I've Got Sunshine

The hours pass and we bail and clean and salvage wet items.

By 1 pm the water level has dropped by half and I am hopeful. But nervous. I hate not knowing what I will be doing. My plan is only a start. For a planner like me, it is only half the job.

A minute later, the electricity comes snapping to life and with it, the sump pump. There is work to be done and now we might actually get somewhere. With two sump pumps cranking, and the dehumidifier choking on the fog in the basement, the water level begins to drop visibly. Hil and Scott continue to rescue damp things from watery graves and I begin inspecting the contents of the fridges for damages. I am thrilled to learn that even the half gallon of Cookies and Cream Ice Cream survived. I grab a pepperoni pizza, (still frozen!) and preheat the oven to prepare the first warm meal of the day.

By the time the pizza is baked and eaten, patches of actual concrete begin to appear across the basement floor. I am beginning to think I can consider making the trip to DC.

If:

The electricity stays on for the next few hours, and
the water has been reduced to a few damp spots, and
I am reasonably convinced that I do not have to replace any major appliances, and
I can get an hour of sleep so I don't slip into a coma at the wheel of my car, then
we'll go.

Always the planner, I prepare.
I write lists of things for each of the kids to pack. This many shirts, this many undies.
I call Lars and tell him to return Pat at once, even if he has to unplug the XBox and drag him here with the wires trailing behind him.
I haul out suitcases, and assemble a grocery bag of snacks for the hotel room.
Scott gets down to business trying to resuscitate my appliances.

No easy feat.

The good news is that the fridge in the basement has stopped sounding like a motor boat.
And I get the washer fired up without incident and can wash the basket of beach towels that were soaked and not only stank like God-Knows-What, but also weigh 2000 pounds.
A few false starts and the dryer eventually rumbles into action and finds its stride.

But Scott is in charge of the appliances I am afraid to touch. The hot water heater and heater have been snuffed out and he is struggling to bring them back from the dead. But he is determined to get them humming so I can relax knowing that I don't need to work up a sweat worrying about purchasing replacements, or scheduling a supremely inconvenient installation, and arguing with a claims adjuster from my homeowners insurance carrier. Been there. Done that. No desire to reprise the role.

I struggle to keep the right amount of distance while the mechanical genius toils. I stay close enough, so I hope, to suggest that I am supportive and appreciative (because I am) but far enough away not to be a distraction, or a pest, or a nag. Not the time to run out for some frivolous errand like a pedicure, but also not the time to pull up a stool and ask a lot of questions. To be truthful, striking this balance is something I struggle with. It's just the way I am.

I make myself useful, check in often, and eventually trot off to take a shower, prep Trinket's amenities in anticipation of days of solitude, and finish packing. And when I sit down to think about what I might be forgetting, fall asleep. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Eventually Scott comes to find me. He is proud to announce his success. All appliances recovered and working.

I am relieved beyond description, but at the same time sad that now that the work is done, Scott will be leaving to check on things all the way back at his house. And I am uneasy still about the trip.

I share my anxiety with Scott. He suggests I ask the neighbors for help.

I write my neighbor a note, the one with the coffee. I ask that he and his wife kindly call me on my cell, or Scott on his, if we lose power on my street for any length of time in the next few days. Or if a tree falls and pulverizes my house. Or it floats away and I should not expect to find it where I left it. Or if it blows away and lands on a witch. Anything is possible.

On my way back from dropping the note at their house, I stop and talk to a few neighbors who are on their porches catching their collective breath.

Some are still pumping out flood water.
Some had lost a lot of property and possessions.
Some lost hundreds of dollars of groceries.
Quite a few have appliances that are still on the fritz.

I show them empathy. Surely I can empathize.
I wish them each well. Of course I do.
But in my heart I feel profound gratitude. Grateful that I have the gift of Scott and his uncanny aptitude for handling situations like this, and his enormous heart - big enough to want to make the effort to help me. It has made all the difference in the world to me, and to my house, and to my kids. My silver lining on what had been a stormy, gloomy day.