geraciblog 

Why I like black outs.

At first the power went out and we thought – oh well… it will be back on soon. But then a few hours later our loved ones, co-workers, and friends started reaching out to us. “Is everything ok?” – “How are you going to do this?” – “Are you still considering going back next year?”

The next phase is the kid’s response to no fans while they drift off to sleep. “UGH… its soooo hot.” Yup. Yup, it is.

And the only truly hard moment is when everyone here lined up for gasoline. It brought back a little of the PTSD from Hurricane Maria…. but soon people relaxed and the lines dissappeared.

I have some immediate responses to this situation. (1) electricity isn’t that important. At this point we have backup batteries but we also own a generator. So three times a day we can charge up and cool our fridge. (not everyone has this luxury, generators are not cheap) (2) yes kids, it is hot tonight but be ever so grateful for what you do have.

Loosing power reminds us. Loosing the feeling of having everything at your fingertips every minute of everyday forces you to stop wasting it.

It’s no longer your mom reminding you to not stand in front of the fridge to “see what there is to eat” – the fridge is taped shut. Looking in the fridge is a luxury.

Laying in bed with a cool fan blowing on you is a nicity – not a requirement.

Some days I think some of the magic of this island is this reminder that electricity is not a requirement to live. My kids read more now, play more board games, go to bed when the sun goes down, eat what is put in front of them. Sometimes, less is more.

The funniest thing about how much we have been changed by Puerto Rico is that when the power came back on we all smiled and then headed to the beach. To enjoy this island – electricity free.

PS – because the power was out many businesses closed. Many families were home early and when they came to pick up their kids they decided to head to the neighborhood park to play. Professors, Admin for the PR Department of Agriculture, Teachers, Surf Company Reps and many other parents sat outside watching their kids play. Being “Power-less” makes our communities “Powerful”.

ECONO – (our local grocery store in Aguadilla) – asphalt crumbling in the parking lot, carts that lock up on you at least half the time – but there are things you wouldn’t expect to find in this little store — artisan goat cheese, organic deli meat, seaweed, and multiple brands of melatonin.  This store gives you a good feel for our part of the island. But in our life After Maria (AM) I will never enter that grocery store again without recalling today.

6 Days post-hurricane

Power had been out for days.  We had limited food and water at home.  Our phones and computers didn’t connect to anything and we didn’t have power or flushing toilets.  No escape from the oppressive heat or humidity, we sweated and waited. But surely things were going to happen any day now and our family just needed to stay safe and out of the way as people clear the roads of trees and power lines.

After a hurricane there’s really only one thing to do — pick a scarce resource, find people waiting in line for it, and join them hoping that they know something you don’t.  Of all the lines to wait in, the one at Econo seemed worth it. For one thing, they actually seemed to be open. So I waited in the heat with my reusable grocery bags.

Once I got in, the cool conditioned air didn’t disappoint.  I was immediately lured in and quickly distracted by a few oranges and apples – fruit!  Long gone were the days of fresh produce at our kitchen table. We hadn’t been able to find or have fruit that wasn’t strewn across our front yard in days — lots of little bananas and jobos.  I was distracted and giddy on a brief moment of normalcy. And then I got to the back of the store.

The stench stopped you in your tracks.  An odor that pulls at the walls of your throat.  Begging you to either stop breathing or vomit. Everything in your body screamed for you to run from this very spot.  The odor of rotting meat was brain numbing. Salivating over fresh cool produce while your body starts to gag. “Breathe through your mouth, Jackie” – “Just keep moving through this space into the next one.”  These were mantras of survival.

But it was soooooo horrible.  People were covered in plastic body suits trying to scoop out the rotting carcasses from the bottom of the coolers.  While I was feeling compassion for these people – stuck doing their jobs; I was unable to do mine. Grocery Shop! Stay focused Jackie.

How? – How can you think about what dinner items one can make that requires no refrigeration?  Thinking about what food items I have at home and what pieces I need. Keeping it all to under $150.  

Cash.  

