included the kitchen, living room, family room, and office. The garage was one of the areas that suffered intense smoke and heat damage, but did not actually burn. Two of our cars were in the garage and we found the cars in tact, but massively covered in soot. Our keys were, of course, in the kitchen and what we found (and could identify) was fairly melted. The metal key parts were still usable but the FOB/transponders (I think the technical term is "clicky things") part of the keys were hanging on by a (melted plastic) thread. We were able to start the cars and move them over to our neighbors driveway. The firefighters advised against driving them further since the heat and smoke had likely compromised the on-board computer systems, hoses, tires, etc. The key remnants were put on the shelf in Mo and Ronnie's kitchen - we'd save the auto claim for another day.

Second vignette: On our cul de sac there is exactly one rental property, just diagonal from our property - and it happened to be vacant. So over the next few days, while our heads were still spinning, our neighbors negotiated with the remote landlord on our behalf. He was not excited to rent to us with our two big dogs, and he did not want to sign a 6 month lease - but our neighbors were persistant and in the end, things worked out and just a week after our fire, we were handed the keys to a home right across the street from our own. I joke that it's from the brady bunch era and probably hasn't seen an update since 1970, but as long as Jacko doesn't start calling me "Alice", for now it is going to be our home and we are thankful to have it. The move in date was 2 days away (while insurance worked out the finer details with the landlord) so in the meantime we put the keys - where else? - on the shelf in Mo and Ron's kitchen, alongside our melted fobs.

Moving day came. Kind friends showed up to help us haul our hefty bags across the cul de sac. Other dear friends showed up with trucks to make runs to the homes of still more generous friends who had offered us beds and other furniture. Mo and Ronnie's was our central command post and we ran the operation with precision. This was no time for tears, we had to put a home together in just a few hours. We were on a roll.

Aside: Staying organized when you've lost your home and temporarily lost your senses is challenging. It's even worse when you have things being hurled at you at record speed. Utility stuff and insurance stuff and donations and, oh yeah, did I mention that we're right in the middle of Aly's college app process and have important deadlines to meet?

So at last we were ready for the final run across the street to our new rental home. Since our new filing system consists of baggies and plastic bins, we wisely moved the key remnants and house keys from the shelf in Mo's kitchen into a baggywhich we dubbed "the baggy of many important things". The baggy got stuffed into one of the duffle bags or bins heading across the street to our new home.

And that was the last we saw of the b.o.m.i.t. Somehow in the shuffle, that all important baggy vanished.

This was not good. For the Saab, we learned, it would mean $1700 to replace the car's entire locking mechanism. In general, losing all of our keys would be a huge hassle on top of the mountain of hassles that we were already facing.

Vignette #3: We cannot tell you how many times in the past we have harped on the kids for not putting car keys on the key rack in the kitchen. Of course it's frustrating when one car is blocking the car you need, and you can't find the keys to move it. It's happened more than once, hence the repeated harping. Fortunately for us, our kids did not feel the need to heed our harping because they are teenagers and we are stupid. Within a few days (during which we were sweating it out) both kids found spare keys in their smoky-but-not-burned bedrooms. Thanks for not listening to us, kiddos. No, seriously.

We've still not had the guts to tell the landlord that within just a few days, we managed to lose both house keys. We'll save that for another day.

Lesson learned: Don't lose your sh*t.

Lessons learned #2 (part 1 of 3): Know your sh*t

2010-01-18T14:11:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that I've always considered homeowner's insurance to be one of life's necessary annoyances. I know it's not really giving my hard earned money away - I just wasn't getting something visible or tangible for my hard earned money. I mean, what exactly does peace of mind look like? Well, until you need it, it tends to look like a big black stinking hole - which is the way it looked to me up until December 25th. And since that's the way it looked to me, I never spent much time developing a relationship with it, wooing it, and really getting to know it intimately.

Now, some of you, who shall remain nameless (and who are simultaneously despised and revered), are probably on top of this and have had an intimate affair with your homeowner's insurance for years. You've probably doted on it, caressed it, fawned over every detail, and planned annual rendevous with it. You probably have your agent's number on speed dial. This was not us.

And so it came to pass that when judgement day came, we were surprised to find ourselves somewhat underinsured. The reason for this was twofold. First, the prior owners had added a 500 sq ft addition without getting required permits. This meant that the additional square footage was never added to the public record (tax assessor, or whoeverkeeps records of that stuff) and so while our insurance amount looked reasonable for a 2300 sq ft home, it was a bit shy for a 2800 sq ft home. Secondly, our $100/sf coverage was generous when compared to the cost for new construction at the time we initiated the policy, but came up short by today's standards. Lesson learned: Know your sh*t.

