You are currently browsing the daily archive for January 25, 2022.

Once when we were at Ventanas, MKL became fixated on a coconut bobbing in the waves close to shore. He would sit on the deck watching it, giving me the occasional update. At one point, it washed ashore and he lost track of it so he went down to the beach to do a wellness check. Even though it was embedded in the sand that afternoon, it was back to rocking in the sea by morning, courtesy of the significant pull of the tides.

I feel much like that coconut these days, at the whimsical mercy of the tides of time and the universe, with the moon thrown in for good measure.

I’m trying to recognize what I can control. In reality, it’s not much. I can control my diet. I can control my exercise. I can control what I express as emotions, but not what I feel. I can control my sleep to a certain extent, but not my dreams.

I’m coming to recognize that I don’t know what I don’t know. While this is a true statement about almost all things, it’s currently being brought home to me about the homestead. A few days ago, I spent a good hour talking with a neighbor who’s been in real estate for ages. He and his fiancée lost their lovely historic home three doors down. He already has an arrangement with two other neighbors to have their lots cleared by entities other than the Town. It will happen faster and more efficiently. He’s got his house plans drawn up and his contractor lined up and framers coming in from Rochester and a storage unit for building supplies. He’s telling me about how much I can get for the scrap metal on my property and how the Town is just going to take that – along with some insurance money – as profit in scraping my land. Me? I’m digging through soggy ashes with a trowel whose handle comes off if I don’t hold it just so. I’m sure you see the difference.

He’s offered to answer any questions I have and that’s very kind. I don’t even know what questions to ask. It’s too late to hop on his coattails and I’m not sure I’d want to even if it wasn’t. I’m realizing it’s hard to know who to trust – except myself. The Town does not have the best interests of Original Superior at heart. They’re in it for profit, for maximizing revenue from the properties destroyed by this tragedy, most of which were not in line with their Stepford vision of a community.

The only problem with trusting just myself in this scenario is that I know nothing. And I think that’s kind of a big problem

Doomsayers are claiming it will take homeowners two to three years to rebuild. There’s a shortage of contractors, labor, and materials. Maybe they’re right. I don’t know. But I know all of this is making me irritated. To figure out how to make a rebuild work, I’m going to have to go outside my comfort zone. I can do that. It’s not what I saw myself doing right now, but here we are. And here I am.

Just a sassy coconut dancing on the crests and troughs of angry waves.

Snow is falling today, on the deck outside MKL’s house, on the ruins of my home in Superior, on the Retreat, creating a blanket of stillness tinged with blues. I watch it without much in the way of conscious thought, finding its simplicity soothing.

I met with one of the Southern Baptist team in charge of sifting through the ashes yesterday, along with his daughter. Larry and Sarah. I’m not one for organized religion but I always appreciate people who walk their faith and this man surely did. He sketched out where I wanted to focus in the sifting , what I was hoping to find, and made it clear that there were no guarantees (one thing I’ve learned all too well over the last few weeks). At some point over the next few days, I’ll get a call saying that a team is ready to hit the property and that I need to come. I’m hoping it’s not Friday, the one day I need to be down towards the Retreat.

As usual, once I got to the homestead yesterday, I started digging. I found K’s door latch and handle (at her request), certainly more vintage than it was before. It’s difficult to stop once I start digging, even though I know I’m not supposed to disturb the ashes due to the toxins supposedly mixed in with them. But we know me – I don’t usually do what I’m told. Just ask the young construction worker who had to take down a barrier to let me drive on an irrationally closed road yesterday. I would have found the sidewalk to be a completely viable alternative.

Before he left, Larry asked if he could pray with me and I agreed. It was such a comfort. I’m angry at God/Spirit/the Universe and haven’t felt much like speaking to them. Larry prayed for some peace for me and K, for love, for closure, for hope, and he sounded like he was talking to an old friend, to a father. Which I suppose he was. I wept.

I think “soothing” is the word of the day. It’s soothing being in the same room as MKL when we’re working, as long as he’s not cursing at his computer, which happens. The gentle snowfall is soothing since I don’t have to go out into it. Larry’s prayer yesterday was soothing. It’s soothing to know that A, who lost everything except her dogs, the clothes on her back, and a cannonball, has the comforting presence of her daughter for a few days. Daughters make almost everything better. Ex-Pat is in his apartment now and focused on making it homey. It’s soothing to think of him as starting to be settled.

Today, unless I’m derailed, I will hold these soothing things close and not think about the Machiavellian machinations of the town of Superior, more than broadly hinted at by the real estate developer neighbor who is rebuilding their Little House in Old Town. That’s something for another day’s me.

Today, let it be just me and the drifting snow.

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