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Saturday, August 07, 2004

more excitement than is precisely necessary

before I start, I want to thank everyone who left such thoughtful and supportive comments about yesterday's entry. You all rock. Kisses and hugs to you.

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We now continue with your regularly scheduled entry.
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You know how most people keep a kind of mental list of what to grab in case of a fire? It's generally a very academic exercise, with maybe a tinge of shivery fear mixed in. Here's what's generally on my list:

• a couple changes of clothes for each person (no use trying to pack all our clothes, since as soon as word got out in town that our house had burned down, we'd be inundated with clothes; people love to empty their attics and feel saintly at the same time. If you don't believe me, have a baby)
• the computer. It has everything from family pictures to financial records on it.
• The boxes of pictures that are on the shelves in the utility room.
• the cats.
• the box of Natalie memorabilia
• Some of the kids' most precious toys
• My books. I seriously have a rubbermaid tub earmarked, and if the stuff ever hits the fan, that sucker's getting its contents dumped out and I'm emptying the bookshelves into it. I've spent literally my whole life collecting those books one at a time.

Anyway. You get the idea. Everyone has this list, just in case one day you look outside and see this:


looking across the street through the parking area of the house across the street

The problem comes when you actually do, well, look outside and see that, which I did yesterday. You're faced with decisions: Do I prepare and freak out the kids, or play it casual? Will they send someone around to our houses to tell us if there's actually a risk to us? How far in advance would they do that? And the most pressing question: Do I really want to pack up a whole bunch of stuff and then just have to repack it when the fire moves the other direction? The thought reminded me of when I'd "run away" as a kid. Full of righteous indignation, I'd pack a bag and head for the door with it. I'd get talked into coming back in the house, and then I had the deflating experience of having to put away all the stuff I'd just packed. Like going on a camping trip, only without the fun of the vacation in between the bouts of work. And yet thinking about explaining to my husband that I hadn't saved anything from the house because I was too lazy to want to put it away again was also rather unappealing. Fortunately the fire was moving in the other direction in a pretty obvious way -- the wind was so steadily blowing away from us that we didn't even smell any smoke from the fire, even though it was less than a quarter-mile from our house -- so my procrastination paid off.

Total subject change -- tonight T and LT are doing their yearly observatory pilgrimage. Ordinarily we go as a family for Father's Day, but this year money was tight at Father's Day and T had been drawn in the ticket lottery for the observatory's "summer visitor program" wherein you can actually look through the telescopes and not just spend money at the gift shop, so we skipped the Father's Day visit. They won't be home till the wee small hours of the morning, which means that C and I had a little party (watching movies the boys dislike, and eating bananas with peanut butter. We are some party animals, no? Frat boys have nothing on us), and then she fell asleep and I read. A lot. I've read two Stephanie Plum books (highly addictive, and rather vulgar -- not the kind of books you'd recommend to your mother, for instance -- but hilarious and fun) in the past twelve hours. Now, for a total change of pace, I'm going to go to bed and read Jane Austen until I can't keep my eyes open. Sometimes I just shock myself. I am such a wild child. --------