Waterlogged

On Friday, when I returned in the early evening from a bit of shopping, I noticed that water was puddling heavily along Lincoln Blvd., which feeds into our street and is the only way to get to our house. Of additional concern was that the water, seen dark and thick in the beams of light from the front of my car, was moving rapidly from right to left. River water! It's as if I said a curse aloud! All of the bells, alarms and whistles went off in my head. This is not a good thing!

I mentioned my concerns to Joe, when I walked in the house. But, as anyone who has ever lived in a flood zone can tell you, most of the time with such minor flooding, you tend to discard the warnings with a mere shrug of your shoulders.

However, later that night, as I ambled about the place with a flicker of worry in the back of my mind, the telephone rang. I looked up at the television screen and saw the 973-number, followed by the words "Lincoln Park" and "Main" mingling with other words that became a blur. I picked up. A recorded man's voice announced that it was a message from the Lincoln Park Office of Emergency Services. It was terror in a split second.

The voice stated that they were issuing a weather and flood warning for the town. They asked residents to be alert and ready. I ran to Joe, who was fast asleep, and replayed the message. He took the wait-and-see approach and went back to sleep. I took the be-alert-and-worry approach and stayed up most of the night checking for flooding through the window and making a mental checklist of what we needed to take with us, if we had to run out in the dead of night. It's a bit of drama, I know, but then again one day not too long time ago it wasn't.

When we got up on Saturday, we noticed through our back windows that the water had indeed increased and traveled up Lincoln Blvd. A huge 18-wheeled truck was sloshing through and its tires were half under the water. We decided to give going out a try, as we had errands to run before heading out to Pennsylvania to see my uncle, who'd taken a bad fall. Driving in the higher of our two cars, we trudged slowly through the murky mess, dodging tree limbs, varying amounts of foliage and other indeterminable items floating by. There is a certain way you must travel through high waters in your car. You hope never to have to learn this, or hear how it is done, but when you have no choice...

You must open your car door, as you drive, and look down at the water level gauging whether or not you will make it. If it is dark, you will need a flashlight facing down to make sure the water isn't about to flow right into your vehicle. This time, we made it. On the way back home, we almost did not. It became obvious that the water was rising and that, once we returned to the house we would be, for all intents and purposes, trapped inside. So much for going to Pennsylvania! It became painfully obvious to us that this was no flood to just shrug off. There was a lot to worry about in that flowing water.

Brooding and angry and cursing the day we found this house, I paced about taking mental inventory of all of the things we had to raise to higher ground and all of the things we could not raise, and would lose. Yes, it becomes that kind of panic and that kind of terror every single time. All I kept thinking, referring in my mind to the Big Flood of '07 that took away all that we loved and owned in its rancid waters, was: "Please, God! Not again! I can't do this again!" Now and then, as the hours passed, I would peek again out the window to watch with morbid curiosity, where the water line was heading. With little to do but worry, I decided to walk around and take pictures of the area surrounding our property. In our yard, looking off of the deck, I watched the water, mixed with ice, creeping closer, like a shapeless creature teasing and trying to terrorize us.

Nightfall came and went, again with little sleep, I watched and wondered what would happen next and, in the long run, what we will do about this house. The choices are limited when you lack money to play with. From time to time I would visit the Lincoln Park website and check the flood gauges and any advisory updates. But that just served to worry me even more as I watched on the graph how the waters were at flood levels nearing the 10-foot mark.

On Sunday, my plans to visit my friends were all but ruined. No way would my car make it out, though I did try to go, coming to a high crest in the water and realizing that turning back was the more sensible choice. My neighbor soon got out via the private water, or electrical plant at the end of our street. Its entrance slopes up a bit and so the water doesn't go up that way. I decided to try to escape that way and made it, but even with that outlet, with its looming sign of "private property! Keep out!" there is always the possibility of them locking the gates and thus trapping us again, only this time outside of the house.

I went to my friend's and had a lovely time. Yet, once I was back in the car and heading home, that knotty, twisting feeling in the pit of my stomach regained control over me. I again feel so incredibly vulnerable and at the mercy of the damn rivers that all I want to do is cry.

It's a funny thing about flood waters, when they're low to the ground, or not yet of concern, you feel so powerful against them. "Oh, that little puddle isn't going to do any damage!" But then, with little to no warning, the waters will grow and mutate and become this monster that can and will take everything from you in a heartbeat. And then, almighty man with all his pompous beliefs, is humbled to his knees at the very magnitude of Mother Nature's wrath. Thank God this was not one of the times where we would be humbled.

Although it was a troublesome flood this time, causing both annoyance and inconvenience, it was by no means catastrophic. For that we are eternally grateful. However, since there is still quite a bit of water lingering - sloshing menacingly back and forth on Lincoln Blvd. - and since more rain is predicted, I guess it is safe to say that this is not quite over. We cannot relax just yet. I do have to say, though, that I am thankful beyond words that - like a scene in a bubble - my house remained untouched by these waters and able to exist - warm and dry - for yet another day.