When it rains...it comes through my ceiling.

Apparently when my life evens out into an unexciting lull, someone raps on the door of disaster and tells them I’m unamused and it’s time to mix things up. So I guess it’s my fault for being a tad bored. Plus, I pretty much am in the 15^th percentile when it comes to luck (Exceptions: Winning the Academy Awards Bleacher Seat drawing in '03; Being chosen to volunteer at The Sundance Film Festival 2x). Note: I'm talking strictly about "luck." Of course good things happen to me, but that's usually the result of hard work.

This last week I was spending time in Portland for a good friend of mine's wedding festivities when I got an unwelcome call from my landlord.

"There's been a little leak."

Because I lack the optimist's outlook, I immediately told my mom: "With my luck, it will be anything but little."

I was right. The "little" leak had made its kind way onto my bed and through my mattress, through my box spring, onto my bed frame, and everything underneath my bed. I guess I should be lucky that my shoes and purses were left unharmed. No one would want to see that itemized list. If that wasn't enough, when I came "home," my stuff had been left in the grass in front of my apartment to dry along with my mattress leaning against the building with no one in sight.

"I hope the newspapers you had weren't important underneath your bed."

Being that I'm not someone who hoards random newspapers/magazines underneath their bed, of course they were important. 9-11. The day my niece was born. The day & days leading to my dad's appointment as Chief of Police. My graduation programs. Obama's Inauguration. Funny enough, two of the Time Magazines that did survive had Palin and McCain on the cover. I guess it could be worse; my last name could be Santorum. Go ahead, google it. No, President Santorum definitely isn't going to work based on name alone.

That's why I know life has a sense of humor. Also because the day after this catastrophe, I got all new tires on my car, drove 2 miles home and one went flat

It’s hard to get truly angry (although I may have an ulcer from stress) when you have such wonderful people surrounding you. Like the people you call when you’re 180 miles away from home and they run to your rescue to advocate on your behalf, then take apart your bed, strip your sheets & wash them, and give you the full honest report. Or the people who drive up for the day on short notice to take care of business and start replacing those items that are replaceable and comfort you in the loss of things that aren’t. And hug you when you cry because all of your personal affects have been spread out on the grass/sidewalk for all to see. Or the people who amid a very busy day take 10 minutes to give you their professional law advice pro bono. Or the people who sit across from you at the kitchen table researching and staying 150% calm when you are anything but and tell you why and how this will all work out. And the people that call to see if there’s anything they can do because they know that just asking helps.

Bothered? Yes. Angry? I can’t get there.

Mostly because I have the image of my niece doing her first “big girl wave” this past Monday while she sat in my lap and watching her persistence in crawling over everything and everyone to the toy she wanted. She reminds me that even though my barriers may seem of a larger scale than people’s legs or coffee tables, she is conquering hers which are just as big to her in her new adventures of mobility. My heart is too full and encouraged by that little girl’s determination and I’m so thankful for her beating heart. I know mine won’t beat forever, so in the minimal time it does, I’d prefer to smile. Mattresses, bed frames, apartments? Replaceable. My people however, are not.

And certainly not this little one who just remembering that she exists, makes me smile.