No more scary clowns, please...

Folks, I've been so good about writing almost every day, or at least posting a photo and some commentary every day. I'm actually quite proud of myself because this sort of discipline has often eluded me in my life. Well, the last posting I did was 3 days ago; there's a reason for this.

We had a "Happy One Month Anniversary of our Last Flood" flood late Friday, very early Saturday. Ben and I bailed out the water that was gurgling up from our kitchen sink. We were at this for over two hours. Ben used a bucket, I used a large pot with handles. The bailed water, which was sewer back-up water by the way, got hoisted again and again out our kitchen door and out onto our back deck.

Finally, I reached our next door neighbor who came over with a portable sump pump to pump out the flood that was rushing through our back basement door. The water was at least 3 feet deep at the back door.

Luckily, we only had some minor flooding in the basement, which is still gutted from the Flood of June 23rd. Water was swept into the drain, or mopped up. It was a relatively small job.

If, however, we were not home, if we did not get the sump pump or bail for hours, the water would've been spewing up from the kitchen sink, flooding our kitchen and living room, cascading down into the basement (with all the freshly painted, brand-new drywall), and probably we would've been looking at wading through at least 3 to 8 FEET of water, which is what many folks in our neighborhood were greeted with in the morning.

So, I'm done with this flood business. I feel like Carol Anne in "Poltergeist" when she realizes after the tree eats her brother, after she gets sucked into the closet, after she's chased by a demon somewhere between the living room ceiling and hell, after her mother rescues her from said jello-covered netherworld, that the haunting is not over, the scary clown in the bedroom is possessed and there's additional mayhem to face. All she's capable of emitting is a plaintive "No More.".

That's how we feel. No more, please. Let's get on with our lives, with the Cotton Candying and championing of vintage parks, with finding places to put things in a meaningful, organized way.

No more scary clowns please, in the guise of another torrential flood - or any other disaster, made by man or nature.

Thank you.

Sunday on the Blog with no photos!! Because it's just too difficult for me to do One More Thing.

Hey! But at least I'm writing on the blog; at least it didn't get waterlogged or float away or become brown and green with mildew.

It's been a rough few days, but the basement is disinfected, mostly gutted, awaiting the new.

We're pouring through catalogues and websites, trying to figure out the best type of flooring (for a flood-prone area), different types of storage options (for a flood-prone area), and making sure this doesn't happen again (who says it's a flood-prone area??).

It's a cleansing process, a learning and re-defining process. Not a gentle one, but one that was apparently necessary.

My Cotton Candying will begin again very soon. I have much to tell about the fantastic Arnold's Park in Iowa.

But for now, I'm just making sure I eat enough, drink plenty of water, and find the time for extravagances - like bathing.

Things that matter...

Just two days ago I visited Arnold's Park, a park that survived two attempts at closing it AND a tornado. So when we returned home yesterday to a basement with at least six inches of water, it made me think about salvaging what matters.

i cleaned up around 300 45 records I had collected for ten years, starting when I was 8. My first single was "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" by Bette Midler. I bought it at Stewart's 5 & 10 for 79 cents. I amassed a huge collection of 45s which I bought with my allowance money, all meticulously catalogued and saved in groovy vintage 45 cases, five of them. When I found them in the basement, the boxes were the consistency of Cream of Wheat.

I numbly walked through the carnage, attempting to salvage this Fisher Price toy, that vintage game. What hurt and hit the most were the diaries, the two I held onto since 1981. In one, I wrote about the death of Jon Lennon, December 8, 1980. I was able to show this entry to Ben, its letters faded to powdery blue, before I threw it away.

But when you lose a photo of someone you lost int he flesh, it's like losing them all over again.

My mom's photo, a glamorous shot from the late 1940s, peeked out of one box. This became too much for me to handle. I pulled out my parents' candid wedding album and Ben helped me salvage the precious photos. I cried so hard, my shorts were wet, tears streaming and plopping onto my lap.

It's Friday morning now. I've gone through more waterlogged Christmas soft goods (tablecloths, tree skirt, stuffed toys - all salvageable) and found more paper ephemera, these items from my parents, probably form their honeymoon.

It's one thing to lose the childhood treasures. It's another thing to lose things that were treasured for decades before you were born.

I'm doing my best, Mom. I truly am.

And I get the feeling she's actually proud of my hard work. And she's relieved that, besides these material losses, Ben and I are fine.

I think when you become an angel, you get a better grip on what truly matters.