Snippet: A Hard Rain #8Sunday #CharitySunday #SnipSun #MFRWHooks

https://grist.org/climate-energy/deadly-1000-year-floods-strike-colorado/

The following is a snippet from my recent WEP Challenge project. I have not published it anywhere but on this site. However, it is doomed to eventual inclusion in one of my unspeakable volumes of poetry and prose.

Genre: Nonfiction, Personal Essay

I have lived in dry climates all my life. Where most people use rain as a euphemism for gloom, to me rain always represented hope. I was always happy-ish when it rained.

It was hot during the first part of September 2013. To quote the Boulder Daily Camera, “the talk on the street the first full weekend of September was about the heat. Boulder tied a record for the date with 93 degrees that Sunday.”

I was living in a mobile home park in Lafayette, Colorado, and working the night shift as a resident assistant in a retirement community with independent apartments, an assisted living center, and a long-term care center. I liked working the night shift. If things were quiet, following my rounds through the halls of the apartments, I had ample time to complete my clerical tasks and then work on my own projects. Or play games.

Follow the link if you'd like to read the remainder of the 1000-word essay.

https://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2022/04/a-hard-rain-in-boulder-colorado-wep.html

In honor of completing this year's Camp NaNoWriMo project, I will donate a dollar for every comment received on this post to NaNoWriMo.

https://store.nanowrimo.org/collections/donate

In my Make It Happen Thursday post, I contrasted my love for Camp NaNoWriMo with my loathing for regular NaNoWriMo.

https://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2022/04/april-pad-challengenapowrimo-2022-day_21.html

Here are the highlights from that fevered foray into madness.

Camp NaNoWriMo and regular NaNoWriMo are like two sides of the same coin. The Camp NaNoWriMo side is shiny, pleasant, and encouraging. It plays uplifting music whenever it comes up in a toss while beautiful birds fly through the air carrying a brightly colored banner proclaiming YOU CAN DO THIS, WINNER!

The regular NaNoWriMo side of the coin was minted in the depths of Mount Doom from shards of broken glass, rusty nails, and used razor blades, and carries with it the sensation of being forced to do horrible homework in hell while being whacked across the knuckles at varying intervals by a demon nun wielding a spiked ruler. It plays the screeching sound of nails on a chalkboard turned up to 11 every time it comes up in a toss. 

I also discuss my return to writing erotica.

I will be pleased to wrap this poetry manuscript up. The April PAD Challenge/NaPoWriMo, September's Haiga/Poetry Illustration Challenge which I inflict on myself annually, OctPoWriMo in October (duh), and the November PAD Chapbook Challenge/NaNoHellMo really wring me out. Each of those sessions leaves me feeling like it's time to throw in the towel, but there's no rest for the wicked. I also need to complete a 5000-ish word story for The First Line by the end of this month. I forgot about it, so it's time to get crackin'. 

http://thefirstline.com/submission.htm

You have until the end of this month to sign up for my newsletter if you'd like to receive a free copy of my first poetry volume, Another Autumn. I'm planning some cool changes to the newsletter format this year, so don't miss out! 

https://bit.ly/NaughtyNetherworldNews

Click the following link if you'd like to have a sneak peek at Another Autumn.

https://bit.ly/AnotherAutumn

~Ornery Owl Has Lost the Plot~

The Hops You Want

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2022/04/oh-dear-tomorrow-is-charity-sunday.html

http://mfrwbookhooks.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/groups/401643826588474

http://wewriwa.blogspot.com/

A Hard Rain in Boulder, Colorado (WEP Challenge)

 

Photo Source:

https://grist.org/climate-energy/deadly-1000-year-floods-strike-colorado/

Genre: Nonfiction, Personal Essay

I have lived in dry climates all my life. Where most people use rain as a euphemism for gloom, to me rain always represented hope. I was always happy-ish when it rained.

It was hot during the first part of September 2013. To quote the Boulder Daily Camera, “the talk on the street the first full weekend of September was about the heat. Boulder tied a record for the date with 93 degrees that Sunday.”

I was living in a mobile home park in Lafayette, Colorado, and working the night shift as a resident assistant in a retirement community with independent apartments, an assisted living center, and a long-term care center. I liked working the night shift. If things were quiet, following my rounds through the halls of the apartments, I had ample time to complete my clerical tasks and then work on my own projects. Or play games.

Let’s not tell anyone about the playing games part. It makes me sound less than focused and determined and more like the disorganized mess that I truly am.

