Tornadoes, Hurricanes, Earthquakes

It's been raining non-stop today. Driving vision was impaired. While getting coffee earlier this evening, our little 4-door Saturn was practically washed away -- flooded literally -- by the humongous Texas trucks on the road. And, as my friend T. and I were regaling each other of stories about Xmas presents and new year's celebrations, she told me that Austin has been under tornado warning all evening. If I had been watching DFW news instead of watching Pirates of the Caribbean, I would know that most of TX is usually under tornado warning. Which is why driving anywhere in a dinky little Saturn would be considered things to do by the criminally insane. So, as the year 2006 ends, it suddenly occurred to me that within the past five years, I've been experiencing quite a little bit of Mother Nature's gentle reminders. Tornadoes in TX. Hurricanes in NC. Earthquakes in CA.

They are, however, only close calls, so are not truly life threatening in any way. The tornado warnings have always hovered over us while living in DFW, but the one that came closest to me touched down 3-4 blocks from our house -- which by all accounts is practically leagues away. In fact, it landed on top of the U.S. Post Office. The Hurricane in Wilmington was not that traumatic except for a bit of wind and slashing rain. But, they did officially "evacuate" did the campus, did they not? As for the earthquakes in Berkeley, I haven't felt anything over a 4.1, so it's not that bad. Thankfully, the Big One won't be hitting for another 10-20 years. I have high hopes that I would have made enough money by that time that it wouldn't matter if one or two of my houses fall off the cliffs into the Pacific Ocean.

Given that I've experienced three of the major forces of mother nature's repertoire within a short span of 5 years, I've re-affirmed my new year's resolution to build me a better emergency kit backpack. Well, inquiring minds want to know what is currently in my ready-made backpack which is lodged inside my closet -- I dunno if it's retrievable since it's packed in among the other whatnot. But, the items currently inside my bag are:

1. Batteries for a flashlight that is missing. I know, it'll be found, I assure you. I just got misplaced. Or I broke it the last time I went rummaging. But, I DO have batteries.
2. 1 box of band-aids. For all the cuts and bruises that I might receive while performing my duties as the neighborhood hero, such as saving little old ladies. Or, to be used for the faking of terrible injuries while I relieve said little old ladies of their flashlights.
3. 1 set of garden gloves. I don't know how they got in there. I don't know why they are in there. But I will have gloves should I ever need to do some serious gardening after the earthquake hits. You never know how much the garden will come in handy b/c we might have to grow our own vegetables after the Big One destroys all.

While this is not a very long list, I assure you that it is a very large bag. No, I doubt it will hold my t.v. or my radio. But it will hold many other things, and as soon as I figure out what else I'll need, it's going in the bag.

Seriously, though, I can be gleeful about "surviving" such things only b/c I haven't endured tsunamis and hurricanes on Katrina scales. Knowing this gives me some rather large perspectives. Suddenly, friendships become more valuable and relationships a lot more tenuous. Suddenly, life seems rather small -- or, grander, for some of us. The things I would like to do for 2007 seem more attainable and other visions about writing and producing seem more meaningful. Working in a seminary loses some of its weightier dimensions -- in good ways-- and, surprisingly, the anticipation of things to come -- that anticipation is exciting instead of being scary or mundane. Almost similar to the feeling of starting a newer draft of an old poem. Before, everything was chaotic, the words, the black and white spaces, the lines, all whirled together into some incoherent rhythm. And then the clean sweep across the landscape, making a new geography. Right there, on the page. Each time a brand new line. Each a fresh new space.