And So It Goes

Our basement flooded. Not a little bit of water, either. Just about 4-6 inches of water across the entire floor. For some people, that would be that devastating, but half of our house is underground. So in the end, we lost about 50% of what was down there by my estimation.

I was thinking about writing a whole blog entry about how I just can't win - between my folks dying, my daughter's medical issues, house flooding, seems like disaster after disaster. I asked my wife in bed last night "do you think we will ever win?"

But I have changed my mood on that. This isn't going to be an uplifting commentary on resilience either, though. As I type this, I am waiting for 12 strangers to enter my basement, throw away moldy furniture and tear up my walls. The feeling of such invasiveness on my life has not left me in a particularly cheery mood.

But this whole situation has taught me a lesson of sorts. At least it has opened my eyes to the bigger picture of things. I have written recently about my identity struggle and this has almost forced my hand on one aspect of that: I have got to burn the past and move on.

Interestingly, people who truly know me might be surprised by that. I preach to everyone I know not to dwell on the past, to see the present time fully. Progress is our only hope. I actively don't cook the same meal twice (the interesting meals, anyway). And I tell everybody to do that, too. The less preconceived notions you have about the meal, the less people have a chance to be disappointed. Make the same chili every time? People expect that chili. Add something a little different to the mix and boom, everybody is like "Oh interesting!" and forget completely that it doesn't exactly like they WANTED it to. But I digress.

The moral of that story is that I don't like the past. I am a progressive democrat, so I am always looking for ways to improve, not only in the world, but in my life. So to dwell on the past is a cardinal sin! And yes, this absolutely stems from my mother who's dementia made the past her only reality. I swore, as I watched her die from a broken heart because the past was gone, that I would never let the past define me.

Yet, here I am, in my childhood home, the place where I literally grew up, and it still haunts me. My father's paintings are everywhere. I have kept everything from my family archives, photos, mementos, everything. File cabinets full of long papers long forgotten. And almost ALL of those things were above the water line and saved. Because growing up in this house, I knew it was prone to flooding, so I try to save everything that was important.

It wasn't until after this flood that I realized where my priorities have been. Everybody else's stuff was saved and fine, but MY stuff was ruined. MY yearbooks are in the dumpster, but not the 12 I have from family members. Quite a few instruments were lost or at least can never be played again, but I lost literally one 6x6 painting of dad's. My wife's favorite piece of memorabilia were lost, but not my grandfather's baseball jersey. I have spent the last five years preserving these things, only to not preserve my own.

And for what? For the paintings to sit in my basement and never be seen? For the photos of old baseball players to sit in my basement taking up space? For me to worry about all of this stuff the next time it starts to rain? Nope. No more. I'm done moving stuff around. I have moved 3 times in my life, rearranged my living spaces too many times to count, and continually downsized piece by piece. I'm exhausted. I'm getting older and don't have the strength to continually shift and move around heavy ass paintings and records and furniture.

I'm having a fire sale. I want to live in a much simpler life and that starts by handing off the past to other people. There are people out there who are looking for that weird zappa album have or would love to have a Larry Thomas painting in their living room. And so it shall be. I will be contacting estate sale companies once I can clean up from the flood and it all has to go. The physical stuff, the emotional stuff, and everything in between.

A fresh start is on the horizon. I can see it. Am I confident that I will actually see it? No. But I am going to keep my fingers crossed.