Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Following the Flood

I should have known better than to think that Camille could simply load a few items in a truck and head out for Atlanta. Not Camille. First, she went out to unload a couple of years’ worth of “stuff” off the table and desk tops in preparation for dusting the items. Then, she had to locate gorilla glue to repair the legs that had fallen off the antique table. After that, she had to rent a trailer – only to realize that her vehicle didn’t have a tail light harness. My mind had exploded by this point, so we agreed to coordinate our meeting place when she got closer to Atlanta.

Meantime, Rachel and I were having one of our “Lucy and Ethel” adventures finding the home of our Atlanta Flooded Family. Long before arriving at the address we’d been given, we saw the distinctive signs of flooding. Mud-frosted foliage lined the roads, and every road suggested by my navigation system for leading into the area sported several barricades with signs declaring, “Road Closed”. We were unable to call our AFF for alternate directions because the phone in their new apartment hadn’t yet been connected. Never the type of gals to be deterred by having no clue where we are, Rachel and I laughed along, alternately barreling forward and backing up for quite a while before finding our destination – we thought.

Well, it seems that there are adjoining apartment complexes with matching numbering schemes. We knocked. We asked around. We didn’t locate our AFF, but we ascertained that there were a lot of families in this area who were in need of a full complement of household goods. With promises of returning to the wrong address with our donations if we were unable to find the right address, we soldiered on. It may have taken us a bit longer to find the right address because we always treat being lost as just another adventure -- but find it, we did.

By the time we got to our flooded family, another of their friends had given them a washer. We got everything, except the washing machine, unloaded with still no sign of Camille. The last I spoke with her, my sister’s saga was too complicated to comprehend. I never did see her, but I think her carport is cleared.

We were thrilled that one of the parents is in the US Marines and the other works for Fed-Ex and at contract remodeling and renovations. We felt so productive knowing that crisis is not a way of life for this family seeking emergency intervention. And we could feel patriotic, to boot, helping someone who earns her living defending our country. Talk about enlightened self-interest.

I’m still driving around Atlanta looking for someone in need of a washer. Maybe I could be Atlanta’s Wandering Washer Woman if I didn’t need to head back to the holler.