Discover Top Posts Tagged with #no mail

Is there a nationalized postal service in the omega timeline? If so, what is it called and what kinds of monsters typically work there?

I’ll be transparent when I haven’t thought of things. No there isn’t a planned mail system..

I’m sorry to all the mail fans who wanted mail in nightwatch. I failed you.

I have a lot of world building lore but I don’t got everything. Maybe I’ll have mail in the future I am really sorry though

#nightwatch au #no mail #sorry

Small Town Tokyo: Yukigayaotsuka

#color photography #tokyo small business #small town tokyo #no mail #graphic design #tokyo summer #yukigayaotsuka

not to be petty but bellamy would never for eggo

#no mail #bellarke #the 100 spoilers #anti becho #anti echo

Firsthand account of the devastation in Puerto Rico

From the facebook of Connie McBride I find myself wanting to share more and more details about the aftermath of the storm, and people have been asking for updates, so I thought I’d combine the two. I apologize in advance if these impressions seem scatterbrained. So does my life. [I’ve included “almost a month after the storm” updates in brackets.]

When we first peeked out the hurricane shutters, the most immediately obvious devastation was to nature. Not only were many trees uprooted and branches lost, the most depressing thing to see was that almost all of the trees were bare of leaves. And blooms of any kind. We walked the golf course the next day, looking for a mango tree that we had been told about, hoping to find some fruit downwind of the tree. It is shocking how nearly impossible trees are to identify with no leaves. We found the tree, but only by the leaves left on the branches downwind of the tree. The branches that snapped off before the leaves blew away. No flowers on the trees means the hummingbirds and bees are hungry.

One of the first things we did when we got to the house made hummingbird food and fill the feeders. They and the bananaquits are very happy with me. [The trees started to turn green again in two weeks. They have tiny little buds all over them. But it will be a while before there is adequate food for all the critters that depend on the flowers so our hummingbirds will stick around a bit longer.

The hills are turning green, but out west, the taller mountains are taking a bit longer to turn green. They were harder hit and with more salt in the air. Many of the trees will likely not come back at all.]Next was the devastation to manmade structures. The most noticeable were the power lines. The most heart wrenching were the roofs.

Power lines were scattered across nearly every road. Poles snapped in the middle, with the top part hanging on by the wires, leaving them dangling over the road. Or they snapped at the base, leaned out over the road, and the wires only let them go so far, like tiny roofs over each road. Sometimes there were limbs of one type of tree stuck in the branches of a next kind of tree. (Although sometimes it’s hard to tell because there are no leaves.) You have to wonder how it got there and why it stopped there. [The only thing that has changed is that some of the poles that were blocking the road have been removed. Almost all roads are drivable (though I won’t say “clear” since you still have to dodge the errant pole in the road and wires hang down, catching on larger vehicles that drive under them).

It may actually be getting worse since all the rain we have had has weakened what tentative hold some of the poles had on the earth and they are sagging further every day.]The roofing was unimaginable. Metal roofing mostly, but also plywood and various other materials scattered about: in the trees, caught in wires, on top of power poles, strewn across fields for miles. Sometimes you look at some roofing, look to windward, and wonder just how far that had to have flown, since there isn’t a building in that direction. Interestingly, Dave noted that for some of the roofing, the heads actually popped off the roofing nails. That’s not the part that everyone expects to fail. [The roofing in the road has mostly been removed, but it is still sprinkled across every other surface.

There are a few FEMA tarps covering the houses where this roofing once was, but pathetically few. I must say, FEMA seems to have dropped the ball on this one. There is no reason for a family to still be living without a roof a month after a storm.]Which leads us to the human element. Let me first of all say we came out fine. No damage at all to ourselves or anything we own. But somehow that lessens the impact not at all. I know we are extremely fortunate, and I certainly don’t want this to sound like I am complaining. I’m simply trying to give you an idea of what life is like right now.

