The bottom, before the bounce

  

Our garage, as seen from our den



Our den, as seen from our garage



The remains of our den and garage, as seen from anywhere



Believe it or not, this is a kitchen





We're at the point where we're all about the process now.  It doesn't hurt at all, and hasn't for days.  It's much more of a worksite  now than a home lost.  The kitchen cabinets are out, the stove, dishwasher, refrigerator and even the kitchen sink are all out and on the lawn.  The final section left was the workbench in the corner of the garage.  I designed and built it myself a month after we moved in.  I made and fixed so many things on it and with it over the last two and half years -more projects than I can count.  I took it apart today and tossed the remains on the lawn -and felt nothing.  I'll build another one after we're up and running again.  Demolition had become just a job now, and that's a good thing.



Now we're just waiting on insurance adjusters and contractor's estimates.  The former to give us our budget for the rebuild, and the latter to tell us how much we can get on that budget.  The goal: a second bathroom.  Not very big dreams for a would-be deity (See?  I do know how to spell it!)

Of course, IF I WERE GOD...

There would be a another flood, a minor one -half inch or so, to wash away the dirt on the floors.

Followed by a minor tornado, a half yard high or so, to dry the newly washed floors.

Followed by a squad of Tolkien's dwarfs (renown for their construction skills) to rebuild my house.

Followed by a platoon of Elrond's elves (renown for their decorative flair) to paint and decorate.

Followed by a troop of sexy wood nymphs (renown for -mind your own business, Me-dammit!) because I swear to Me, I deserve it.



Worst. Diety. Ever.



Perfect expression on my daughter's face, next to new shoes never worn, next to my parade cap worn exactly once,

on a solid oak bar I had just received but never used, in a yard full of other flood tainted now-garbage on our lawn.

Irene, you were the nastied bitch I ever regretted meeting.

Granted, mass flooding is kind of a God trademark, but not to his own house!  That's like Wyatt Earp hunting down outlaws and shooting himself in the foot.  Seven times -emptying his revolver, reloading, and shooting himself once more for good measure!  This kind of incompetent mishandling of executive power hasn't been seen since the Bush administration.  This is supposed to strike other people, elsewhere, in a different town other than mine.  Not here.  Not my house.  And yet...

A yardful of memories, waiting for the trashman.





My lovely kitchen





Floodline at the door handle





My lovely bedroom



My lovely den



But it was in my house.  38 inches deep in the living room, kitchen, lower bedroom, bath, and den.  We'll be gutting it out for days.  Drywall and insulation must be ripped out up to 4 ft.  The hardwood floor in the den must be ripped up.  Fun times over at not-actually-god's.

  There are very nice people in this town though and they've banded together to supply all the flood victims with hot meals, all manner of dry and canned foods and other supplies, use of the showers at both local spas, clothing, and volunteer work crews to help with the demolition so many need.  A local mom and her 3 cheerful preteen kids showed up to help us rip up our soaked carpeting and padding.  She had been flooded out also, but a team showed up at her place the day before to help her and she's paying it forward with us.  So we'll all get through it together.  If I were god and I were making people, I couldn't make them any better than these.  So help Me, Me.