Everything is in cash.  We only have $350 left. We have to make that last for who knows how long.  All the time so distracted by the smell of death, rot, waste, desire to run from here.  But run to where? The oppressive heat outside only to get back into the line to try again?

Aisles empty of water, milk, bread, eggs.  Signs posted everywhere about how many bags of beans, rice, flour a person is allowed to purchase.  Real food is rationed. Lights flicker as the generator fumbles to supply enough electricity. I grab Helena’s hand to keep her close to my side, just in case…. In case this fragile sense of normalcy of air conditioning, lighting, people cleaning the acrid stench, plastic wrapped produce – all disappears and I panic in the dark.  

My heart skips a beat and the generator kicks in again.

I walk up to get in line.  I count out the cost of everything in my basket and make sure we have enough.

I look down at my partner through all of this – little Helena, with her missing baby teeth and big hazel eyes, who moved to this island only one month ago — started a new school, new kids, new language — and although this disaster causes me to lose a grip on our daily lives, she takes it all in as just another day in Puerto Rico.  Why would it be any different? Just another weird day as far as she was concerned. Smiling and holding my shaky hand she confidently chats away about how excited she is to have an orange to share with her sisters when we get home.  

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

The clouds looked a little ominous. But otherwise September 19 was a pretty nice day. We even went and played in the tidepools one last time.

5pm The Hammonds call to tell us they got approval for us to come on the Coast Guard base to stay in their home during the storm. Electricity will be shut to the entire Island that night in order to limit deaths by electrocution. We have to be at the front gate by 8pm before they close the base. Military cars and air transport have been placed in bunkers – there will be no military response until an all clear is given two days later.

11pm power goes out

2am cell connection goes out

8am water stops being supplied to the area

Wednesday, September 20 2017

Hurricane Maria

We are closed inside a cement-bunker-style military house from the 1940s. They do not have shutters but the windows are rated for 120 mph winds. We had a front-row seat to watch the hurricane. We were sealed inside the house with 5 children, 4 adults, 3 dogs, and 2 cats. Our new friends — we had just met all of three weeks before — turned to us and said, “Well, nothing like a hurricane to decide whether we are going to be lifelong friends!”

The windows were closed tight, the temperature inside the house was about 84 degrees. The air was stale on the inside — no air-conditioning or fans — even as it raged at top speed past the thin glass window panes. The toilets stopped flushing before breakfast, and there was no way to let the dogs outside to relieve themselves. It wasn’t even noon yet, and it was becoming rapidly apparent that we were too many mammals crammed into a small sealed space.

(Speaking of sad mammals, poor Alvin. When I woke up at 4 am, I tied Alvin to a rope and pushed him outside the door long enough to lift his leg and then reel him back in. Also, because he is not friendly with other dogs/animals he spent most of the hurricane inside his carry-on luggage case.)

The winds really picked up as the early afternoon wore on. The house started creaking and the windows started rattling against the wind. Water seeped in around the closed windows; much the same way ants can find the smallest crevice to start marching their battalions to the feast.

We had thousands of battalions made of rivulets of water. Bubbling, seeping, oozing down the walls, around the windows, through the aluminum slatted front door. The children were placed under the stairs where the actual bomb shelter is in the house and all 4 adults jump into action. Wringing out towels placed around windows, on floors, and down the staircase that had become a waterfall. Duct tape was being pressed over all seeping surfaces. Jesse spent over an hour manually holding two french doors from being sucked out. Sweat is pouring and everyone is moving together to bail out what is starting to feel like a sinking ship. Mickey’s – Sorcerer’s Apprentice is flashing before my eyes – buckets of water being thrown on the floor around us and we are maniacally trying to stop the deluge. And then…. as they say. It slowed down. It became peaceful.

It never opened up to a sunny clear day but it began to slow down to a drizzle and a breeze. We stood there wondering, looking out windows, and then we changed our actions in another direction but with the same intensity. Every parent knows this drill – “QUICK! We need PB&J quick, feed the kids, get out snacks, put that one on the toilet. Wipe this mess up. Get the dogs outside!” We didn’t know how long this reprieve was going to last and we had to make the most of every moment.