Hello, kind stranger

2010-01-15T14:08:00.000-08:00

The word spread early on Christmas morning. Via text, IM, phone, email - the ripple effect was beginning.

Aly had texted her two closest friends who woke their moms with the news. They started spreading the word locally. I had called my dear big bro, Paul, and sis in law, Chris - and they started rallying the family. Baze posted to the ex-Tivoli distribution list and to the Yelp community. He immediately set up a paypal relief fund for us through the BD Rileys website. From the ex-Tivoli list, word jumped over to the ex-Convex list. Within just a few hours, literally hundreds of people knew of our situation. And despite the fact that it was Christmas day, and the fact that they undoubtedly had plans of their own, people mobilized.

Local folks showed up with clothing and toiletries and blankets and towels. Remote folks started donating. On their Christmas day, everyone stopped what they were doing and completely shifted gears to come together to take care of our family. And I am not talking about a small handful of our closest friends and family (though of course they did too), I mean many many folks did this for us: folks we had not seen in years, people we barely knew and, yes, people we did not know at all.

We still had soot on our faces, we were still in shock, and there were hefty bags full of clothes lined up in Mo and Ronnie's house. The steam was rising from the remains of our home at the same time that the funds were rising in the paypal account.

I can only say this: it is incredibly humbling to be on the receiving end of this outpouring, this sheer tidal wave, of selflessness and love and support.

At one point, our neighbor George (you know, the George I had awakened at 4:30am) came over to Mo and Ronnie's with his son Robert who lives south of Austin. Robert had a pile of Christmas presents, all colorfully wrapped, with tags that said things like "for the teenage boy" or "for mom". He explained that after George had called to tell him what was going on, he had told a friend of his. And this friend, who we have never met and whose name we do not even know, had sent up presents for our family. Seeing as how this was Christmas, we know that this family did not go out shopping that day. They must have taken gifts from under their own tree - to give to a family they have never met. How beautiful is that? To see my 16 year old son open a brand new wii - right after just losing everything and almost losing his life - and to see him staring at it, trying to comprehend..."Wait, who is this from?", he asked. We don't know, I told him. It is from people we have never even met. This abundance of generosity and kindness from people we have never even met. Hello, kind stranger.

Battling the beast

2010-01-10T06:32:00.000-08:00

We could hear the sirens getting closer. It was really cold, and dark, and we had only gotten out of the house wearing pjs or sweats. Emmett had no shoes on. Jack said "Go wake up George and Barbara" (these are our dear neighbors across the street). I ran over and rang the doorbell. I kept turning and looking at our burning house and then back to their door, banging and ringing the doorbell. Of course they were in solid slumber so it took a few minutes for them to be roused. George opened the door - "George, the house is on fire".

Inside George and Barbara's, the kids and I huddled and paced, paced and huddled. The dogs were antsy. Five firetrucks were now lining our little cul de sac. Jack stayed out there, at first directing and then standing back and taking direction. Firefighters, EMTs, Red Cross, police officers - everywhere.

Mo and Ronnie were up in Paris (TX), but Ronnie's son Andrew was home and was the first one to come outside. He brought Jack warm clothes and a few blankets. Soon other neighbors arrived with blankets and shoes and, most importantly, hugs. One neighbor is about 8 months pregnant, and another had just had her twins s few days earlier. I collapsed in their arms. Andrew told us he was going to set up some beds for us inside his house - for whenever we were ready. Later I would tell Ronnie and Mo how proud I know they would have been of how wonderful and sensitive and caring Drew had been. During the ups and downs of child-rearing, there are days when a parent isn't quite sure what their kid is made of - Ronnie and Mo now know what kind of man they have raised.

It's now about 5:30am and the fire is being battled full force. I'm back outside and see the EMTs bringing a stretcher - I'm panicked but they reassure me - this is SOP at a fire. None of the courageous, amazing firefighters were hurt. The fire captain told me something that will stick with me, I assume, forever: he said that never in his 20+ years of firefighting had he seen a fire of this intensity, which started at this hour of the day, where everyone survived. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Word was starting to spread. Other dear friends started arriving. Each brought their own brand of loving embrace and comforting words. We'll be ok, they told me. They never said "you", this was happening to all of us. We were not alone. Their strength and compassion kept us going.

