Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

What Cannot Be Shaken May Remain

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You can’t imagine how much work it takes to tear a house down.

I wasn’t there when this particular fire was set, but I know how easy it can be when you have a match and a pile of highly flammable material. Add an accelerant (in this case gasoline) and in no time, you’ve got a blaze a burning.

In the early days we said, “Our house burned down,” but it wasn’t really accurate as a ruins, that had been half of our home, remained. Now we say, “We had a house fire,” when we have to explain although, if we’re able, we try not to say anything at all because it complicates everything.

The truth is someone set fire to our home.

Christopher thought the arsonist should have to walk through the streets naked, but I agree with one of Oprah’s gurus who says that shame doesn’t bring about change.

It was after my seventh call to Consumer’s Energy, that I told Paul we should forget about prisons. Instead, criminals should be forced to run the bureaucratic labyrinths that spring up and stack themselves one on top of the other, which the victims of crime must navigate in order to rebuild their lives.

An arsonist, as a handy example, might think twice before setting his hand to flame if he had to deal with insurance, meet the demands of zoning boards and design a new house, all on a strict timeline. We could throw in some of those fake babies that they give to teenagers in life classes to simulate the demands of parenthood, since we wouldn’t want the criminal actually taking care of our children.

“Do you know I spent ten hours on the phone just with Comcast?” And don’t even get me started on the township supervisor!” I imagine our firebug complaining to another criminal in the call/detention center that could be the prison of the future.

There would need to be something that simulated errands: driving kids everywhere and shopping, to replace all the belongings that burned, as well as the day-to-day supplies and food. And let’s not forget cooking for a family…I might, but we would need to have that be a part of the rehabilitative process.

“I JUST went to Costco! How can we be out of Veggie Straws AGAIN!?! Who spilled coffee on the inventory? I never knew the suffering! OH THE HUMANITY!”

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This whole no internet at home deal is really putting a hitch in my blogging get along. We have been relying upon the kindness of strangers, family and friends and their WiFi which has been fine enough for reading email but not so hot for replying cogently, if at all, and certainly not for blogging.

Overall it is well with us, but I cannot get thee close enough world wide web!
Technically we have phone service, except it doesn’t work. I had to place several calls to schedule a technician and then asked Paul to go down to the “network interface device” to verify that the problem was not our equipment or AT&T’s network. He came back up almost immediately as I was on hold with Verizon trying to get us wireless.
“It takes a screwdriver to open it,” he said
I think you all know that I have embraced this fire-induced clutter free life style as cheerfully as possible, but minimalism has its limits. (Bah dum bum!)
My kingdom for a screwdriver.
I just looked at Paul, shrugged and held the phone at him. He groaned and went to look around. We’ve had many of these shining little marital moments since the fire.
Fortunately he found a screwdriver in the basement and verified that the problem was with our wiring, scheduled a technician who is going to come some time between now and Wednesday. Whoopee thank you.
I was chitchatting with Amber at Verizon who was thrilled to help me get online. I would need a device which, if a signed a 2 year contract, was FREE, with a 1 year contract and some mail-in rebates, was $70 and, in order to go month to month, was $270. I called Peggy, our private adjuster, to get the go ahead, before I raced to the nearest Verizon store and then back in order to get online in the comfort of my rental home.
Alas, it was not to be; she needs to present it to my insurance adjuster to avoid him denying payment in the future which meant I had to drive somewhere to get online to email her the terms that I just outlined above for her to forward to my insurance adjuster who is on vacation until Tuesday.
Everything we do requires permission and documentation and at least 5 phone calls, but the universe seems to prefer 23. I prefer osmosis.
I will be back soonish and be much more cheerful. I don’t want to be that gloomy lady whose house burned down.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2010/09/234/

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This was Eden a year ago. The chair she’s sitting on is in the garage of our rental covered with smoke. I didn’t think to pull out the table which was still intact and in our front hall. It came from Paul’s grandmother and I always liked its silhouette.

We went back to the house twice the day of the fire. The first to meet with the fire investigator and the Sheriff and the second because my brother-in-law, David wanted to pull out any paintings that could be saved. Paul and I were both reluctant to return again. Both of just wanted to walk away. Christopher was upset about not being able to gather any of his belongings so the four of us drove over and walked through the wreckage. I gathered some of my antique bowls and looked for items that would be meaningful to the children, but it was hard to focus. There wasn’t anything I wanted. All of it was dead to me.
We would return several more times for various meetings and we would gather things. Each time we would reach a point where we had to go, when it became to painful to stay. It wasn’t always a conscious sorrow. Sometimes it was a heaviness, an overwhelming exhaustion.
It is a strange experience to lose so many of your belongings. Like any loss there are the stages of grief and the tricks your mind plays, the surprises that are, often, more confusing than painful.
In the early days, while still living at my sister-in-law’s I moaned, “And I just bought that cinnamon at Costco!” My brother-in-law, Thom, laughed because he had never heard me complain about losing any thing else. That is was a spice that I bemoaned amused him. But anyone who knows how big that container is, never mind that I had filled two separate shakers, one for my spice drawer and one that lived next to the cereals and I sprinkled on my morning oatmeal.
That’s the way it is. As we remember we mourn. I didn’t care to salvage that little pink table when I could have, but now I wish I had and regret that I didn’t.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2010/08/236/

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Yesterday I spent 3 hours on the phone with Comcast and AT&T in an attempt to port our old number to our rental home.

Oh the humanity!
In the process I learned that the only internet service available at the rental is dial-up. The family’s collective jaw dropped. We haven’t had any service for the week and a half that we’ve been in the rental, but we had hope for the future.
It really is the little things that get you. I can live with almost all my earthly possessions being destroyed but trying to get phone and internet almost undid me. We don’t have either yet. But I refuse to be undone.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2010/08/237/

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Even the sparrow has found a
home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may have her young–
a place near your altar,
O Lord Almighty, my King and
my God.
Psalm 84:3
Last week we moved into our rental, where we will stay “up to 12 months” (according to insurance; that’s as long as they’ll cough up the dough) while we rebuild.
The day of the fire I began to refer to Paul’s sister’s house, where we were staying, as “home”. I didn’t miss a beat. For the older kids it was “Aunt Dawn’s and Uncle Thom’s” which had always been a second home to them so it took me a little while to understand that they felt homeless which, of course, we were.
The moldering ruins we call, “The House.” Lydia carefully refers to “the rental.” I don’t know how it will be when the house is torn down, if it will be easier or more painful still.
What I do know is that I can’t fix this for any of my children. They live in a world where someone can start your house on fire. They did before June 27, but now they know it and I can’t remove that sorrow.
But I can mourn with them.
I am, and I will.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2010/08/238/