We lost electricity last night, right as the rain began to intensify even more. Unsurprisingly, a pole had lost its footing, so to speak, and thus chaos ensued. Sleeping after that—resting—was an impossibility. But the problems had just begun.
The farm is flooded again. I can’t see dry land anywhere—no exaggeration. I’m thinking to myself if everyone fared well, since these downfalls spare no one. The buzzing of mosquitoes around my face gives me a terrible binary choice: either sweat under a blanket or allow my blood to be used for future generations. Sauna it is. But sleep never comes back.
The sun is out. The rain is beginning to calm down. And my dogs are reminding me that breakfast still has to be served. Lucky for me, I have kibbles for them. Normally I cook, but having an induction stove eliminates that possibility. I go downstairs to sit in the hamaca, waiting for a sign of a kind. I hear my mother call my name—not too loudly, since she knows it’s too early for screaming.
“Andy,” she says… “You need to go check on Ima (my mother-in-law).”
As soon as she finished saying it, I knew what had happened. I grabbed my mop bucket, a mop (of course), and walked over. I sloshed around, slowly approaching her place, since the floor is not visible.
She was still resting, lying in bed. The bed, though, was not a bed anymore but a little safety raft. Water everywhere—and I do mean everywhere. My mother tells me, “Let’s start in the patio. You brought a mop?” she says, somewhat disappointed. “We need a shovel.”
You know? She was right.
All in all, 30 buckets full of water were deported (yes, I’ll use this word) from my mother-in-law’s place. It was never-ending. I had to carry everything out too—chairs, tables, carpets, curtains, and of course, the cat.
The whole time, my mother-in-law lay in bed, unable to get up or do much. Not the safest thing for her to walk on slippery tiles. We don’t need to risk it. My wife then joined us. She barely rested. And the battle against Murphy carried on.
I’m exhausted. Sore. Nervous too. My dear wife tells me we are likely to repeat this adventure soon, as the weather forecast reads “you’re screwed” for the week. So, might as well get used to the soreness of the muscles.
To add insult to injury, we seem to have lost a computer in the flood. I hoped it was just the power supply, but being an e-waste collector, I had a spare. The beeps persist. The power rail, the MOSFET—according to the manual—has decided to clock out.
Seems like we’ve been fighting these weather events for years at this point. As a matter of fact, this blog of mine is filled with misadventures of the ilk.
As the saying goes:
When it rains, it pours.
— MenO
