Hurricane Irma Stories: The Blade

I was headed out of the Keys to a place I cannot remember on a day I don't remember much about either. Pit stopping at the Pink Junktique in the Upper Keys was one of my fun regular stops when headed off the rock, this trip was no different. After poking around the store for a while, I began chatting with the shopkeeper. My visits were so far apart I doubt she remembered me from each prior visit. Regardless, each time I'd get into the shop, the owner and I would strike up a conversation about any random events, experiences and thoughts. I really liked her.

I was chatting with the shop owner and spied what to me was a glorious vintage chrome Cuisinart. I complimented her on it. She asked me "do you want it?" I asked "how much" to which she responded something like "no, do you WANT it, I don't sell things like that here, I may actually throw it out." I think I may even gasped aloud at that, but I do know I said yes absolutely, I would love to have it!

I paid for my other purchase and carried my things out. I tucked my new old chrome treasure into a safe space in the car and continued out of the Keys on my trip. When I eventually returned home, I cleaned and shined the new old processor. I soon learned there was a HUGE recall on this brand of food processors, close to 20 years of models worth had blades that could break apart during use, leaving bits of blade in the food. Mine needed to be replaced. I went to their site to request a new blade for my new old processor. I got an auto reply basically telling me they're overwhelmed filling orders for almost 20 years worth of blades, and I may have to wait over a year for one. Oh and PS they said....  don't use the new old food processor.

I wrapped my shiny and clean new old food processor snug as a bug into a box, labeled it, and placed it onto a shelf in the house. I still remember exactly where I placed that box. It may have been as far back as end of 2016 when I signed up for that blade, I don't recall exactly though. Back then life was "Groundhog Day, The Movie" in my world. Work. Chores. Run. Gym. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. The new old processor was now officially in hibernation awaiting it's new blade.

Fast forward to post Irma life.

Our house blew away and was taken by Irma along with everything in it. Maybe you saw the picture, maybe you didn't. FEMA and I think NOAA were "kind" enough to include photos of our place as images in their final reports along with running commentary. No, I'm not making that up either.

Super.

Sporadic mail delivery began here weeks after the storm. I remember the first time we got mail. I heard a vehicle clunking down the broken road. At that time mostly the only vehicles coming out here were crews from around the country doing various utility repairs, or (hate to say this next one) sightseers. This was neither... it was the MAIL. Either I dragged the letter carrier out of her truck, or I leaned into the truck and landed a huge hug on her. Life was still so far from normal, so VERY far from normal, just seeing the mail truck elicited emotions that I never would have expected including relief and happiness for something... anything... one thing "normal." So we hugged, we talked, then  she handed over the pretty big pile of mail on that first delivery, remember it was weeks worth of stuff.

Mail delivery continued to be sporadic for quite a while, but really that didn't matter. I actually still find it almost miraculous we could get any mail at all during that time. But, on one of the very next deliveries which also was another larger sized pile of mail there was a small box.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I took the box thinking it had to be a mistake. Not only did I not order anything, but I couldn't even if I wanted to. Internet was down for MANY weeks, service when restored wasn't regular nor reliable for months (let that marinate for those of you tethered to your devices). I carried the pile to a shattered corner of what remained here. I pulled the key from my pocket for our house that blew away in Irma and slid it down the taped up box. Yes, I still had the key, it was in my pocket when we left and I found myself keeping it in my pocket still. Too bad the house didn't fit in my other pocket. I opened the box and there it was... the blade.

Maybe someone else would've just thrown the box and it's contents into the trash, I couldn't do it. Not only were we dealing with Irma recovery, but what I quickly learned is after natural disaster there is man made eco disaster that follows.... everything, and I mean everything, seemed to come wrapped, bottled, secured, fastened or delivered in plastic. There was plastic everywhere. EVERYWHERE. We were not immune from contributing to the plastic nightmare. I don't know how anyone could escape it, but if you did, teach me. In addition, the debris that resulted from the storm was something I could never believe unless seeing with my own eyes.

Everything. Was. Everywhere.

I refused to throw the box away. It bounced around from spot to spot, place to place, here to there. For well over a year it was always somewhere close enough for me to see and be reminded of the twisted humor our Universe has. Pfft, meh and screw you Irma, I have my line in the sand and it's a little brown box with the blade.

I put the blade up on the local Irma relief page today. Within minutes my phone rang. The genesis of that conversation was someone had seen my post and was calling to offer me a food processor because they had a spare; they saw my post and wanted to help me. At times, I have wanted to chuck it all, and I mean chuck it ALL in the most tragic way possible, but this call is just like the kindness shown by so many others since Irma.... this community has the most amazing people. I said I have replaced the food processor, but thank you so much.

All the feels.

In the end, within just a few hours, the pot without the lid met the lid without the pot. Someone who lost their blade in Irma, but not their processor, met the person who lost their processor but not their blade.

With every fiber of my being... screw you Irma. Hummus anyone?