It’s also nice to think about ridiculous places I will never find myself during an earthquake. For instance, I am never going to be inside a chimney.

“Like anyone,” I enjoy the idea of the earth kind of…what, shrugging its shoulders. And then our things ripple off like so many barnacle-dominoes. But, like anyone, I like this idea from afar, as in a screening. Or viewed from a pile of money with which I have rendered my property safe.

As it is the only property I can really protect is my body, I don’t want to think about bad things that could happen to my computer. S and I having a conversation in the car last night: where to *put* the disaster kit once we finally purchase them? (I think one gets a few buckets for the neighborhood and stashes in carport, too.) Does one strap the backpack on before bed each night? (a friend suggested that perhaps I shd just retire each evening with a defibrillator while I’m at it.)

At what point does one stop being a tourist in the place where they live?

I have an idea that the slab-of-cement patio in front of my house is intensely safe. It seems so solid, with no walls to fall down. (except the entire building to which it is attached.) I totally understand the instinct of running into the street and getting bonked with a falling chimney. If it happens during the day and I am at home, I will be hard-pressed to fight off the logic of quick, to the patio!

July 26, 2007 * 7:25 pm

July 26, 2007 * 4:55 pm

and I didn’t have my camera with me

July 19, 2007 * 9:29 am

July 10, 2007 * 3:19 pm