We wake to fire alarms today, three smoke detectors shrieking in unison.

But we find no fire, only flood.

Water leaks down from the upstairs bathroom through every available seam, light fixture, and smoke alarm, down to the main floor, and down again by the grace of gravity to soak the basement.

Our teens ask, “What should we do?” But we parents do not know. We cannot think clearly. The alarms wail for 90 minutes.

We deal first with what we see. Empty the sink water cup by cup into the bathtub. Open each overflowing bureau drawer, remove its swollen contents, and empty the water cup by cup. Find dirty towels, soak up water from the floor, wring towels out in the tub and start again.

Install a teen in my place, and trip downstairs to see the kitchen. Set the pots, mop the pools, and install another teen in my place.

Walk downstairs to see the studio. Appoint another teen and ask him to think this one through: find the big leaks and control the damage.

We parents slump in chairs. “Our house is ruined.” “What do we do?”

The alarms stop, batteries spent.

Chas calls the insurance company. They know what to do.

The insurance company has a disaster response program. It’s explained on a pre-printed flow chart that ends in “peace of mind restored.”

Reassured, I ask Chas, “What does this flood mean for my life? The unconscious spilling out into everything?”

He replies, “I think the question is: what does it mean for our kids? It started when one of them did not close the faucet.”

“Oh, you empirical types!” I sigh. But he is right. We plan a family meeting.

We sit outside while contractors document the mess and drag equipment into the house – leaving me to worry only about developmental lessons in household responsibility, and economic lessons in social wealth.

Here in mostly affluent Vancouver, opportunities for productive work lead to much exchange of money – enough money to save some surplus for a rainy day. So, as required by our mortgage company, we put some money into a homeowners’ insurance plan for disaster relief. The insurance company employs people and also keeps the money circulating. More of us can have a bit of surplus to buy “peace of mind” in difficult times.

A few months ago, National Geographic included a dramatic comparative poster depicting standards of living around the world. Canada is in the world’s top 1%. But today, I don’t need any comparative data. The wealth that drives our system is clear.

Today, a disaster has become an inconvenience. Our routines will be disrupted only until our home is restored.

Today, damage has become an opportunity to spread the wealth. The insurance adjustor, the project supervisor, the water technician, the contents crew and the construction specialist will all be paid.

Today, blame has been dissolved through family reflection. We discussed responsibility, maturity, self-respect, mutual respect and our shared fear of succeeding at it all.

Tomorrow, our rotten ceilings might crumble.

But today has been a very good day.

Images: microcows.blogspot.com; Laura Duhan Kaplan