Tolerations

On Monday morning at 5AM, the condo building’s fire alarm blared. The undulating screeches– which continued for a solid thirty minutes–alternated with a woman’s kind but insistent voice informing us: There has been a fire reported in your building. Please leave your unit and find safety. The fire department is on its way.

To my husband, I muttered, “What next?” and to myself, I wondered: How much more can I tolerate?

This past year while we watched the nation battle the pervasive pandemic, the surges of racial unrest, and a contested, divisive presidential election, I was embroiled in my own little world of misery. In October, the very week that my husband and I were to leave our home in northwest Indiana to spend the winter in Sarasota, we got a midnight phone call: our upstairs neighbor’s water heater had flooded our newly decorated condo. This dumb luck affected several other units and the condo lobby, too.  

Misery does love company. 

For weeks, my husband and I fought to get an insurance adjuster out to evaluate the water-logged insulation and drywall, wrecked carpets and tile floors, and give us an allowance for repairs. Concurrent with the drama of gathering our personal items, putting salvageable furnishings into permanent storage, we interviewed quality contractors who could restore our unit back to its previous condition. 

During these nerve-wracking weeks, we scrounged for suitable interim housing, a rare commodity given that the “snowbirds” had booked the best rentals the previous year. The skinny is that a nearby, fully furnished rental with beach access magically opened up. The owners had intended to replace all the windows and doors but due to Covid-related manufacturing and shipping delays, the unit was immediately available.

We considered ourselves lucky…

Until a tropical storm/category one hurricane came bounding in. As my husband and I hid in the bathroom, away from the rattling-and-needing-to be-replaced doors and windows, I was reminded of my youth. In the Midwest, my siblings and I grabbed our flashlights and scrambled to the basement to wait for the tornado sirens to go off. In this tiny, Florida rental condo, there was no basement, and the flashlight we found in the back of the silverware drawer lacked batteries. I scolded myself. As a past Girl Scout leader, hadn’t I been trained to be better prepared?

Yet, nothing could prepare me for all the annoying mishaps which transpired after the hurricane galloped on. A closet organizer collapsed, strewing our few belongings this way and that. Next, one of the closet doors separated from its frame, and I got a nasty sliver trying to push it back together. Sweet ants marched in through cracks and crevices, assuming complete ownership of the first-floor unit. 

The ultimate insult was the ants repeated infestation of the filter in the gourmet coffee maker, which I had lugged over from our water-deluged condo. I’m proud to be part of the generation that grew up with the jingle: the best part of waking up, is Folgers in your cup. A true ‘I need my coffee to start the day’ kind of person, the ants repeat appearances in the coffee maker has traumatized me.

There is always more to endure if we look for it.

As I write this, the master bath sink is slow to drain, black mold clings to the caulk in the shower, and the fridge has decided to freeze everything on the two bottom shelves. I also doubt that the dishwasher is capable of sanitizing the hodge-podge of dishes I shove in there. 

Enough already. Here’s the good news.

Our old condo has been restored and ready for move in. My husband got both of his shots and I’m scheduled for my first one at home in Indiana. Our nation survived the “Year Like No Other” and the President has promised that everyone is eligible to receive the vaccine by May. Life may return to the old normal around July 4^th. Isn’t this wonderful?

After surviving the pandemic year with most of my sanity intact, I have a new outlook about tolerations. When we are subjected to more challenges than we think we can cope with, we find a way to endure. We can all tolerate more than we expect. Thanks to humor, sunshine, exercise, and the willing ear of a sister, neighbor, tennis or golf partner. 

As you consider your tolerations from this past year, here’s some wisdom to ponder:

Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves
to recognize how good things really are.
– Marianne Williamson

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