I worked Thursday through Sunday nights. I have never done well working 40-hour weeks. The fact that I could work 32-hour weeks, get full benefits, and make a couple bucks extra per hour for weekend and night shift differentials made this job a reasonably ideal fit for me.

When it started raining on September 9, which was a Monday, I was happy. I didn’t expect it to last for long. I was pleased when it continued raining on Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday, when I was due to go back to work, I started thinking that maybe it would be best for the rain to wrap things up, but it just kept hammering down. When one of my co-workers called to ask me if I would be able to make it in to work, I said that I would try.

By the time I realized I should have turned around and headed home, I couldn’t. Beyond Arapahoe Avenue, Baseline Road offers few places to turn off, and I was boxed in between a truck and another car. My only choice was to continue to Boulder.

As I approached the Baseline Reservoir, I saw that what was usually a field with a small stream had become a lake where the wind whipped up choppy waves that rolled across Baseline. As I followed the truck, one of those waves slammed into the side of my car. I was terrified that I would be swept over the guard rail and into the newly formed, angry lake. I managed to keep the car on the road. 

I was in shock when I arrived at work. My heart was pounding. Everything was chaos. I walked like a zombie into the wellness center, changed into my swimsuit, and got into the therapy pool to start my workout as usual. I was about 15 minutes into my workout when I heard a transformer explode outside. That was it for the workout.

I made my way to the locker room to shower and change into my work clothes in the dark. Fortunately, the backup generator kicked in. 

As I was trying to get dressed, a confused resident came in and started demanding to know what was going on. I told her that I could help her when I had finished dressing, but she wasn’t hearing it. Fortunately, by the time her husband came in to find her, I was fully covered.

I took my gear upstairs and found my evening shift co-worker, who ended up staying overnight. People from all departments worked together to try and assist the disabled residents from the long-term care center. At one point, Linda and I had to assist a long-term care resident, who had been placed on a couch, in changing her incontinence brief. We did our best to block her from others’ view as we helped her. She couldn’t walk to the bathroom, and we didn’t know where the wheelchairs had been taken.

My sciatica was already bad, and it became worse after this incident. The independent living section was four floors and some 250 apartments. I walked a couple of miles every night. Without the elevators to assist in my rounds, my sciatica was exacerbated.

The administration tried to keep us on site after our shifts, but Linda and I both left around ten in the morning. She wanted to check on her elderly mother and I wanted to make sure my cats were all right. I remember my little Lafayette, who I would lose a couple of years later to multiple system failure, greeting me. He was always happy to see me.

I had trouble writing for around a month following this incident. I felt that I didn’t deserve to indulge myself with such a luxury. Only four people died in the flood, but that was four people too many. Why would someone as worthless as me survive while others died?

When I returned home, I was relieved to see that it only looked like a hard rain had fallen. Just a few miles to the south, an entire road was washed away. It has never been replaced. 345 homes in Boulder were destroyed and 557 were damaged, some to the point where they were unlivable. My home was spared.

Many of my co-workers lost their vehicles, which were in the flooded underground parking garage. When the water was drained from the garage, the vehicles were stacked on top of each other. My vehicle was spared because I parked in the above-ground lot.

I came out of this incident relatively unscathed. I am thinking of it now because the Western United States is in the middle of a mega-drought. It’s very dry where I am, and I am wishing for rain, but not too much rain. The parched ground wouldn’t absorb it properly. 

I am also thinking about this incident because I am once again feeling bad about my writing.

998 words

Here are the total amounts of rain from Boulder, Colorado’s 100-year flood.

Mon., Sept. 9: 0.25 inches

Tues, Sept. 10: 1.02 inches

Weds., Sept. 11: 1.92 inches

Thurs., Sept. 12: 9.08 inches

Fri., Sept. 13: 2.44 inches

Sat., Sept. 14: 0.01 inches

Sun., Sept. 15: 1.94 inches 

Mon., Sept. 16: 0.49 inches

Eight-day total: 17.15 inches

Source: https://www.dailycamera.com/2013/09/21/eight-days-1000-year-rain-100-year-flood/

 Full critique, I guess, but please try not to be rude or hateful.

Also, please don't toss out the old "I hope this isn't autobiographical" chestnut. It is autobiographical and I won't be made to feel guilty for writing it.

I apologize for not returning comments during the February session. I have been having a difficult time with myself this year. I will venture to do better this time. It's not you, it's me. I'm a hot mess.