We waited and waited and we watched the clock. Almost 2 hours of calm. We saw a truck come by – a man walk across a street thigh deep in a river of water running down the street. Pet owners standing outside confused.

It came back again. Built up over 30 minutes and then the other side of the house was getting thrashed by winds and water. It never had the same level of insanity as it had when coming towards us but still it came. Or maybe we were just tired and over the intensity. We wiped and cleaned and bailed, but only one window cracked. It never broke completely through.

The quiet after the storm. The trees were stripped bare of their green frocks. Standing stripped and exposed. Light posts and stop signs swayed back and forth by the winds like wiggly teeth until they hit the ground with a thud. Power lines strewn about like ribbon on the floor after Christmas morning.

This was the after of Hurricane Maria. The new normal. Although we stood there taking this awe inspiring strength of the sure force of nature. We looked at each other as a new band of survivors. We saw the winds, we heard the strain, we bailed the waters, we parented the children, we shared what we had and we now have a new Puerto Rico.

There was the Puerto Rico we had just been visiting only a short day before. We were lucky enough to witness it. There was now a “Before Maria” demarcation of time. And now suddenly we were in the middle of a completely different story for this adventure. And walking outside that afternoon was “After Maria”, the beginning of beginnings, the ground zero.

Upon returning to California I got so sick of telling this story over and over. How can you tell it without reliving everything – over and over? How do you explain that this short 48 hours of the “hurricane” was never the truly scary part of our story. The aftermath of this event was the real hurdle to overcome. The survival story that followed this story was what will have forever changed me. I started joking with Jesse that if I told the hurricane story to another friend/family/stranger they should be obligated to donate money to one of my preferred charities that help the island. So, if after you read this account of the hurricane and feel inclined to donate to some small charities that I believe are helping actual people on the island; I have listed their web-links.

Escuela Micael
https://www.gofundme.com/shym9p-escuela-micael-hurricane-maria

Pirate Surf Club Hurricane Relief Inc
https://www.facebook.com/piratesurfclubhurricanereliefinc/

Arf of Rincon Puerto Rico
https://www.facebook.com/arfrincon/

Waves to Water
http://www.wavesforwater.org/project/hurricaneirmareliefinitiative

We get this all the time.  What? Why?? Really???

And we get it.  We live in Northern California. Where it’s the perfect temperature year round but you still get seasons. Where you can hike in 1,000-year-old redwoods, snorkel with sea otters, bike over Mount Tam, surf at Mavericks, and ski all within a 3-hour drive of your house. Where there are almost no bugs to speak of, except maybe an occasional spider.  Where you can find the best and most diverse/fresh produce and restaurants anywhere in the United States. Where there are parks, green spaces, a functional public transit system, monthly free admissions to theaters, art museums, kid museums, science museums, botanical gardens, and there are lots and lots of free libraries.  

What could be better than this??? It’s pretty darn awesome here in the Bay Area.  I will never ever deny that. So why Puerto Rico? Why NOT?

We have lived here for a glorious decade. Our kids are getting older and we can finally travel again.

– I know.  I hear you.  TRAVEL?!??! Why would you travel when you have it all right here? Camping and beach resorts.  Cabins in the snow. Vistas of wine country. WHERE COULD YOU POSSIBLY GO?

But we felt like those lame sands of time were slipping through our fingers.  That’s right! We turned 40 and started to panic that all those nights pleading with our sleepless kids to hurry up and grow up already so that we could get a night of sleep; was actually happening!  They were growing up – we were sleeping – and time was marching on. So we threw ourselves in front of the hands of time and pleaded for just a few more years with our little ones. Our oldest was 10 and we thought now or never.  Stand back Taylor Swift and that scary Young Adult section at the library. We were going to fight them all back for just a little more sweet time.

