Volume 13: Stronger than Fire
A world underwater, a different kind of mess and an emotionally charged TB test.
Good morning RPR readers,
“Water is stronger than fire,” my five-year-old says apropos of nothing.
“But love is stronger than both of them,” I say in response, regretting how corny it sounds the moment it leaves my mouth.
He looks at me strangely for a moment and then screams, “Ya big dummy!” before running off to find someone who won’t waste his time with a bunch of bullshit, someone like our Boston Terrier, Judith Weiland.
He’s right, of course, about the water stuff.
All summer we’ve seen evidence of just how right he is. While I’ve been anxiously tracking the projections of the ’22 roster of tropical storms and hurricanes, there’s been plenty of evidence of the sheer damage water can do. Kentucky and St. Louis got crushed toward the latter half of the summer, more than a third of Pakistan is living through biblical-caliber, end-of-times flooding. And just recently, Puerto Rico experienced the DeJa’Vu of another catastrophic hurricane ravaging their island — though they were much better prepared for it this time around. Below is a short clip of what that storm did to a bridge that dared stand in its way:
And just yesterday, my work conference, which was scheduled to be held in Orlando this week, was cancelled because the entire state of Florida was under a natural emergency declaration (Send good vibes and/or check out the writing of Florida Man and RPR reader Andrew Knott ).
Most people point to climate change as the catalyst for the recent surge in extreme weather (see Western U.S. and European drought) and natural disasters (See everything above), while others refuse to see it quite that way. But does it matter? That was the question the guy who we hired to do our drywall, Jesus, posed after we sat outside my house talking about his first visit.
“Here’s what I say to people,” he told me, referring to extreme weather events like the 100-year-flood that earned my business and followed the previous year’s 100-year flood. “Whether it’s climate change or it’s not, it’s still happening, isn’t it?
Creeping Back to Normal
Last weekend, Liz and I spent the bulk of our Sunday attempting to clean up the wreckage of our home. Yes, our home was a mess. But it was the good kind of mess — the kind made up of piles of unfolded laundry, a helter skelter array of strewn-about toys and a kitchen full of overflowing countertops, a home belonging to busy working parents with healthy and happy kids doing everything in their power to break their mom and dad.
It was a much better mess than the previous year, where exposed framing, ripped up walls and a cabinet-less kitchen gave the impression of a condemned dwelling. The difference between a manmade home renovation and one caused by Mother Nature is quite stark. There’s a certain violence to seeing your home nearly destroyed by a natural disaster that makes it difficult to ever feel safe and secure there again. More than a year after Ida, I’m finally starting to feel OK in my own house, but there are still these unexpected moments that bring me right back to last year. The other day I went into the heater room to look for something, and out of nowhere, a snapshot of a tipped over water heater, knocked over by the force of the water flowing freely through my living room and spraying its contents at the mud-stained wall, appeared in my mind and left me feeling as helpless as I did last September.
Sometimes outside forces will bring everything back, too. This year, as Liz was going through the paperwork to volunteer at our kids’ school, she remembered she’d had a TB test done the previous year and combed through the papers we didn’t lose, hoping they’d let her use the previous year’s form if she found it.
She eventually did find it, and what stood out most was the date — August 31, 2021. It was the night before the flood, the only thing that could’ve kept her from returning the paperwork and volunteering at our daughter’s Kindergarten class.
August 31, 2021: The last day of the pre-flood period of our lives.
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Til Next Time,
Jared