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?