So we searched for our school.  You know – the one we have been looking and looking for since my first kid was born.  The one who appreciates each of my kids’ different picadillos. One where they all go together each day.  They eat lunch together – the older ones can help wipe the sand off the little one’s feet just the way she likes, and we all feel like a cohesive team or… I guess “family” is the word I am looking for.  The little school that grows their snack on the property, serves only water, no plastic garbage to be seen, doesn’t shows videos on Fridays and maybe one where we could all learn Spanish. And then two years ago while tootling around the western side of Puerto Rico we found it.  We found it all. Puerto Ricans, surfers and Coast Guardies together with farmer’s markets and yoga studios, a French bakery and hipster food trucks. All of this surrounded by waterfalls and pristine beaches and a precious little school.

So we went.  We packed up, sold our car, rented our house, donated boxes of things, shipped only a few items and went.  

And we have to report that it is magical.  It is HOT as Hades! …as anyone who spoke to me in the first week would know.  We have struggled with our Spanish and have many funny stories to share. It has brought us closer together.  And we found a school that holds our kids with love and kindness. We slowed down time. But as Grandma Paula always says… “don’t mess with Mother Nature.”  She is a cruel cruel temptress.

After only a few short weeks of this enchanted experience Mother Nature showed up in full force.  And although we have been tested and at times frightened; her strong force has caused us to hold on to each other more tightly.

As of December 28 we are back in Puerto Rico. All healthy and safe.

And we made it back to the bay.

Not so quick story about our storm experience.

I have no problem admitting: hurricanes are not my expertise.  Yes, I grew up in Florida.  Yes, I weathered Hurricane Andrew. But now in hindsight I realize, I was a child.  I helped bring in outdoor plants and tape things down and go to the store.  But someone always made those decisions, and I followed orders.  This recent stab at tropical survival has had many sharp edges, which have made me realize that I am no longer along for the ride—we were driving this train!

First, my older sister has been our central nervous system—always willing to answer a call.  We have had long discussions about… generators, coolers, safe rooms, back up safe rooms, which rooms have rebar in our house, and so so so much more.  Things I have learned from her: generators are great, but you are a slave to getting gas; own multiple coolers where you stage food for days; figure out which room in your house was designed for safety, up high enough not to flood but with a roof/ceiling that won’t blow off; have a second room you can run to if/when the roof starts ripping off (ours was a bathroom with one little window and a mattress to hold over us); don’t underestimate hiding in corners of rooms if the windows blow in; freeze as much of your drinking water as you can so that you can use it for ice in your coolers and refrigerator.  The list of advice could go on and on.  She texted me through the storm: “Hold tight little sister!!!”  Everyone should be lucky to have such a big sister.

We had other poignant moments that Jesse and I will forever carry with us through life from Puerto Rico living, but one will stay close to us as this experience fades from memory.  

We had spent the days before Hurricane Irma clearing the property, strapping things down, and PUTTING UP SHUTTERS.  What an ordeal shutters are!  Dirty, rusty, and covered in strange bugs we have never seen before.  Jesse cut up his hands trying to get them up and secured.  Each window has a little trick you have to figure out, like a Rubik’s Cube waiting for you to solve—both physically and mentally exhausting.  Oh, and did I mention the onslaught of mosquitos?  Constantly in your ears—the buzzing, the slapping, the itching, always itching until arms and legs bleed.  So while you’re out there cutting up your fingers on rusty wingnuts, the mosquitos are swarming, and the sweat is pooling and pouring down faces and hands, stinging eyes and making your fingers loose grip on sharp edges that you are trying to pry.  But we are doing it.  We are paying our dues for getting to live on this beautiful island… until the last shutter.  Of course we saved the deck doors for last.  As we were trying to batten down our last hatch, which felt a little like nailing your coffin down from the inside, we hit a huge snag.  We couldn’t get the sidewalk bolts out of the floor. (Insert very loud expletive here!)

