In early September, a flash flood ran through my little slice of the world. Forecasters called for heavy rain and possible flash flooding. I wasn’t worried.
Thirteen years ago, I invested in a lot of money to install a sump pump and French drain system in my basement. A necessity for my house, at the bottom of a hill… in a neighborhood built on reclaimed swamp land.
A narrow band of rain barreled down on my town. I went to check on my basement. Sump pump working.
As long as that pump was pumping, I was in the clear, I thought.
My thought was wrong.
A river formed between my house and my next door neighbor Mario's house. My backyard was flooding. The end of the block filled up with enough water to fill a neighbor's car with water up to her seats. The new levee being built on the other side of the town (in anticipation of more storms due to global warming) was at capacity.
After oggling for a a few minutes at the sheer volume of rain that was barreling down, I went to check on my basement. My kitten’s litter box was floating on top of ten inches of water. My furnace, my hot water heater, washer and dryer were all sitting in almost a foot of water. My heart sank. I went back upstairs, with a long, heavy sigh.
This was one of those moments when home ownership felt like the worst idea in the world.
A few days later, after the clean-up, mopping, and dry out was complete, I called my friend Kirsten. It was time to try and start each piece of machinery that was in the basement to see if it was still working.
I needed some good juju. We sent positive energy to the water heater before I tried to start it.
“Hot water is what separates us from the animals,” my brother texted, when I told him I was waiting for my basement to dry out before turning on the water heater. Good to know.
I turned the gas back on and tried igniting the pilot. Success! After four days of drying out, I was back in business for hot water.
My dryer started right back up. My furnace kicked back on. I was feeling very, very lucky and contemplating moving to the desert. The last thing that needed to be tested was the washing machine. I was hopeful. This thing is built for water, I thought. I put a load of clothes in and turned her on.
She refused to fill with water. She was dry as a bone. How ironic.
I called Kirsten again. We got centered. We sent good energy to the washing machine. We read her energy. … to see what she might need. “She feels like a happy machine, with a possible hiccup,” said Kirsten. “Check the machine where the hoses come into it.”
I did as she suggested and there, in the back of the machine was a secret panel. I could see a piece of folded up paper sitting behind the panel. Instructions? I was beginning to feel like Sherlock Holmes. I got my socket wrench out and took off the back panel. I unfolded the piece of paper.
It had very specific instructions for resetting the machine. “Position cycle selector at 9 o’clock. Depress start button while rotating cycle selector knob 180 degrees. Release start buttons and all LEDS will light. This is position zero.”
Who comes up with this stuff? Should I also hop on one leg while doing it? I tried five times before I gave up.
I looked at the instruction sheet again. It had a schematic of the machine and realized I could open the front of the machine. I did this and noticed that below the tub that holds all the clothes, on the bottom of the machine, were about 50 wires. I placed a box fan by the wires for a few days. Maybe they just needed to dry out.
I tried the ridiculous instructions again. Nothing.
I caved and called a repair man (a mortal sin in my father’s house, as he fixed everything himself).
The repair guy came fully loaded with a COVID mask and face shield. He spent less than five minutes waving some sort of electric meter around the wires before he declared, “Your motor is spent.”
She had died. And there was nothing more to be done.
There are times in life when a flood of emotions overruns you and it’s hard to keep yourself together. And then there are times in life when an actual flood overwhelms you and it’s hard to keep yourself together.
And then there are times where it’s hard to distinguish between the flood of water and the flood of emotions.
This is one of those times.
Meet Pickles! Modified to Captain Pickles after I realized she could sail around the room, jumping four feet from bookcase to dining room table without twitching a whisker.
I did not want a cat. I wanted a dog. COVID house arrest had me applying to various shelters and rescue groups. I had a dog for 13 years. Petie was my constant companion. I know the joys and comforts of owning a dog. They are loyal, they are forever by your side... forever able to take in whatever kind of day you are having. Perfect for my grumpiness over being stuck at home!
I applied to three different shelters. I got the same answer from all: There is a waitlist. Apparently, everyone else had the same great idea that I had. Evidence was popping up all around me. On my daily walks, I noticed WAY more hound dogs in the neighborhood. Apparently, the hound dog rescue group has been busy.
I put the dog search on the back burner. A week later, a friend I hadn't heard from in a while texted me and said a woman she knew had a cat she was trying to rehome.. and was I interested?
Hmmm.. a cat? In my mind, they are second class citizens to dogs. Aloof, independent, only cuddly when they want to be... What would I do with a cat, I thought?
But I contacted the woman anyway. She sent me a photo of the cat: black, with a white tipped tail. She called him Tippy. I contemplated. I mused. I tuned in to my intuition. I passed. I just wasn't sure about the cat thing. I knew dogs were THE BEST COMPANIONS EVER. And a cat... well...
A few more months passed. Each time I went for a walk, I longingly looked at the dogs and their human companions.
My neighbor Mario found a dog left at the local dog park and brought it home. I offered to take the dog until the owner could be found. For two hours, I doted over this dog. I made plans with this dog. Then, the owner showed up. I was slightly crushed.
Where was my animal companion?
A few weeks later on my local community listserv a neighbor announced: A friend of mine found two kittens in the woods. She'd like to find a home for them. Contact me, if interested.
Something nudged me. I talked to the woman who had found them. She had one kitten remaining. She sent me a photo. Something about THIS cat made me say yes, immediately. I just knew I had to take this one and it would be o.k.
