‘Be Prepared’: Good Advice, Never Taken

Friday, July 23, 2004

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

‘Be Prepared’: Good Advice, Never Taken

J’AMY PACHECO, Staff Writer

“What’s shakin’?”

I remember when that phrase was nothing more than a simple greeting. These days, however, us Californians can hardly pick up a newspaper without it taking on a more ominous meaning.

There’s this Russian guy, see, who has forecast a big earthquake for our geographic area. Because he successfully predicted a couple other quakes, people are taking this guy seriously, in an unrelenting media-barrage, the-end-is-near kind of way.

Unfortunately, his prediction encompasses an area covering more than 12,000 square miles. That means it could happen in San Diego, or the Imperial Valley. It could hit in the Coachella Valley—or in my own Mojave Desert neighborhood.

Yikes.

Then again, it might not happen at all. In any case, you’d think I’d be prepared.

As a child, I rode out the Sylmar Earthquake, and still remember the terror of being shaken awake in the top of a rickety bunk bed on the second floor of our house. I was an adult the day the Whittier Narrows quake shook my La Palma apartment and snapped the stems off the glasses that hung upside-down in my wine rack.

I still remember the sway of the Los Angeles high-rise in which I experienced a minor quake in the early 1980s, and clearly recall clinging to a doorframe as my High Desert home rolled during the Landers quake of 1992.

Heck, I even vaguely remember the words to a 1969 Shango song memorializing California’s earthquake vulnerability:

“Day after day, more people come to L.A.

Shhh…don’t you tell anybody, the whole place slippin’ away.

Where can you go, when there’s no San Francisco?

Better get ready to tie up your boat in Idaho.”

Not only did I grow up during a time people believed the Golden State would snap off the Continental U.S. and slide into depths of Davy Jones’ locker, I was also a Girl Scout who was taught the importance of the organization’s motto, “Be Prepared.”

Today, I live almost within spitting distance of the legendary San Andreas earthquake fault. It runs right through a mountain pass that separates my desert community from the rest of Southern California, ensuring that in the event of a quake there, we’d be cut off from the flatlanders down below.

With all that in mind, you’d think I’d be ready. Bottled water, non-perishable food, first-aid supplies, batteries for my flashlights and radios, plastic wineglasses—all of that should be stored safely somewhere in my home and car.

The reality is that if the Big One hits here, I’ll probably be feeding my family saltine crackers and Cheerios until disaster relief arrives. Once the ice cubes in our freezer tray have melted and been consumed, we’ll likely be among those unfortunate few who will be washing down our dry food with water retrieved from the tank on the back of the toilet.

Ewww.

According to the Red Cross, I should have my many bookshelves bolted securely to a stud in the wall. My water heater should be securely strapped down, and each of my cupboards should have latches to prevent them from dumping their contents in an earthquake.

I should know how to turn the gas off in my house if a hose or line ruptures, and I should have tools ready to use if it becomes necessary.

I should, but I don’t.

It’s not that I don’t care. On the contrary—I’d hate to see my family go hungry or drink toilet water.

The problem is that I recently moved, and I still can’t find things—like my favorite ABBA CD, and the valve that turns the gas on and off. The way I see it, I was lucky to find my cluster mailbox, which is located down the street and around the corner. For all I know, my emergency shut-off valves are there, too. And maybe my ABBA CD.

I wasn’t ready for Y2K, either. I intended to be, but it never happened. Of course, neither did the predicted end of the world, so I guess it all worked out.

Still, I should make an attempt to put an emergency kit together. For a Californian, it seems the prudent thing to do.

Besides, if the ground starts shaking, the state splits off and starts its slide into the ocean, I can grab it on the way down and hope it’ll float long enough to allow me to tie up in Idaho.

Now that’s what I call disaster plan.