Once the fire was out, the sun came up as if nothing had happened.

http://www.myfoxaustin.com/dpp/news/local/122509-Fire-Destroys-Northwest-Austin-Home

The little things

2010-01-09T20:53:00.000-08:00

The kids hadn't worked since before the fire. Both had decided they were ready to go back and had told their boss. On Wednesday Aly called me while I was at work: "Does Emmett know he needs to work tonight?". It was 3:30pm. I didn't know he had to work and I would have bet that he didn't know either. I asked Aly if he was home yet and she said no, he didn't get out of school until 4:10. Work started at 5pm. Aly and I went into survival mode. "OK, you get in touch with Emmett and make sure he knows and I will zoom to Academy and buy some black pants and a belt". We knew work would provide the blue shirt but employees are responsible for the rest. His "rest" was toast.

At Academy, I realized my dilemma. The kids have been buying their own clothes for the better part of the past couple of years. I wasn't quite sure of Emmett's size. I grabbed 32x32 black khakis. That seemed right. But what if...? He is taller than me now. I grabbed 32x34 too. What if he's gained weight? 33x34 joined the pile. Plus two belts - who could be sure? I left with an abundance, reasoning that I'd just return whatever did not fit.

On the way home, I reasoned (to myself) with some confidence that 34s would not be too short, but what if 32 was too long? Hmm. Ok, I didn't have enough time to re-hem (who am I kidding? A lifetime would not have been enough time). I devised a backup plan: if I found myself in that situation, I would have to hem by safety pin. Just for the night, then I could properly hem them with needle and thread before next time he was scheduled to work. Except. I didn't have a safety pin.

Now, in and of itself, this should not have been a big deal, right? Because in my life before all of this happened, I would most certainly have *had* safety pins, but I would not have been able to find them. So this really was no different, right? Except in this situation, I started to lose it. I was seriously about to bust out crying. Over a safety pin. And *that* got me giggling. Thank goodness for my logical self because emotional Veek was a lost cause.

It's the little things.

Yesterday we got home from the grocery store with a new paper towel holder. Jack "set it up" and stood, admiring it. I said "You're just so happy to have that paper towel holder, aren't you?".

It's the little things that will make you, and the little things that will break you.

Lessons learned #1: The things you grab

2010-01-09T16:22:00.000-08:00

Today is Aly's 18th birthday. Like most parents whose child reaches this milestone, it seems hard to believe. After all, weren't we just 18 a few years ago? But this milestone has even more significance and poignance for us because of our current situation. All day I've had this aching thought in the back of my mind. If things had gone a different way, today would be one of the saddest days of my life and Aly's birthdate would forever more be one full of heartache for us. Instead, we are joyful, and we are celebrating 18 years of sunshine and laughter with our little girl.

In the past when I would read about this happening to another family in the paper, I would momentarily stop and think "What would I grab if that ever happened to us?". Perhaps you've thought that yourself, after sharing in our story - perhaps your great grandmother's wedding ring, or your kids' baby albums. But I now know this: you don't grab anything that does not have a heart beat. For one thing, time is of the essence. For another, it is all so surreal - during those 10 minutes, I really didn't think our house was burning down - until we were standing safely outside, watching the flames consume our material lives. I suspect that other fire survivors have had a similar experience and have come to the same conclusion. I fear that, more often than not, the world has lost those who tried to grab their things.

We may not have our things, but it is crystal clear that we have what matters. And so today is about a joyful celebration of life, and our precious baby girl. Happy 18th, angel!

Chreasters

2010-01-07T07:15:00.000-08:00

I had warned the kids in advance - on Christmas Eve we *will* be going to a church service, and then down to 37th street to see the lights, and then to dinner at Kobe, a Japanese steak house which has kind of become our tradition. This was met with the requisite teenage eye rolls. Aly said "I can't believe we're Chreasters". Huh? She informed me that Chreasters are those who attend church services just twice a year - on the big holidays, Christmas and Easter. Yes, we're Chreasters.

Christmas Eve was cold and windy. Since I've lost my New England tolerance, we decided to skip 37th street. We went to the 5pm service at Bethany United Methodist. It was a contemporary service which is not Jack's favorite. He just can't get right with the electric guitars and tamborines rocking out to "Oh Come all ye Faithful". We saw several families we knew there, and gave the church pew wave when we made eye contact. I remember thinking how nice it was to be part of a small community - we see people we know all the time at the grocery store, out walking, and twice a year at church. These are good people - we're not judged for being Chreasters.

