Slight Detour: Thursday This, That; TBT's

Another beautiful day and fun visit with my horses.

Life is good.

As one who has experienced a house fire where all is lost, my heart breaks for every single family in Southern California now homeless because of the devastating fires.

Yesterday I watched live footage of houses, stores, libraries, etc. engulfed in flames and I listened to several interviews with people who had lost their homes.

One featured a lady who began to wonder on camera about her future, not only with her home but also with her profession as a realtor.

As she pondered, she said probably the first thing she would do is to go buy some clothes.

That statement brought me back to the night of Dec. 20, 1984, when the kids and I (Bill was in Louisiana) left the sight of our burning home with firefighters trying their best to douse the flames.

We drove over to my parents' house where we would stay a couple of days before several days in a motel and then several months in a condo.

While there, my mother and our friend Judy, whose son was receiving tutoring from my sister, tried to calm me down from crying inconsolably. In the midst of those moments, my mission was to call Bill and let him know about the fire.

As I sat in the chair by the telephone, Judy and Mother came my way with a sample bottle of whiskey Mother had brought home from her trip to Spain.

"Drink some of this," the two of them insisted. "It will calm you down."

"No," I said.

They continued to strongly encourage me to take just a sip or two.

Again, I refused while sitting there just wanting to use the phone.

One more time, they went on the offensive, the two of them teaming up with one holding the bottle and the other, a glass.

When they again tried to push the whiskey my way, somehow, a whole lot of whiskey spilled with its stream dropping directly into the crotch of the khaki slacks I was wearing.

My sobbing stopped, and my stern teacher voice rose from the grief.

"These are the only clothes I own in the world," I emphatically announced to the two well-meaning ladies, "and you have spilled whiskey down my crotch."

It turned out to be a welcome moment of comic relief for all of us. Still, there was the stark realization of how fast all those "things" we acquire through a lifetime can be gone in almost the blink of an eye.

We learned in our situation about losing everything and about slowly, ever so slowly, fighting the insurance battles while trying to put the pieces of our lives back together albeit not all of them.

I still yearn for the kids' baby books and the personal mementos of my own life, but those yearns are fleeting, knowing that those items are forever gone and that life does go on.

It's just different, and one's perspective in the years afterward about losing "the stuff" does change dramatically, once you've been there.

I can't even imagine the magnitude of the loss and the sadness when I multiply our situation by the thousands.

I can imagine, however, the goodness many may be experiencing, thanks to the generosity and caring of their fellow Californians who have provided help on so many levels.

Losing a home is definitely the worst of times followed by a blend of frustration and usually a generous touch of goodness.

Wishing the best for all of the fire victims.

~~~~~~

From this morning's Bonner County History . . .

Jan. 9, 1950 – N.I.R.E.R.A. HAS NEW NAME

With the opening of the new year, the North Idaho Rural Electric Rehabilitation Assn. has changed its name to Northern Lights, Inc.

Ora E. Beasley, the new manager, arrived with his wife and their four small daughters on Monday. They are making their home in the Lloyd Gardner house at 521 N. Fourth.

~~~~~

This was a fun history note for today. We have been associated with Northern Lights, Inc., for most of my life.

I can remember, as a child, attending the Northern Lights picnics along with so many others whom the cooperative served.

I also remember when Northern Lights threatened to turn off the power at our farm on North Boyer because the electric bill had not been paid.

Mother knew she had paid it and wasted no time going to the office to protest. At the time Pat Gass (sister to Pat McManus and our family friend) worked at Northern Lights. She may have been the one who finally found Mother's check in a folder.

When the check was received, apparently, staff members couldn't figure out whom to credit because they could not make out the name in the signature line.

They thought it was "Tililis," when, in fact, it was "Tibbs."

My mother, an artist, had beautiful penmanship, but it was so beautiful that sometimes readers couldn't make out some of the words.

When it was finally established that "Tililis" was, indeed, "Tibbs" on the check, Northern Lights left our power on.

For a time, I worked for Northern Lights, writing feature stories and taking pictures for the Ruralite, a monthly magazine that went to the homes of all Northern Lights customers, along with others in electric cooperatives around the region.

https://www.tannerelectric.coop/ruralite-magazine

The news note above is also interesting in that one of Ora Beasley's four daughters, Shirley, was my classmate in the first grade at Lincoln School.

Lots of memories associated with Northern Lights, Inc., and the most meaningful: the service provided for homeowners, especially from those who work so hard during storms to restore electricity as quickly as possible.

Much appreciated.