It never rains but it pours

Mom and I were discussing that particular adage the other day... most people I've spoken to seem to think the saying is two separate ideas, and that the "but" in the middle is just there for linkage. They also seem to think it has to do strictly with weather.

I'm back, for the moment, to say they're all wet.

Whenever it rains, it pours and the basement floods.

I'm still using my bestest friend's cute little laptop for another few days, while she gallivants across the state (she's driving her aunt and uncle to the airport and doing other errands for her mom, plus she's still trying to get together plans to properly celebrate her son's 21st b-day... yesterday --I think the poor young man may have, for a moment, believed me when I told him his mom was going to get him drunk and get him a hooker). In other words, my mom's computer is still in the shop.

Mom is also waiting to get her replacement debit card heading out to activate her replacement debit card after having a briefly terrifying experience on the trip she and Dad took to their Elderhostel in Superior, WI.(more on that when I'm back on a familiar keyboard). She's already taken care of the credit cards which came here via overnight delivery when they had requested it be sent to them there.

But now, I'm waiting for the insurance adjuster to call back about replacing my front porch roof... again. The remaining century-old sugar maple decided last night was a good time to lay down arms and abide a while. After a month of drought, we had a really short but very heavy downpour, followed by about three great gusts of wind, and suddenly, I have a half a tree punching a hole in my porch roof. (Pictures may be forthcoming).

I know I just went through this same process about a year ago, didn't I just?
(Update, 5:45 pm: I'm informed by the insurance claims office lady that it was almost exactly 2 years ago. How time flies!)

Fortunately, the tree gods spared my windows, they spared the house's main roof, they spared the cats who were sleeping on my porch, they spared the porch floor, they even spared most of the flower pots distributed among the coreopsis. The tiger lily still stands, as do the asiatic lilies, the lilies of the valley, and the ubiquitous hostas. But the bushes, the cedar-chip walkway, the coreopsis, the steel water dish are all flatter than I wish my haunches were. And the enamel pickling kettle I had been using as a rain barrel resembles nothing so much as a work by Rauschenberg. Plus there are several new uneven spots in the turf, perfect for me to turn my already weak ankle and further screw up my knees (which I promptly did). I had thought, with all my workouts, it might be safe to put away my cane this year. Hmmmph.

So the house is scary, my ankle and knees are purple, and I lack my own familiar computer for downloading all those exciting pix. Again, hmmmph.

At least the heat is reduced around here, and the cats are cuddly again. And the Ameren guys showed up seven hours ahead of what the customer service lady told me to expect, and they were courteous and, dare I say, comforting. And the tree service guy agreed to come back as soon as possible to take out the rest of that old sugar maple before it falls on the neighbor's house. I got a lot of really good service, even though the tv news indicated the crews were being run ragged by all the outages and treefalls. Today's not a complete bust.

I just need to win the lottery, now. Anybody got any ideas how I can fix that?