We're gearing up for hurricane season here.
Filling up the red, twenty-some, 5-gallon containers with gas--starting
the huge generator every month to be sure that it works; buying bottled water
by the case and stacking them waist-high along one of the the hallway walls,
Brent beginning to keep the Emergency Essentials catalogues that come in the
mail and asking me to order canned butter and fresh, canned cheddar cheese.
I'm afraid that our idea of "roughing it" entails the absence
of a dryer should we need to run the house off of the generator. We've
used it once for about 24 hours. I'm glad that we have it--I'm also glad
that we live near a charging station where the power comes in in huge volts and
goes out in tight, little, expensive packages for people to use. Our 72
hour kit includes a toilet seat that fits over a huge bucket and LOTS of tp and
powder stuff that neutralizes . . . well, you know . . ., tents, battery
powered fans, a chainsaw, a full tool kit, a first aid kit the size of a
briefcase, a fire/water-proof lock box for birth certificates, etc--none of
which I could carry out in a backpack—actually I couldn’t even carry any of it.
We talked about what to do if a hurricane should
come near Palm Beach, FL while Brent and Nate are driving west to BYU.
Brent thought about loading up the Expedition with everything we’d need
to survive at a shelter. I told him that, were a level 3 or 4 hurricane
to even look at Palm Beach while he
was gone, I would pack up the pets, the documents, emergency cash and a formal
blue silk gown that I've never worn--and drive north. We have flood,
wind, fire, hurricane, and water damage insurance. I also know the GPS
coordinates for the house, so if it got swept out to sea, I would know where to
return to after everything was cleaned up and re-built.
When we got flooded in Texas, I was expecting to stay at the house with
Brent until re-construction got underway. Those of you who know me know
how well THAT went.
I am now even further from being the outdoorsy, camping, roughing it in
the outdoor elements that I was as a teenager.
Now I get shots to manage the pain in my lower back 4 to 5 times a year,
my right foot didn't heal properly (left top part of the proximal phalanges has
splintered off and is floating about just below my little toe [or the piggy
that went wee-wee-wee all the way home rests on a bone that is missing one side])
so I keep my right foot taped. I did too much too soon after Dr. Acosta
removed the pisiform bone from my left hand and so I keep that taped up, too.
When my left hand was immobilized in bandages, I overworked my right hand
and so the ligament over my first knuckle is inflamed and needs to be taped
each morning.
Should our home be threatened today—I am done fighting the physical
world and I am ready to run and take cover. My determination to endure
hardship has shriveled into a dry crust of my former bravado. I am 53. I am too old—I have banged up my body too severely—to continue
to roof houses or to dig out dead tree roots or to spend 9 hours outside, in 95
degree heat, weeding the gardens.
I am so adamant about this because it bothers me so much. I want to be able to sit for an hour
without having to stand up and walk around. I want to saddle my horse and ride trails in the
afternoon. I want to be able to
re-roof our house because it needs it and I hate the thought of paying someone
to do what I can do myself. I want
to be able to do handstands and run along a balance beam and jump on the big
trampoline—heck, I’d be excited just to be able to run. I am tired and
probably hungry and a little dehydrated.
The house is in a continual shambles—boxes of food storage from when we
cleaned out the guest apartment for Lauren; toys and a high chair and two car
seats are still in the living room and in the way out in the garage almost a
month after the grandchildren are gone.
Boy! Am I feeling sorry for
myself.
For all of that I complain, I am so happy with my life—who I am—what I
am doing—who I am with.
I could never have imagined being as happy as I am now . . . remarkable?
Yes. Yes it is.