Three families we know have lost everything. One house slid down the hill (they were not in it), another family was in their condo when it was wiped out by a tornado. I keep these families in my heart and mind, every time I start to even THINK about complaining. But here is what life is like. After the first several days of not being allowed out at ALL, for the first two weeks or so we were under strict curfew, only allowed to be out between noon and 4. When lines at the store, bank, and gas station are hours long, this lead to grumpy, frustrated people. [We are now allowed out between 8 am and 7 pm.]But of course there is no electricity and not projected to be any for 6 months to a year. And with that comes its own challenges.

Yes, I know, we lived without electricity for years (not really, we had a 12 volt system and solar panels on the boat) but in a house not designed with that in mind, it is a bit more of a challenge. For one thing, without power we have no running water. We dip buckets into our cistern (which thankfully is conveniently located under the porch) to fill 5-gallon buckets in the kitchen to wash dishes, in the bathroom to flush the toilet, and one black one we set in the sun to heat up for our “pour a bowl of water over your head” showers. Plus there are no lights (we’re using flashlights) and chargers (we have a small 12-volt system for chargers now).

Our phone doesn’t work without my booster, which has to be plugged in, so for weeks we had no phone at the house. No wifi anywhere on island except for small pockets here and there. The best way to give you an idea of what “no communication” is like is to explain how we had to arrange to meet someone. Since most of us do not have phone service at home, we go to our local “phone booth,” which is the top of the nearest hill or a spot on the road that has signal.

You can identify them by all the people standing around, walking in circles, looking at their phone trying to identify that sweet spot where you can get one bar. Since curfew was so long and driving such a pain and the phone booth usually miles from home, we all made a habit of going once a day. So on Thursday I texted my friend, “Let’s get together on Sunday.” She didn’t get the message until Friday, when she texted back, “Great! Our house, what time?” I got the message Saturday and sent, “Lunch?” and I had to just hope she got it before we showed up on Sunday.

Welcome to communication in the islands post-cat 5. And of course, we have no refrigeration, which is major for a lot of people (and sometimes the only reason they run their generator) but a no-brainer for us, since we’ve been dealing with no fridge or ice for over a decade on the boat.

Anyone who has lived in the Caribbean knows the importance of a fan. On the boat, we have 7 pointing to our various favorite spots to sit, work, and sleep. Now, in the house, with no power, we have no fans. A little thing, for sure, but when you’ve gotten used to having a ceiling fan in the tropics, you mourn its loss. [A friend bought us an inverter in the States and brought it down when she flew home, so we now have intermittent phone at the house. Solar panels are ordered, waiting on the ship to come in. HA!

Christiansted has power in select areas and wifi is available sometimes, too. I made the acquaintance, quite by chance, of a wonderful group of people whose office is not usable right now and have moved to a space downtown that has power and wifi. They invited me to join them in their new “office” so that I can work again, after 5 weeks without wifi at the house and being unable to work.]A few silly things that have changed that irritate me (but again, we are blessed, I know, so this isn’t a complaint, it’s simply sharing information). Because curfew is in effect until so late in the morning, I can no longer run. (I generally run 5:30 to 6:30 am so I get sunrise but little heat. Running in the tropics any later than that is silly! I’m not a fan of heat stroke, so I’ll wait until curfew is lifted earlier.)

And we can’t go to the beach because the water is so contaminated with debris and runoff. (I don’t think a full day has gone by since the storm that it hasn’t rained.) Water quality is tested by a facility off-island and since there is no mail, there is no water quality testing going on. I’m not willing to take a chance. Yet. Restaurants weren’t open for a week, then slowly they started on limited menus for the short time that we were not under curfew. [Even now our favorite restaurants aren’t open. Which is hard for a lot of people who have electric stoves and are struggling to find a way to cook at home.]Ah yes, mail.