She delivered the kitten to my door, complete with a makeshift litter box from a shoe box.
The first day, the kitten sniffed my toes and then retreated to her corner. But over the next few weeks, she started coming out of her shell.
And as she did, I was glad I followed my intuition to take THIS cat.
Captain Pickles has been nothing but a constant surprise to me.
She's more like a dog... following me around the house from room to room, hanging out in the kitchen with me while I am cooking (not even my dog did that!). She's cuddly, constantly purring and mewing and seeking attention and touch.
She likes her belly rubbed.
She greets me every morning when I wake up. She runs down the stairs ahead of me as I slowly stumble down to get my coffee.
She talks to me a lot. I talk back. She causes chaos. My house now looks like a kitten playground. There are toys everywhere.
I'm in kitten love. And I’m glad I said yes, to THIS cat.
Intuition is a skill. Its sort of like being an animal tracker... following the trail of an animal that you can't physically see... but you know was in the space you now occupy. You can see the tracks they left behind... sometimes you see a few hairs or maybe some fur if you are lucky.
A few weeks ago, I was feeling very frustrated with the disjointed national response to the current pandemic. Before I became an artist, before I became a coach, and before I learned to hone my intuitive skills... I worked as a writer in public health.
"Where is the national public health campaign," I wondered? "Simple, consistent public health messaging could go a long way in curbing this outbreak," I thought to myself as my heart was breaking over rising case numbers.
My curiosity peaked. There was something here for me, I could feel it. So I started to follow the trail.
I did some internet sleuthing and searched for "successful public health campaigns." I found a few references to mass media campaigns.
And I remembered that egg in the frying pan from about 1986. Oooh, how that image seared into my brain. Needless to say, I didn't do drugs.
I stumbled upon an article by a small company. I read the article and I was totally hooked by plain, easy to understand writing. The tracks were interesting, so I sleuthed some more.
I poked around the company website. I liked their vibe. And then...there, right on the trail in front of me... they outlined their company values: we are empowered, curious, kind, and fun.
My heart skipped a beat. Oooooh. I like those values. I identify with those values.
I immediately submitted an application.
What was happening? I was excited about public health again? This had not occurred for over 10 years. It felt effortless to submit my application. Their vibe matched my vibe.
When I received an email from their VP of Talent a week later, I was over the top excited.
Even more excited as I signed a contract this week to be on their roster for freelance work.
And bonus, their company name reminds me of an image I had of myself several years ago when I started this adventure in intuition. I kept seeing myself as this gawky teenage girl, with a red cape and goggles on... flying her bike around the DC metro area.
Some of this is true. I do ride my bike around the DC metro area... but I do not wear a cape in real life. Though sometimes I like to pretend I have one on when I ride. The point is, the image of me on a bike with a cape and goggles on resonates with the feeling of the company. Another indicator that I'm on the right track.
Following my intuition is a skill that I have honed. I had to learn how to listen for, feel into, and be on the lookout for the clues on the trail. And, it's damn near fun, every time I do it. No matter what the outcome.
This morning, I left the house at 7:30 am for a walk. This was painfully early for me. It has been almost two weeks of sweltering heat and humidity in the DC region. Not unusual for this time of year, but we were spoiled by an unusually cool spring that lasted well into June. In order to have a walk where the heat index is below 95 requires early rising. I have been resisting this need to get up at the crack of dawn... but the last few days, my cranky factor has gone up dramatically... indicating a certain urgency for exercise.
Yesterday, I heard an owl on my walk in a section along a tributary of the Anacostia River. It was magical and wonderful. And unusual. It is only the second time I've heard an owl while out walking in the slim pickin's forest patches of DC. So, understandably, I was mesmerized. That magic carried me through another day of what feels like slogging through COVID lock down torture.
Today, I decided to walk a different route to the river trail. About a mile into my walk, as I was approaching the stretch of path where I had heard the owl... something inside said, "No. Not this way." So, I stopped right before the crossing with Windom Road and just turned around.
My brain said, "Well, that's weird, why did you do that?" If I had been walking with a friend I probably would have dismissed the impulse to stop and turn around and just kept walking the way I had been going. But since I was alone, I indulged the urge to turn.
My walk continued. About half a mile of backtracking and I again randomly turned left. And then, as I approached the corner of Upshur Street and 37th... I could hear my thoughts saying, "Well... this is good enough for today. Not every day is going to be as magical as yesterday with the owl." Since I had turned away from the river and was walking in the opposite direction, I just assumed my walk would be run of the mill, no magic, just get it done before the heat kicks in kind of walk.
Literally seconds after I had that thought, I looked up and to the left. There, standing in someone's front yard... a deer. She was literally 5 feet in front of me!
The early morning light was streaming in behind her. It made the tips of her ears look all lit up. We had a moment, she and I... where we just sort of stared at each other. Then, she moved a few feet to the right and started munching on the tree leaves that she was eating for breakfast.
Pure magic, at least to me. And we all need a bit of magic these days.
Had I not listened to the strange urge to turn around abruptly... I would have never had the privilege to encounter this beautiful creature. Intuition works in strange and wonderful ways and when we follow it... we are often led down a wondrous path of magic and mystery.
And, it's never really a straight line like we think it's going to be.
Looking at the world from above the fray. Houkje writes about following her intuition, observerations on the magic of the natural world, and navigating creativity and chaos in an uncertain world.