Count Olaf is one of the main characters from a movie I watched with my kids years ago: A Series of Misfortunate Events. This came to memory when I heard we were expecting Hurricane Olaf.
Quite fitting. Hurricanes come with a series of misfortunate events. High winds cause destruction. Heavy rainfall causes flooding. Power outages, water shortage and disconnect from the outer world. Hurricanes are dangerous, scary and humbling.
Hurricanes also bring fortunate events. Rain to quench a thirsty desert. Greenery to feed free range cows. Aquifer replenished for all our water needs. Family time. Deepen connection with the inner world.
Destruction and creation. Disconnection and connection. No power or internet at home creates space for a different kind of communication. I asked the kids if they notice any advantages of not having internet for a while. Their answer is no. I remember they came into a world with internet available at their fingertips. At times I've wondered if Google replaced me.
Up at the ranch on this Sunday, a few days after our first hurricane in a few years. Solar power, water from local natural spring and satellite internet. We came up here for our youngest to complete their homework due by Monday morning. The likelihood of us returning tomorrow is high.
I remember conversations Javier and I had about moving our family here years ago. We decided against it because Palo, our youngest child now sixteen, would be too isolated during their high school years. This reasoning feels ironic. We are now a year and half into a pandemic and a second school year online.
While we are comfortable here for a few hours and maybe a whole day, to stay up here as a family in one room is a little too much togetherness after all the time together during our extended lockdown.
Since the pandemic began in March of 2020, we’ve been cautious and respectful of protocol. Palo’s history of asthma, memories of sleepless nights and labored breathing are deeply ingrained. It is possible at age 16 they have outgrown their asthma. We choose to error on the side of caution until we are all vaccinated.
Javier and I are fully vaccinated. Dylan, now 23, awaits his second jab. Vaccination against Covid-19 is not available for minors in Mexico. Not yet. We hear Pfizer has been approved for 12+ in our country. Lack of sufficient vaccines means we wait.
Meanwhile, across our northern border, vaccines are available for 12+ and free.
We can’t travel because Palo's passport expired in May. I filled out the form for a new passport. We need pictures and to send the form to the US. Hurricane Olaf hit and we are stalled. And now there is no rush. A few more days after months of wondering: Do we travel and expose them or do we wait? This question has been answered for us. We wait. At least we can feel like we are doing something. This offers us hope. As do the friends up north who have reached out said: Come stay with us! We feel deeply loved and supported.
Meanwhile, the entire country is full of teens who will not be vaccinated except for the fortunate few who can cross the border. As we wait together I am reminded of the inequity in distribution or availability of resources.
Having been born in the US and ensuring my children’s dual citizenship, the privilege of being able to go where we want or need to go has been conveniently available. Within reason. At least we've felt like we had the freedom and access to whatever we needed. This experience of not having immediate access to a vaccine for my kid who is of age and eligible is humbling, a reminder that people all over the world suffer from inequitable distribution or access to resources: funding, food, water, safe housing, education, vaccines.
We are fortunate to live on a knoll in a house built with concrete and steel with storm shutters that cover our windows and protect the glass from flying objects. We are fortunate to feel safe when parked underneath a moving natural disaster with destruction in its wake.
And here I sit. Off grid. A fan whirling overhead. Privileged. Comfortable. Grateful. Overwhelmed. Breathing a sigh of relief. Feeling the quality of pressing a reset button.
And it isn’t all dark and messy. In the middle of the night, Palo and Ollie came into our room, tapped me on the shoulder and said: Can we stay here with you? They couldn’t sleep and then I was awake. We were whispering and giggling and Javier got up. Moved to the couch. Palo turned on the flashlight and we started making shadow puppets. I made a chicken and then a giraffe. They laughed and said they looked the same. I demonstrated: chickens have short necks, giraffes have long necks. We talked about waffles and breakfast. Bacon and cheese waffles with and egg on top. Red velvet waffles for my birthday. Oatmeal waffle cake for Javier’s birthday this month. His favorite cookies are oatmeal. We’ve never made an oatmeal waffle cake. Waffle irons don’t heat up the house like an oven does. Shadows puppets, waffles, laughter, Ollie, our little white fluffy dog sleeping and the sound of the wind. The comfort of being near each other and knowing our entire family was under one roof. Pets were safe and so were we.
I will close this post with gratitude and pride for our kiddos. They put up storm shutters with us in the drizzling rain, rolled with all the punches that hurricanes bring without an eye roll, foot drag or hiccup: preparation, going through and the aftermath. Just like we have so many times before. Seasoned pros. The two of them taking one of our old lady dogs to the vet when she couldn't get up and walk outside on her own. Then Dylan carrying her out to do her business and carrying her back inside again. This one is no small dog, part German Shepherd. As a parent, I often wonder how these two will be as adults. This weekend with all it tossed in the air, reassures this momma mind. We are raising resilient, intelligent, wise, kind and caring adults in the making. And, Google has not replaced me.
"When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in.That's what the storm's all about."~ Haruki Murakami
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