Well, there is no outgoing mail until further notice. That’s right, we can’t send ANYTHING off island. Mail is supposedly being delivered, but the only mail that anyone I’ve talked to has seen was sent prior to the storm. No mail ordered after Maria has yet been delivered. Ships are arriving. In fact, we expect our solar panels to be here this week. But shipping off island is still a bit too iffy for us to contemplate. Stores were getting low on some supplies before the first ship came in, but it was never scary low. The only thing that was scary was how long the lines were to get into the stores the first few weeks. [We did not go to the store for two weeks. Once we finally had to go, it was no worse than a busy day at any time of year.]It was two weeks before we went to the harbor. Every day we would venture a little farther from home, see new destruction, I would have an anxiety attack and we would have to go home. (By the way, I don’t HAVE anxiety attacks. Ever. Over anything. Until now.)

As we got numb to the devastation nearby, we would venture a little farther (and as curfew allowed). Finally we made it all the way to the harbor and my heart broke all over again. My tears of heartbreak turned to anger as I saw all the boats on the beach, reef, boardwalk, or sunk with sails and other canvas still on. I won’t get into it. It’s the same thing I said after Omar and no one ever learns, so I won’t repeat myself.Our house and stuff was fine, but there was some interesting damage.

We had a large bush/tree on the corner of our house. When we got back after the storm, it was gone. Not until we walked all the way around the house to check for damage did we find it. The wind had uprooted it (you couldn’t even tell where it had been), blown it across the front of the house to the fence, then around the corner and up the side of the house until it got wedged between the side of the house and the fence. Dave almost couldn’t get it out. Our chainlink fence was blown over in another spot. Nothing hit it, that we can tell. That was just WIND. There were wires torn off the roof and our favorite soursop tree was down (Dave replanted it.) but the most interesting damage was inside the house. We boarded up all the windows, but the kitchen and bath windows since they have Miami shutters. We figured they would let pressure in/out so maybe we wouldn’t lose our roof, but what we hadn’t anticipated was what else they would let in.

We knew there would be water on the floor (several inches of standing water in the kitchen and bath from the windows and in the living room where it blew AROUND the door) but we hadn’t expected the MUD. Every surface in the kitchen and bath had a fine layer of mud on it. Even all the way up the sides of the cabinets, far above where the wind should have been able to reach. It’s as if the wind was swirling around in there. I don’t want to know. Before the storm we didn’t know there were any houses across the street in the valley. After Irma we were shocked. “Look at that blue house! I had no idea it was there.” But now, after Maria, because the trees are stripped, we can see 50 houses in the valley across the street. Amazing. [The houses are slowly disappearing as the trees grow new leaves, but some of them will be visible for many more years because of the branches that are now missing.]

Besides the hummingbirds and bees, there are other animals acting strangely. People have reported an unusually number of fruit bats. I assume they are hungry and venturing out where they never had to before. There is no fruit for them to eat. On an island full of tropic fruit trees, this is uncomfortable to contemplate. And we have an infestation of (thankfully NOT biting) little black bugs that come out every night and swarm our light and any white surface (such as a book that we are reading). We sweep up handfuls of them every morning and our white tile floor looks like it's carpeted. [After several weeks of this, they seem to be tapering off. Thankfully!]

My favorite part of this experience is watching how people react. Instead of “How are you?” people ask, “How did you make out?” or “How is the house/office/farm?” And people invariably downplay their answer. I’ve watched people whom I know lost a window, everything in their bedroom was soaked, and they had to fight life and limb to keep the rest of the house from going with it reply, “Fine. I did fine.” And when someone answers, “The house is okay,” it means that they likely lost part or all of the roof, but they’re still living in it. And I’ve seen people whose houses are not even livable reply, “It could have been worse.” Of course, we can all say that. All of us admit that it could have been worse. I also hear, “It is what it is,” a lot. Yes, it is. And we know we all have to accept it in whatever way we can and go on. Because life goes on, even if it is in a strange and foreign version of “normal.”

The most frequently heard phrase is, “I’m thankful for…” Some have more to be thankful for than others, but we are all, every one of us, thankful for something. [Not much has changed. I still see people greet each other on the street for the first time since the storm and burst into tears. “It’s so good to see you” is not something people just say. It is said with the true meaning of the words. To finally lay eyes on someone you’ve not gotten any word from since the storm is such a relief.

