There was a 4.1 earthquake here a few moments ago. My windows rattled, something or another thumped, and my heart did its panic dance. Ooooh noooo, earthquake, I said, even though there's no one here with me. But before I could do anything other that hold onto the edge of my desk, it was over.
In the aftermath of the December windstorm I was so rattled I lost my keys, my cell phone, the saw, and the pruning shears, and whatever else I needed a dozen times. I decided the most important emergency item I need is a waist pack so I can keep track of the essentials while my brain drowns in adrenaline.
C. made fun of me. She's at her best when there's some adrenaline around. She said I never would have survived in primitive times. "Help! Here comes a mastodon! Help! Has anyone seen my spear?!!!?" would have been the last words I spoke.
I have an emergency backpack. I have two of them. I have battery lanterns and a battery cell phone charger. But now that my house is scraped to the bone, polished, and ready for its anorexic glamor days on the real estate market, I don't know where my emergency backpacks are.
Help. Has anyone seen my emergency backpack?
2 comments:
I did not feel that! I hate earthquakes, and I hate even more the nagging feeling that I'm not properly prepared for them.
We're supposed to have all these supplies ready for hurricane season. We usually get warning, though, unlike with earthquakes.
I sure hope you find those bags.
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