Life in Texas has been overwhelmingly normal this past week.  It has bothered me.

Here I am in Texas, dry feet, dry home, dry office…and my friends and family back home have been sandbagging (an exercise in futility, turns out), conserving water, salvaging flood-damaged items, and helping in recovery efforts.

I’ve done nothing.  Nothing.

I am so thankful that my family’s homes are OK, I’m thankful that most of my friends’ homes are OK, and I’m grateful that no one was hurt.  But, oddly, every time I see a picture of my destroyed hometown (and trust me, I see lots of them…it’s all I can look at over my lunch break) the image is burned into my mind and I can’t shake it.  Maybe if I was there it wouldn’t be so traumatizing.

Having the library destroyed, the Science Station gone, the Paramount in shambles…it feels like childhood memories are washed away too. I know they’re really not, but it still feels like that for some strange reason.

We homeschooled, so one afternoon a week Mom would take us to the library and we’d grab books and read for hours in the enormous baseball glove bean-bag chair in the children’s section, or look at microfilm from 1912 to find articles about the Titanic sinking, or snitch a copy of Seventeen magazine off the rack when Mom wasn’t looking.  (It’s true, Mom, I did that sometimes.)

And the Science Station?  Sisterly and I used to go to the static electricity ball and put our hands on it and laugh as we watched each other’s hair stand on end.  I usually got real annoyed at Brother at the Science Station because he could answer all the questions right, or make exhibits work that I couldn’t figure out.  Srsly.  (I have no memories of The Kid from the Science Station.)

The Paramount Theater?  I recall standing for hours on those risers up behind the symphony, waiting and waiting for our cues to sing, and then at the very end of the dress rehearsal Dr. Phillips would finally admit that we had done it right.  Sometimes in those long sections between our songs, the trumpet players would tease us and show us how their spit valves worked…which was disgusting but hilariously funny at the same time.  I’m surprised we never got busted.

I also recall at the Paramount several years back when all my sibs were home for the weekend…we all dressed up to the nines (formal dresses, suits, tuxes – you name it!) and Mom and Dad took us to the symphony.  So much fun!  No one, of course, really dresses like that to hear the symphony in Cedar Rapids, which was precisely why we did it.

And Dad’s office on Third Avenue…the best office ever.  Last year when Joey and I were home for The Kid’s graduation, Pops took me with him on Saturday to check Williams Plaza and do some paperwork at the office.  I got Pepsis for us out of the fridge in the kitchen, which is no longer there – they gutted the place yesterday, and probably forgot to put change in the cup for them.  Then Dad sent me across the street to Brueggers Bagels (the second best Bagel shop in the world, next to CJs in Ankeny) and I brought back a delicious bagel, which we split while Dad finished his work.  (His work always takes longer than he says it will, but I just ate candy and watched people walk by while I waited.)

Aside: as I recall how much food I consumed in the 45 minutes I was at Dad’s office downtown, it causes me to wonder just how, exactly, I didn’t get overwhelmingly sick by noon.

It has absolutely stunk to be down here in Texas this past week.

On Wednesday the 11th, I wanted to help Dad sandbag.  I wanted to help them move their files to safety.

On Thursday the 12th, I wanted to stand on the skywalks and watch the water rage, glare at it and chew it out.

On Friday the 13th I wanted to be there for the crest, handing out water bottles and helping sandbag Mercy Hospital.

On Saturday the 14th I wanted to see the waters recede in downtown.

On Sunday the 15th I wanted so badly to be at Faith Bible Church.  On Monday the 16th I wanted to see the office after the flood waters.

On Tuesday the 17th I wanted to help get the files out of the office before looters got to them.

On Wednesday, I wanted to go get Sister from Chicago and see with my eyes how devastated downtown is.  And yesterday I wanted to help salvage floodwater-soaked paperwork with Sister and Mom.

So if a picture’s worth a thousand words, and I’ve looked at hundreds of horrible flooding pictures over the last week, why can I still not fully believe it happened?