Sep. 8th, 2006

divalea: (Default)
I am about to clean up and change into new clothes. My old ones will have to be thrown away.

I will write more later about talking to the fire inspector, The short of it is that everything in the house with the exception of art in my flat files and some stuff in my lockers is a loss. Absolutely everything. My piano that King bought me in a good year. All our clothes. The kid's toys. Even things that didn't get burned or heat-damaged are so badly smoke-damaged and/or water-damaged they can't be washed, fixed, or saved. The stink is incredible.

I'm still going to try to save my art, so if anyone has any knowledge of stench abatement with regards to paper, LMK.

Our house will be gutted, which is a fantastic opportunity to fix the madness of the floor plan, the hideous wallpaper, the dreadful flooring, the hilariously avocado green sink. But. But. I'd take every flaw just as it was to have the dogs and cats back, if only for girl, who is wracked with grief.

The insurance adjuster said if it was him, he'd run a Bobcat up the driveway and keep going.

We will be in a rental for at least five months, but I'll be very surprised if it's not six or seven.

My thanks for everyone who's passed along my info. I apologize for not being able to answer everyone who sent money, and I'm wading through requests for info about sending help via ground mail. As soon as we have our new address, I will pass it along to anyone who's asked.

Sufficient Intensity. I lack it. Just imagine if I did have it, your hairs would stand on end from it, even if you had none. You'd grow hair and THEN it would stand on end.
divalea: (Default)
I'm getting the hang of the tablet pc now that I am over my fear of folding it. I will sleep until I wake up, then set up a Flikr photoset of the fire.

Thanks to the Bendis board regs for the eBaying, many, many bloggers for reposting, Shaenon for selling art, Lifemeter for donating September monies, NewsaRama for spreading word. I know I missed some one. Things fall out of my brain on the way to my mouth, and math is getting to be like skeet shooting.
Blame sleeping only four hours of sixty-four.
We are absolutely astounded. King is so stunned, his eyes keep leaking every time we get good news.
Jane and Boots celebrated by lifting their aloofness barriers and being Therapy Cats, swopping us and giving the room a cheek rub tour.
Love and thanks from our luxury suite. (A suite means a regular sized hotel room with a sleeper sofa crammed in, too, and a microwave Puritans would approve of.)

Tomorrow, then.

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