Fire!

Fire! I've been told never to use an exclamation point in my writing unless I'm yelling, "Fire!" So I'll say it again, "Fire!"

New Mexico is burning. We are drier than anyone can remember in recent history. The moisture content of the trees and brush burning near Los Alamos was 3%, per the fire chief. Our overall humidity has been under 10% for days. The desert is brown, our lawns are brown. One spark from a match, an engine exhaust, a tossed cigarette, fireworks, or lightning and up we go into flames.

Yet the governor and mayor say they can't ban the sale of fireworks, unless the state legislature changes the law. A classic example of industry lobbying gone astray—once again. Officials are pleading with TV viewers not to use fireworks anywhere, and attend large public displays instead. How can we know those are safe? How important are fireworks when the next thing that may be ablaze is your home? Come on, folks, look at the big picture.

I have my fire list ready, my plans for what to take with me when fire erupts. It is pretty small: credit cards, passports, phone and charger, a small container of important documents, and a pair of sneakers. We have our computers backed up off-site, and our recent photos are backed up as well. Folks say they'd grab their photos first thing, but they're not so important to me. If I have time, I'll grab my cameras, the German wall clock and my grandmother's clock, and my cache of funky earrings---because these things would make me feel at home if all else is lost. I've taken a photographic inventory of my home, which is backed up on my computer.  How else can I prepare?

But how can anyone prepare for a total loss of one's home, everything wiped clean, foundation cluttered with rubble or ashes? It would be a chance for a fresh start, but without the grounding of shared history, tangible evidence of memories. It might be a tornado in Kansas or a fire in New Mexico or a flood in Minot. 

I've reached an age where letting go of the tangibles might not be so traumatic, but you never know till you've been there. Please, God, not me!

Something of Value

Since the burglary, I've spent hours searching. First I had to search the house to identify what had been stolen. Then I set off on a seemingly endless soul-searching trek. My advice to myself: When life sends you a lesson, make a lesson plan. It looked like my lesson referred to materialism, and I beat myself up about my attachment to things. I tried to convince myself that I would be a better person if I didn't replace the stolen items. As I grieved over my trinkets and treasures I didn't feel better or wiser; I felt vulnerable, lost, disillusioned, and spiritually impoverished.

When the police detective asked about the extent of our loss, I quoted the prices of the laptop and MP3 player, but I told him that my jewelry wasn't worth much beyond sentimental value.

In the days following the police report, I had to search my memory to come up with an accurate inventory for our insurance claim. Some of the memory jolts stung like a physical blow -- my grandmother's Bavarian crystal necklace, my dad's high school class ring, the Turkish puzzle ring Fred gave me 43 years ago. I had carried these bits and pieces with me all my life and around the world. The hole in my spirit deepened with each addition to the list.

Before my inventory was complete, our insurance claims adjuster asked me for an approximate figure for the jewelry. I couldn't answer. "Would it be less than $2500?" he asked. I felt relieved to reply in all honesty, "No doubt."

Being the person that I am, I entered my inventory in an Excel worksheet. REPLACEMENT VALUE: GRAND TOTAL =SUM(E1:E91). I compressed my lips between my teeth and pushed ENTER. The dollar amount confirmed my growing suspicion: my jewelry had been worthy after all! In a font as clear as Arial Bold my lesson spelled out its meaning. To validate it, I went to my Native American Medicine Deck, shuffled, and drew one card:

"The key word is respect. Learn to assert, without ego, what you are. Respect follows. You must first respect yourself. Walk tall and be proud of the accomplishments you have made."

I take this to heart. My loved ones have told me often enough that I undervalue my talents and accomplishments, just as I had undervalued my jewelry collection. At the end of this search that began with a burglary, I've found a reminder that I am indeed something of value. Now I'm gathering courage to strut my stuff. Maybe I'll check out that interesting listing in New Mexico Kids! Magazine and learn how to beat my own drum -- or start gathering music for the lullaby CD I've dreamed of making. I want to reach out beyond my boundaries, just to see what's there.