@soryang

It seems that every day, either my wife or I will reach for something that simply isn't there anymore- lost in our house fire or the theft that followed. All but one of our pets who were rescued from the fire have since crossed the rainbow bridge as well, and at times we feel very much adrift.

We haven't replaced much. We've only bought just enough furniture to have a place to sit and sleep, and most of it is disposable particleboard from Ikea or Target. We rattle around in our cheap little apartment like a BB in a soda can. We know that it'll all just go into a landfill when we're gone, so we've seriously reduced our footprint. We're still donating stuff that was "salvaged" after the fire, as well- so there's not much left from the pre-fire era at all. It is an odd sensation.

The good news is that I e-filed our taxes last night, and we will actually be getting a refund, for the first time in decades. I filed as early as we possibly could, so that we wouldn't get the excuse of the government being broke to delay that miniscule payout. Now, we just wait for the message about getting audited again.

We've reduced our footprint enough to be able to do the expat thing, and we're finally starting to really look into it. We shall see...

I've had somewhat similar experience in the yard of our wrecked home, after each flood. Ms. So had planted milkweed in her small gardens to attract the butterflies. The population had definitely fallen off over the years. I told her one season, that I hadn't recalled seeing any in some time, at least not more than one at a time, and then after Ian, I noticed seeing two or three at time. If I were out at the home alone, and it was quiet because no one was around, no car noises, no plane noises, no pounding of nail guns on rooves being repaired, no lawn mowers or blowers, or saws cutting down trees to get ready for the next hurricane season, I might have a "still pond" moment of reflection upon seeing a pair of butterflies, doing their aerial choreography, which looked random but wasn't. It's difficult to experience that state of mind, now that the world is in chaos, and what Lee calls the moral injury of genocide is ubiquitous. It appears a seamless continuum with our own disrupted lives, although I can't imagine the suffering in these wars and mass murders. I can't take more than 24 hours at a time, not knowing what will happen next. The garden is untended now and all overgrown with weeds.

Along the same lines, I had a perceived episode of synchronicity recently which I may have written of before. It is difficult to lose a loved animal, Sima. With your experience, you know better than I. After smokey died, I felt a void.

Feeling the absence, carrying it around with me, I noticed an attractive young woman and her child in the parking lot as I was on the way to the apartment office to complain about something. I passed within about five yards of them and noticed the child playing with a small black terrier puppy, I think it was. His jet black hair and size looked like a young smokey and I was struck by the resemblance just as the dog ran toward me and jumped up on my legs, again and again, playfully. He then rolled over on his back as I reached to pet him and commented that he looked my old dog. Mom said don't worry he won't bite. He wouldn't go to them when called. Her daughter chased after him and carried him off. As I walked away, I thought, such a simple coincidence? I felt as if smokey sent him. So Jungish.

Still struggling with the contractors trying to restore the broken house as much as I can. It's difficult to sleep at night. I heard a victim of the California wild fires say the same. Know the feeling.

Thanks for the OT Sima.