Overwhelmed

It rained last night.

Which is completely normal for this time of year.

What is not normal—for this time of year or for any other time of year—are the dead cows in the trees.*

Yesterday the boy and I spent some time at the local LDS chapel, which is serving as a shelter for people who have been flooded out of their homes. We were there to make sandwiches and serve them to the hungry people. (Jeff wasn't with us because he managed to get to work by trading his usual 10-minute commute via the I-5 for an hour-and-a-half meandering drive through the foothills.)

After that, we came home and I spent (*sigh*) about two more hours on the !@#$% telephone trying to check on people and trying to get more help for the church/shelter kitchen. (Aside: Hmm... "church/shelter" is not going to work. Too bulky. How 'bout..."churlter," or "shelch"?)

Like I was saying, I've been talking to a lot of people in the past few days, and have heard a lot of their stories, and have even seen a thing or two myself.

For example, while I was at the shelch, somehow I ended up babysitting the Bishop's cell phone.** While I was performing this sad and regrettable service, I intercepted a phone call from the Red Cross.

"Oh, hey. We wanted to let you know we have received a report of a man armed with a rifle in an LDS building, but we don't know which one. Is he in yours?"

Yikes.

Bishop went around and, thankfully, he didn't find anyone with a rifle. What I want to know is what the guy needed a rifle indoors for? Hunting dust bunnies? Didn't he know they aren't actual bunnies?

Another story: We have here in Centralia a pleasant couple who hang out near exit 82, frequently bearing signs that say things like, "Everyone needs help at some time in their lives." Very eloquent, don't you think? Anyway, they've been at that exit since I've moved here, and I've often seen them chasing away other mendicants from their corner. For convenience's sake, I shall call the one "Beauregard," and his lovely female consort, "Barfy."

Anyway, Beau and Barfy showed up at the door of the shelch claiming to have been flooded out of their home. Bishop, who was not born yesterday (or even within fifty years of it), recognized darling Beau and Barfy and asked them, "What's your address?"
Whereupon Beau sweetly replied, "F*** off!"
Beau and Barfy were escorted out of the building, no matter how many compliments they let fly, and were told that the shelch was for flood victims, not for folk looking for free food.

Story Three: There are about 10 (or 15? somewhere around there...) residents of the shelch that were brought from a flooded convalescent home. These folks are scootin' around in wheelchairs, not really noticing much of what's going on around them, probably not being able to tell the difference between the shelch and the convalescent home. But they do know when it's time to eat.

One of the older gentlemen who was not in a wheelchair—we'll call him Tim—was wandering around trying to use a stick of gum as a key to get into his house (which was a utility closet) and he broke a fire alarm trying to use it as a telephone. He also had a very aged and sick dog who was throwing up...and doing other, nastier things...all over the floor. Before too long, Tim got shipped off to the hospital, and his dog to the vet, but not before he made an impression on a lot of people, and his dog made a several impressions on the carpet.

Tim-ness that my husband witnessed: Tim is tucked away on a cot under the jackets in the hall, and he is still sleeping (it's 5am). Another fellow opens the door and comes out of a classroom (his temporary suite) and passes Tim with the amount of noise a mouse would make.
Tim sits up in his cot and yells, "G** d*** it all to hell! What is going ON?!"
Poor guy just whispers back to him, "I'm just walking to the bathroom. Sheesh."

Short cow story: One woman told me that although she was okay, since her house was on a hill, all the property around her was under water. This included a large pasture where a neighbor had his cattle graze. She spent part of her day tearing down part of the fence and herding the cattle up on her land because they were starting to drown.

Sad cow story: It was a woman at the veterinarian's who told me about the drowned cows that were left stranded in trees when the river started to recede. (I am grateful I did not see these.)

General note: There are 14 families (at least, by my count so far) in our ward whose homes are uninhabitable at this point. Many, many more have sustained minor water damage. And somehow, my family came through unscathed. The stupid, broken rental from hell has survived untouched. Ironic, that.

Plans: Today was more phone calls and babysitting another woman's children so she could help out at the shelch. Tomorrow, I'm going out with the boy to distribute...er, disaster clean-up kits? Don't know exactly what is in them, but supposedly, it's everything you would need to clean up your home from a diaster such as this, neatly sardined into a 25-lb plastic barrel. And Saturday will be marathon-cleaning day where the ward splits up and tackles clean-up jobs. So I'm going to bed. (I'm so, so thankful I have one, and that it is warm and dry.)

Signing off,
One Soggy Muskadillo

*Aren't you grateful that I don't have pictures of them? I am. I'd feel obligated to...ewww...post them.
**This is something you NEVER want to do, but especially in the face of a disaster, because the dumb thing never stops going off.