After the service we headed to Kobe. I don't usually like the whole Japanese steakhouse performance and opt to sit on the quiet side - but the kids wanted to so we enjoyed the "show". On the way home I told the kids the plan for tomorrow was for everyone to sleep as late as they wanted, then we'd lounge around in pajamas all day, and then dad was going to make us a nice dinner. Everyone agreed that this sounded like a great Christmas.

At about 4:15am I was roused by a strange noise. It wasn't really a strange noise, it was our smoke detector - but I was in a very deep and groggy sleep. I nudged Jack. "What's that noise?". Jack: "I don't know" (also groggy). When you have teenagers you get used to hearing all sorts of interesting noises during the night - but a smoke detector is so distinct, it was strange we didn't immediately recognize it. I half wonder if carbon monoxide was slowing us down. Regardless, Emmett was soon pounding on our door yelling "The deck! The deck! Get up!".

The next 10 minutes were totally surreal. I tried to walk out to the deck but as soon as I hit the family room my eyes started burning and breathing was difficult. I saw no flame. I went back to the front door. Aly was asking "Should I call 911?". I responded "I'm going to try and open some windows" (obviously still not grasping the gravity of the situation). We were doing all of this in the dark. Jack then saw the flames and told us to call 911. I went to the kitchen and called. "Is everyone out of the house?". "Well, no we're still in the house - there is a fire on our deck". "OK, I know it is cold outside but you have to get everyone out of the house now". Aly put Scout on a leash and headed out. We could hear the sirens now. Emmett said "Fenway!" (our other pup who sleeps in her kennel in the office). Jack turned back for Fenway as Emmett and I went out to join Aly and Scout. Jack can tell you what happened next much better than I, but my understanding is that he entered the office, which was filled with smoke from the ceiling down to about his waist. He couldn't see the kennel so he just reached for it and got a hold. As he was reaching for it, he turned towards the french doors that separate the office from our family room. There were floor to ceiling flames just 3 feet away - on the other side of the door. Jack, carrying Fenway's kennel (which held 65 pound Fenway), got out safely. He says he never felt any heat, just saw the flames. The firefighters had a word for that - "adrenaline" they said.

We were all on the front lawn now, watching flames shooting out of the door from which we had just exited moments before.

The really crazy thing is that the entire time frame - from the moment we got out of bed and saw no flames, until the flames were shooting out the front door and engulfing our home - could not have been more than 10 minutes. It was simply, amazingly, terrifyingly fast.

Forgetting how to breathe

2010-01-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

Our dear friend Kimberly intentionally waited until New Years Day to come and see us after the fire. She knew it was symbolic and would have much meaning for us - turning the page, starting fresh, a new canvas. After the hugs and the gentle words and the gift card to a favorite local restaurant (the one, in fact, that we had dined at a mere 8 hours before everything changed), she told us that she wanted to draw up the plans for our new home, as a gift. If you have ever hired an architect before, you know how costly it can be (and worth every penny). And in the midst of all of our pain, shock, devastation, and uncertainty came this amazingly strong sunbeam. I told Kimberly that I felt like she had just given us mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when we had forgotten how to breathe. I told her that I felt like I was under a rock in a deep, dark place - and that she had lifted that rock which let me see a beautiful blue sky - still out there, waiting for us - all we had to do was look up. How do thank a friend who does that for you in your darkest hour?

There are others to thank - so many. The outpouring of love and support has been absolutely breathtaking, and extremely humbling. Our friend Baze simply took charge of the "situation" - from 1500 miles away. While we were standing there immobilized by shock, wondering what just happened to our lives, he sprung to action. It is no surprise, really - he is that kind of man (heartfelt thanks to Janet and Papa Joe, who raised him). Baze is a man with a ridiculously huge heart, and a sense of humor to match. So while we stood there, mouths agape, brains spinning in a feeble attempt to comprehend - simply unable to process anything ("Where do we go?", "What do we do?" and, oh, "I guess we need shoes") Baze spread the word far and wide. He set up a paypal account for us and told everyone about it. And I mean everyone. He rallied the troops, and they came running. This is how it is possible that a rental house which was totally empty just 4 days ago is now filled with every comfort we could ask for, all donated by friends. Now returned to Austin, Baze continues to be there every day, every moment. He steps up when our brains betray us (which is often, these days) and helps us navigate the necessary steps and he steps back when others want to help. He is our lifeline.

In light of a tragedy, we are blessed beyond measure. And that dichotomy takes some time to process.