A good friend was off island for Maria. Her husband sent her an email explaining the safe room he had built, the food and water and important papers he was taking in there with him, and he sent her a kiss emoji and then nothing. For five days she heard nothing. Yes, he’s find, yes, it all works out, but put yourself there for a minute. See why we’re all a little shell-shocked? No one should have to go through that. Much less thousands of us going through that same sort of trauma. When I say we’re like an entire island of PTSD victims, I’m not exaggerating.

Everyone is a bit dazed. We all sort of wander around sometimes, completely lost and not knowing why. Most of us have nightmares (mine are of being chased, I wonder why?) and I worry most about the kids.]We were asked why we don’t leave, and several of our friends have, for either short stays or getting off the island for good. My first reaction (and what I mumble through the tears nearly every time we ventured out of the house for the first several weeks) was, “Get me out of here. I can’t do this.” We made a plan, we contacted our property manager to tell him we were leaving, we shut off our power (now THAT is funny), and we made plans. But there were no flights off the island for several weeks. Shipping our stuff off island was going to take even longer.

And Home Depot was closed for over two weeks after the storm, so we couldn’t even buy moving boxes. And honestly, by then, the shock had worn off just enough that I was OK staying. [But that “OK” is relative and changes. Some days I still have “get me out of here” moments. We both do. And I doubt we will stay much longer. But for now, we are here, we are rebuilding, we are hugging our friends and thankful for little things.]Through all of this I have much to be thankful for, in addition to the obvious of not losing anything during the storm. I am thankful for the giving that I see every day. The office I am working in is being offered to me free. When I asked why they were doing this I was told, “Tough times. We have, others don’t. So we’re sharing.” And that sums up this past month.

Dozens of people I know are STILL living with others because their home is damaged or destroyed. Labor is donated to those who do not have the skills (or money to pay for the skills) to complete work that is necessary to make life a little more normal. The attitude “I have, you don’t, so I’m sharing” is everywhere. It makes me smile daily. And I’m thankful for Crucian drivers. They can operate a busy intersection with no traffic lights like no drivers I’ve ever seen. No horn honking (unless it’s to say, “Go ahead”) or frustration. You go, then I go, and we’ll all get there. It’s amazing to watch. I’m thankful for the sounds of post-hurricane paradise: the generators (extension cords run from the houses that have one to one or more neighbors who don’t), chainsaws, weedeaters, pole saws, circular saws. It all sounds like recovery to me. I’m thankful for a propane stove. We were at a party the other day and people were talking about how bad they have it. Dave said, “Connie’s been baking every day…” “BAKING?? How?” “We have a propane stove.” “We do, too, but the oven doesn’t work without power.”

So I guess I’m most thankful for our cheap little house with its cheap propane stove that does NOT have a “brain” to run the oven. Cookies, cake, bread, life goes on as normal at our house. (Relatively so.) I’m thankful that our cistern is under the porch so we have easy access to thousands of gallons of rainwater, with more coming every day. I’m thankful for a paper fan a friend bought me years ago. It’s been put to good use lately! I’m thankful for the two hummingbird feeders I have so I can feed the birds. And I’m most thankful for the 15 years of boating experience. I’m washing laundry in a bucket with a plunger, we’re hauling water, using a 12-volt system, showering untraditionally, cooking on propane, brewing coffee in a French press, just like we’ve done for years. And I don’t doubt that this experience will help us be better prepared for something else that life throws at us later on.None of this is different from any other tragedy that happens around the world every day. But I think sometimes we don’t have a clue what people are going through. I know I’ll never look at another victim of a natural disaster the same way again.

#storm #hurrican #Virgin Islands #Christiansted #Puerto Rico #devastation #nature #no power #no wifi #no communication #no mail #long post #long read #FEMA #disaster #disaster relief

But it messes things up for the rest of the neighborhood

Want to never get unsolicited (physical) mail again? Follow these instructions, it took me less than 10min. I have been getting an obscene amout of junkmail since the holiday season, here's hoping this works!

#no mail #mailbox 0 #mailbox zero