The Mother's Day Flood of 1993

Ms.  Grace.  I still miss her so much!  She was such a big part of my life for such a long time.  I was just coming out, my mother had passed, I got a new job and moved from Norman to Oklahoma City.  It was a lot of changes for someone who enjoys the comfort of sameness.  I met Grace because she owned a rent house I was considering.  She was in her late 80’s and was just as suspicious of me as I was of her.  I wanted privacy to explore my new life as a lesbian, and she wanted someone responsible who would take care of her property.  Her house and the rent house shared a back yard, so I wasn’t sure of the privacy, but is was priced reasonably and very close to my new job.  It wasn’t long and we bonded over shared wine and food.  Grace loved her wine and food.

Grace was a fiercely independent woman.  Her Jimmy had passed many years before and with no children, she made her life about her friends.  Her memory was clear and she was very intelligent.  She always said that playing bridge kept her mind sharp. When she turned 90, she decided it was time to sell her car and give up driving.  Only after one last trip to Chicago, though.  As I said, she was a remarkable woman. Back then, I would host a dinner once a month or so for my newfound friends.  It was a wonderful way of getting to know each other.  Often, Grace would be the guest of honor.  She loved my friends and they seemed to love her, too.  She told me once, “Your friends, they all seem so…natural!” 

I remember one particular Sunday afternoon.  We were feasting on a roasted turkey dinner with all the trimmings, though it wasn’t Thanksgiving, I think it was springtime.  There were 10 or 12 of us gathered around the table with Grace seated at the head.  The conversation came around to politics.  I can still vividly picture Grace saying “The problem with the world today is that we’ve allowed the men to make all the decisions for us.  We need more women in politics!” You can imagine the response from my new friends.  That meal ended with all of us chanting “Grace Adams for President” over and over.

Grace particularly loved her Port Wine and her rib eye steak.  A woman after my own heart for sure.  There were many summer evenings that would find us on the patio sipping on wine waiting for the grill to heat.  We shared our favorite meal together more times than I can count.  It is now as it was then still one of my favorites. 

I begin by preparing the baked potatoes.  I set the oven temperature to 425 and scrub the potatoes absolutely clean.  The skins are an important part of my baked potatoes.  I rub each one with olive oil or butter and sprinkle all sides liberally with kosher salt and cracked black pepper.  I place the potatoes directly on the oven racks for 45 minutes to an hour.  The result is a crispy skin with the crunch of salt and pepper.  With the potatoes in the oven, I get the steaks out and after seasoning them with salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper and garlic powder.  I cover them and just let them rest until I’m ready.  This gives the seasonings time to thoroughly flavor the meat and for the steaks to come to room temperature.  It also gives time for a glass or so of wine to entice the taste buds, whet the appetite and lubricate the conversation.  Grace and I solved many of the world’s problems during those times.

While enjoying our drink, I turn on the grill so it can get blazing hot.  I want it to get to 550 degrees or so.  When the potatoes are almost done, I bring the steaks out.  This is one of the few instances of cooking that I really use a timer.  I place the steaks on the grill and time two minutes.  Give them a quarter turn and time two minutes more.  Flip the steaks and wait two minutes, another quarter turn and again two minutes.  Then they come off the grill onto a clean platter and promptly covered with foil.

While the steaks are resting for about 10 minutes, I tear some green leaf lettuce into a bowl, dress with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.  Shave some parmesan cheese over the top, a sprinkle of finishing salt, a few grinds of pepper and you have a perfect simple salad to accompany the perfectly simple meal. The steaks should have a nice crust on the outside with the center being medium rare. Ms. Grace could eat a whole steak.  She certainly did love her meat.

As the years went by, Grace’s health declined and she was forced to depend on others for help more.  I felt quite protective of her and would keep a close eye on those caretakers.  On the Saturday before Mother’s Day in 1993, her caretaker was out running errands.  It had been raining for days and the rain came back in with a vengeance.  Our houses were across the street from Lightening Creek in Oklahoma City.  I was busy working in the garage and had just come back from checking on Grace, she was napping.  I looked across the street and saw the park filling with water, at the same time, water was seeping into the garage.  I was amazed.  I had never witnessed this before.

I began putting things on higher shelves to protect them from the rising water.  It was all happening so fast!  The next time I looked out, the creek had risen over its banks and had totally flooded the park.  The water had started rushing into the street.  It was beginning to look scary.  I remembered Grace was alone, so I went to check on her again.  By this time, the water was rushing through our garages, which made crossing to her house more difficult.  I woke her.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  It was already too late to take her outside.  I wasn’t sure I would be able to manage getting her to safety through the rushing water.  It was already above my knees outside and though I could’ve managed myself, I was reluctant to leave Grace alone.

She was so disoriented.  She refused to believe there was a flood, as there had never been one there before.  I called 911.  They were able to offer no help.  They could not get to us.  By this time, the water had risen into the house and was ankle deep.  I got Grace out of bed and into the kitchen.  I managed to get her up onto the counter which was the highest point I could see.  The water now was about 3 feet deep and rushing through the house.  The washer and dryer were floating in the garage and constantly buzzing.  The tornado sirens were sounding.  I could see the street through the kitchen window and it looked like the river rapids, full of debris.  The smell of gasoline and sewage filled the air.  I called the sheriff’s department, they could not help.  We were stuck

.

The water showed no signs of slowing, so I began to pray.  I refused to leave Grace and was not at all sure what was going to happen.  The electricity went out.  The buzzing from the dryer stopped.  The tornado siren silenced.  The only sound left was the sound of rushing water.  The force of the water had opened the front door.  Pieces of Grace’s life were swirling about us and out the door into the river that used to be Santa Fe Avenue.  Sheets of music passed by, swirling with the rhythm of a song.  Her pink bed pan floated out the door, getting caught in the whirlpool on the porch before tossing and turning its way down the river.

Then I heard someone calling my name.  There was an alley along side of the house and the voice of an angel was calling me.  

The angel turned out being a friend of mine who had parked a few blocks away and made her way to the side of the house crawling along the fences.  She made it into the house.  With my friend’s help we tied Grace into her potty chair and between the two of us, were able to carry her out of the house through the rushing water and up the alley.  Debris carried by the current was hitting my legs and the stench of the water offending my nose.  We finally made it to safety.  I was amazed that dry land was only a couple of blocks away.

We took Grace to a friend’s house, and I stayed in a motel that night.  I had lost almost everything.  The next week, I lost one of my best friends, as Grace passed away.  The experience was just too much for her. 

I think I will go make a dinner in honor of my 95 year old landlady who loved her steak.  I will drink some wine salted with my tears as I remember another example of a strong, independent woman I have had the great opportunity to know and love.