Sarcasm. My Other Hobby.

 

Howdy Ho, children! It's Saint Patrick's Day!

No wait. That's Mr. Hanky. Maybe it's Mr. Hanky on Saint Patrick's Day.

We did our SPD celebrations last Saturday night at what was, to quote The Husband, "The World's Smallest Saint Patrick's Day Celebration, EVER."  Having grown up and lived in a place that takes it's Irish roots pretty seriously (rumor has it that Saint Paul, MN was at one point the number two contributing US donor to the IRA, second only to Boston... that's right. They gave more money than New York, people. That's alotta of money. Jeez. WTH?), let's just say I'm used to a little more... shenanigans in my SPD celebrations. This one consisted of about 300 people, mostly really drunk college girls dressed for trouble and really drunk college boys who were absolutely thrilled at the trouble they were finding. Whoo. Hoo. Let the good times roll.

Otherwise, we got to hear the Killdares play, who always rock.  I mean, they have a bagpipe player who, again in the immortal words of The Husband, "Plays to the audience like he's in K.I.S.S. or something. Cooool."  Actually, it is pretty cool.

This SPD I'm on my own. No soda bread. No cabbage. No Dreaded Corned Beef.  Everyone (but me) went up to OKC to go to the zoo (it's spring break for the Evil Monkeys and The Husband has today off so I sort of subtly suggested they all Get. Out. Of. Town. -ahem-  It was subtle.)

Anyway, Happy Saint Patrick's Day, people! Try not to throw up too much green beer. (Wait. Does that only happen in Saint Paul... and, uh... Boston... and, uh... New York?)

Always Be Prepared. No wait. That’s the Boy Scouts.

Do you have an Emergency Preparedness Kit?  I do not.

Now, you might think this is a new thought in my mind based on the recent devastating earthquake activity along the western Pacific rim.  But it's not.  Emergency Preparedness is something that has been in my mind for a very very long time.  I know I should have water and food and plastic sheeting and rope stashed away in my garage.  I don't.  I know that we should keep shoes suitable for walking over debris in our storm closet and spare clothes in a plastic bag and emergency medication.  I don't.

(Ok, fine.  I keep the shoes in the closet.  I am not allowing my children to walk for blocks over broken glass and splintered wood in bare feet.  We have a lot of tornados here.  Usually at night. Having to walk through broken glass and splintered wood isn't remotely beyond possibility.)

A few days ago a reporter commented on how well-trained Japanese children are for a vast variety of types of natural disasters, beginning at a very young age.  It made me think of the types of disaster training I received as a child.  And the types I didn't.

I spent my junior and senior high school years in North Dakota during the early- to mid-80's.  It was the height of the Cold War and, while it seems almost unbelievable now, nuclear tensions were high.  The running joke was that if North Dakota were to secede from the Union, we would be the largest nuclear superpower in the world.  We had a big target on our backs that said, "Russians: shoot here."  And we knew it.  Because we were reminded all the time. 

The other running joke was, "Well, it's a good thing we live 150 miles from Grand Forks AFB.  That's totally in the blast zone.  We'll die instantly.  Those poor bastards in the Twin Cities are screwed."  Neato.  That is so what you want to be thinking when you're 14.  And by the way, we knew where the blast zone and the primary radiation zone and the secondary radiation zone and the tertiary radiation zone was, because they told us in school.  With graphics and charts.  And statistics and stuff.  Double-neato. 

No "duck and cover" for us.  We were "You'll have less than two minutes.  Hope that you're not gonna know what hit you."

Why do I mention this?  Not sure.  Other than I’m amazed at how things have changed in the past thirty years.  I'm definitely amazed at our ability now to bring such vivid and instantaneous pictures of horrifying destruction into our homes.  And I've come to the conclusion that natural disasters are heart-breaking beyond belief, but there's something steadying in knowing that they are beyond our control and that having to tell 14-year-olds they should hope to get incinerated is not.   Now, if I could just think of a way to control the uncontrollable....

I'm still not putting food and water in my garage.  I'll probably be sorry some day.

What's in your kit?