Cuz, you know. There was an actual tornado, and my blogging abilities seem to have been sucked into an infernal vortex.
I started this post a few days ago (now many weeks! Yikes!), and it got a little long winded in the intro. It shouldn’t be about how much I love New Jersey (which is a moderate to large amount, not full on fan girl or anything), but it was turning into that.
So blah blah blah, I love New Jersey, it has everything, from beaches to malls to mountains, and in general, it’s missing some of the not so great stuff, like extreme weather.
(Ah! There’s the point I was trying to make!)
Yes, we’ve had some rough floods, and we’ve gotten a few feet of snow at a time, but for the most part, we’re free of that really nasty stuff. Which is why, on the rare occasion there’s a tornado watch in my area, I think to myself, “That’s cute. I live in NJ. Nothings going to happen.” And I go about my life.
But on the night of September 1, our phones buzzed with a tornado WARNING rather than a watch. Attached to it came the note that the tornado we were watching, which had actually touched down, had left deadly destruction in its wake.
Yeah. I didn’t care how far away that was. I watched the highly scientifically accurate acclaimed cinematic masterpiece Twister enough times in the late 90s to know it was time to head to the basement.
Did I really think a tornado was about to touch down? No, but in February of 2020, my husband and I were openly laughing at people wearing masks for overreacting, and look how that turned out.
So we headed to the basement as calmly as possible and started playing with our daughter to take our minds off the impending wind tunnel. As she was picking up her plastic fruit, my husband noticed a puddle of water near our washing machine. Investingating closer, we both saw trickles of water flowing around more of the floor than made us comfortable. Hubby moved a piece of furniture we have resting on top of a grate in the floor, and underneath was a small river streaming into the room.
I took our daughter into a different room to play while hubby used a long handled squeegee to push the water towards our sump pump. But in the other room, I discovered a small moat around the perimeter. Water, water, everywhere.
I poked my head back into the River Room to tell Hubby, but he was a little preoccupied. The river had now become a solid gush of water, which he conntined to push towards the pump. It seemed futile, but I guess it was keeping him sane. (Maybe? It looked more like it was contributing towards the contrary, but whatever.)
Anyway, standing in the face of a sinking ship, I was desperately torn. I wanted to get my daughter to safety, but would that really be upstairs if a torando warningn was just ending? I had to decide quickly and calmly, so upstairs we went. I was still terrified, particularly when I heard the sound of a train blaring by in the distance. I fake smiled and giggled and read my daughter bedtime stories.
In the basement, I could hear Hubby on the phone. He usually shared in the bedtime rituals, so I was annoyed that he was calling insurance already. Couldn't that wait until the morning?
In the end, I had to put Baby Girl to bed on my own. I don't know if she sensed my anxiety or it was just a little bit later than her normal bedtime so she was more tired, but she went down more easily than usual.
By which time there was a solid 3 or 4 inches of water in the basement. Hubby had already gathered Star Wars action figures off the lowest shelves and brought them upstairs. We brought up games and books, anything that might be in the line of fire (or water) except for furniture. Our kitchen looked like a playroom, which isn't too much fun when it comes to needing to cook.
Hubby slept terribly that night. Before I fell asleep, I knew he was concerned about more water coming into the basement. I had him go check, and it had stayed pretty constant. I’ve somehow gotten good at convincing myself to sleep despite stressful situations; it’s better to be well rested to deal with them at another time. But Hubby doesn’t subscribe to the same school of amazing sleep abilities.
(Aside: Not that my sleep abilities are that amazing. I generally wake up once per hour to go to the bathroom or walk around. I genuinely have no idea what sleeping through an entire night is like. But at least I can fall asleep! Most of the time, anyway.)
But in the end, the damage sustained was barely anything. It took a few days to get it straightened out as Roto Rooter was, understandably, extremely busy. It took them about 48 hours to get to us, which was annoying when they gave us a window of time they didn’t come between, but it was a minor annoyance really.
Especially compared to what the rest of our area got. We’ve lived in our neighborhood now for 2 1/2 years, and we absolutely love it. It’s full of parks for Baby Girl to play in, quiet streets to stroll down, and beautiful houses to look at and compare to the Haunted Mansion (we have both the Disney World and Disneyland versions on a nearby street, and this is not meant as an insult to these houses by any means!).
Walking around said beautiful neighborhood right after the storm was an eye opener. The houses and apartments as little as half a block away from us piled furniture, toys, games, and knick knacks that had been damaged at their curbs. Some pieces looked like extraneous junk that families may have just been looking to get rid of anyway, while some lost loads.
But by far the most disturbing thing was that a house several blocks away from us actually blew up. Like, completely exploded. All that stands now is charred rubble. Not even a lone sink in the middle of it. Houses in the immediate vacinity are condemned or have at least sustained structural damage. All summer, we watched the owner of one of those houses dote lovingly on his garden. Another of those houses just sold recently. And now those people, whether starting a new chapter or continuing to write in their own well lived life story, have had to abandon the book through no fault of their own.
As an empathic person, our once lovely, peaceful walks became something saddening for a few weeks. My heart ached dully, looking at chunks of lives strewn across rubbled streets. And I reminded myself every day how grateful I was for nothing but a flood.
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