These bolts were stuck. They just laughed at our puny screwdrivers.  We try harder.  No luck.  We try even harder. The screw heads start to strip, but not even a budge. Nothing. We text the landlord that we can’t get the shutters on the doors, which are made of panels of glass, and we need a larger screw driver.  They get us in touch with our neighbors and we borrow tools.  Still no movement.  While we are outside trying again and again we hear a car-mounted loudspeaker in the (near) distance down the hill from our house blaring in Spanish: “LEAVE … [Spanish words we don’t know] … take families … [more Spanish words we don’t know] …  emergency”.  Cue tears and panic.  I take a breath and call my sister.  I send her pictures of the sidewalk bolts.  She advises that we start prying and lifting the bolts while twisting.  Nothing.  We keep trying and searching the internet for advice. Still nothing.  The dread is welling up in my chest. 

Nothing to do but come up with a Plan B: somehow MacGyver a piece of wood from somewhere in our house to hold shutters onto the wall.  Jesse keeps insisting that Plan B doesn’t make sense.  We are totally dejected.

I look at my phone trying to distract myself from this predicament and I saw a text from Dhea Maloney.  So I asked if she and her husband Joe could FaceTime with us?  For those who don’t know, they own Maloney Fine Building and have solved such problems for a living.  We dial them up and show Joe our problem and our tools.  We show him the screws and the tools we borrowed from our neighbors.  He starts instructing us like a mechanical maestro—use this drill, this bit, hit the screws with a hammer, something about holding it perpendicular.  Tap… drill… broken bit… throw away… try again…  Joe saying, “don’t panic it’s ok, bits are cheap”… hold firmly… drive… bang with hammer… drill…. repeat and repeat and FINALLY, out the first of three came.  We cheered and cried and felt a flood of relief.  

In that moment, the panic abated.  We were going to survive this.  The cheers filled our ears with survival and pushed out the Spanish loudspeaker of certain devastation.  In these moments of desperation we have felt the most connected to family and friends.

Irma passed just north of Puerto Rico. So in the end we got some pretty strong hurricane winds but no eye wall. It was a long loud night. Trees slamming into our walls and shutters. The wind moaning through the small cracks in our walls. And finally around 10pm the cistern flew off our roof and dangled over the side of the house. Banging and moaning as it swung for quite a while over our car. But in the end we are all safe and sound waiting for the power to be turned back on.

To all concerned – thank you.  We will take all of your thoughts, and prayers, and finger crossings that this experience is just that and not something catastrophic.  To ease your minds and hearts I will tell you a little of what we have done so far to prepare ourselves for a hurricane now clocking 190 mile per hour winds.

The house we chose is up high away from the coast – on purpose.  Although we can see the ocean from our balcony and back yard it is very far below us.  We are not in the tidal zone – no where near storm surges.

The house we are in has survived a number of hurricanes with only broken windows.  So flooding and building falling down seem unlikely.

We have shutters for the north and west sides of our house – because that is the direction that the highest winds will hit us.  You can see a picture of Jesse putting up the hurricane shutters below.  Once they are up the house is hot and dark.  Like living in a tin can.

Going into town for supplies has been an intense experience.  Lines run outside the store.  People primarily buying water, ice, food, and gasoline.

When our land lords came to prep the house for the storm they told us that we needed to strap our propane tank down to the house (see picture below) and sand bag the doors.  I looked at him confused.  Where would we get sand bags?  At the beach of course.  So last night Marion and Jesse went to our local beach, surrounded by young lovers out for an evening stroll – they start shoveling sand into garbage bags until a woman came up asking them when they were bringing the sand back?  Jesse said “after the storm?”  right?

Speaking of sand bags – we have seen many people just digging up the ground and putting it into garbage bags to use as sand bags!

My sister (having seen her fair share of hurricanes) advised us on obtaining many buckets and mops and towels because as the storm happens water seeps in through the doors and windows.  It will be like bailing out a sinking ship.

Another interesting thing we have learned is that Puerto Rico shuts down the whole power grid to limit deaths by electricity.  So we will loose power on purpose Wednesday evening.  Who knows when it will come back on?  We have heard anything from a week to 4 months!

Car has gas.  House is full of food, water, and ice.  Batteries are charged.

If you hear nothing from us after the storm – don’t panic.  We should be fine.  Just can’t get any service or power.