Today I drove to the Binghamton Humane Society on Jackson Street for the first time since the flood. The water line of the flood was obvious if you know what to look for, but the main street nearby managed to stay deceptively dry. Inside the Humane Society, the water clearly rose to a couple of feet.
Fortunately, they have relocated all of the animals to a vet's office in Chenango, and are offering adoptions there while a crew of volunteers come to the shelter to clean. The pile of trash is very large, like most of the businesses and homes I drove by today. The smell is not overwhelming, but it is pervasive, and I associate that smell with the feeling I'll never be clean again.
They had a table out front for donations of things. I added the cat blankets to the small pile of Clorox, pet food, and trash bags. There were other people coming and going while I was there, doing the same. A worker with an air filter mask greeted me and thanked me, and went back to work.
I wish I had more time and a better immune system, so I could join in. I peeked inside. The interior was unrecognizable. There was no sign advertising when they hoped to reopen - it will depend on volunteers cleaning in their spare time. The boarding expense is probably high as well. And the horrible part is that this is only one shelter hit by this flood, and many shelters have been hit worse.
If you're thinking about adopting a pet, now might be a good time - so the shelter doesn't have to pay extra to feed and house that mouth, and they can use the adoption fees for putting things right again.
There are days when this is all I can focus on. Excuse me, but I have some cat fur to go bury my nose in.
There are a lot of people mad for the Beekeeper's Quilt and Hexipuffs
I am not one of them. Here are a couple of mantras to help.
I must not puff. Puff are the mind-killer. Puffs are the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face the puffs. I will permit them to pass over me and around me. And when the puff fad has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the puffs have gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain, with other uses for my left over sock yarn.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Puffs,
I will fear no Puff: For Yarn is with me;
My needles and my patterns, they comfort me.
Though I knit on other things in the presence of mine enemies;
I will still gladly swap scraps; My cup runneth over.
Surely fiber and yarnshall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will knit what I choose forever.