The forced purge

Well, Friday morning I awoke with a sore throat. I have had a long and enjoyable period without getting sick. There has been a flu, a cold, and a throat/sinus infection going around for two months and I have been healthy through it all. This in itself is quite amazing because I have been prone to these types of sickness every year since my preteen years. I decided to phone in sick and try to heal up with a day of relaxation and healing beverages so I could dance alongside this illness without dancing with it.

The sound of water running made me get up from bed. It was an unusual sound so I thought I should check it out. I walked out of the bedroom and notice it’s coming from the basement. I quickly walk down the first set of stairs and see water pouring in through my basement window. I ran upstairs and put some clothes on, getting back to my entrance landing between the upstairs and downstairs. I opened the front door to see that there was a small lake pressed up against the window where the water was coming in. I look around and see that the street has a huge lake on it and that the water is getting to my house through the path I make for the mail person so they have a shorter distance to walk from the street during winter.

The water from the road/hill above my street isn’t draining properly and it is turing on to my road and flowing down to the firehydrant where it pools up, and then starts crossing the street where it eventually finds my basement (and sadly my neighbours basement also). I build a levee at the top of the street and divert the water so it won’t come down the street any longer. I have already built three dams to stop the water from continuing into my basement but want to stop it at the source.

The important stuff now. My art was not destroyed or even ruined. It was saved and will only need some minor cleaning to restore it (note to artists to seal your work with a varnish or medium when it’s finished as it makes it easier to clean in rare cases such as this). However, my studio is now a storage room for baseboards, ladders, and art as the other rooms dry out.

Studio as storage room until the other rooms are drying.

Studio as storage room until the other rooms are dry.

The spare bedroom is dry already; as well as the studio. The woodwork room is in the process of drying as it was left the longest because it was the fullest room of all the rooms down there. Ripping out the carpet has not been enjoyable at all. Wet, stinky, and glued down, it was a physical chore to get it all out.

Woodwork room being dried.

Woodwork room being dried. You can still see the floor is wet on the right as the heaters are working the other side of the room as I write this.

All the tools, except the table saw, had to find a new place to stay so they all got moved into the main room of my basement. It’s crowded in there to say the least, but I am happy with the amount of organisation I see.

Main room in the basement that now houses my woodwork tools.

Main room in the basement that now houses my woodwork tools.

I took a full load to the dump yesterday with the help of a very good friend. In fact, she gave me a lot of strength during this whole ordeal and has been a major trooper in the saving and cleaning department (she gets credit for saving the artwork actually). Interestingly enough this whole experience has forced me to purge many things that I was hanging on to without need. I get the packrat aspect of my personality from my mother and my cats and I share a five bedroom house with every room having quite a bit of stuff in it (insert embarrasing cartoon icon here).

With my body tired, sore, and just wanting rest I found some interesting words coming to my mind last night before bed. I wrote them this morning after sleeping in all the way to 8:30am.

That flood took more from me than just my basement. It took my vitality, my creativity, my strength. That water showed me where my edges lie; where my boundaires are formed.

I see this experience as part of my spiritual journey. I stayed present during the whole thing and haven’t complained (except about my broken snow shovel which I loved. I guess the lesson there is non-attachment) or suggested that this shouldn’t have happened to me. It happened, it was a very rare occurance and not one that I suspect will occur again because it was caused by the clogging of multiple drains on the road/hill above my house which are not usually clogged.

It’s funny how I have never felt very connected to this house. Like I tell friends, “It’s a house not a home.”  We have shared in this experience and I feel more connected to it now; more protective actually, which is weird. It’s begun to feel more like a home than a house.


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One Response to “The forced purge”

  1. Motorcycle Fairing Says:

    Good evening

    Awesome post, just want to say thanks for the share

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