Our house caught fire during right after a blizzard, during a brownout, three days after Christmas. Mom was trying to get us to put our coats on. My sisters and I SCREAMED at her, in unison, from different rooms, "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE". (Mom credits the public schools of New Jersey for that reaction)

Mom grabbed the dog. I went for our pregnant neighbor and her babies (it was a duplex). My sisters ran next door to the other neighbors to call the fire department.

Our neighbor in the duplex was in the shower and heard me screaming as I came through the door. She had her robe half on and one child in each arm as I reached the top of the stairs. I grabbed the children and she tied as we ran out of the house.

Next door, my neighbor yelled to her husband in the back yard "Roll the trucks! Booth's are on fire!" and he went sprinting to the three blocks to the fire department where he was a volunteer. He yelled back, "Call the squad! The whistle is on power!" because even though the fire house had an emergency generator for the whistle and radios he was worried it might not have kicked in yet.

They got the trucks there quickly and started pumping water from the tanker. The hydrants were under four inches of ice. Another town responded with a truck that could draw from the river across the street. My cousin's company also responded but when the dispatcher heard our name on the radio he threw Johnny off the truck and told him to take off his gear. Someone drove him over.

The only fatalities were the fish. Three firefighters were thrown in a backdraft from our basement but they were all released from the hospital by that night. We lost basically everything from fire or smoke or ice. The neighbors lost less. Sort of miraculously, a bunch of our pictures were in a box on the front mudporch because we'd shoved stuff around to put up the tree and they got thrown out the front door by the entering firefighters. Definately lovingly, my uncle Bob spent three hours in our front yard the next day picking photos out of the snow with his bare hands... rubbing them together to warm them up and then melt the ice with his fingertips.

Bonny, you may indeed be blessed. But the reality is, you forged that bond with Bartleby, you educated him to understand your exact expectations for each command, and you worked to gain his absolute trust. I'd say you blessed yourself, and him too.

I fear i'd have to toss my cats out the nearest door and hope for the best as their carriers live in the basement and there's no way i'd get down and back up fast enough. Plus, they tend to hide in crisis situations which doesn't help anyone.

I have USAA for all insurance needs and they've always been fantastic. Had Allstate before that and hated the dedicated representative thing because he was NEVER there.

Right now Nico is sick (either a cold or allergies) and keeps sneezing. I woke up to him snuggled up against my chest repeatedly spraying cat snot on my face. Awesome. Now Nico is curled up on a pillow on the floor and Mal is pacing around him, occasionally stopping to lick his head. It's kinda precious, really.

...and Trudy and her family were obviously blessed, too.

Barb is indeed frighteningly efficient in an emergency. I'd want her planning my bugout, as well.

I have a theory that a depressive turn of mind that mentally plays disaster scenarios and permutations thereof over and over again serves as sort of a rehearsal for preparedness. What do you think?

ETA: syllable for sensemaking.

Oh Bev. Now you've done it. I haven't cried, or let myself go all day (except, of course, for celebrating LIFE! with french fries). Now, tears are running down my cheeks.

...and Trudy and her family were obviously blessed, too.

Hugely. Everyone was wonderful.

I went to the first fitting for my new ankle brace today. It was at National Rehabilitation Hospital. I took a cab there.

To make this story make sense, you need to know that National Rehab is part of a huge hospital complex that also includes Washington Hospital Center and Children's National Medical Center. There are at least six different buildings, and the roadways between them are kind of twisty, and the signs aren't great.

We got to the complex without much problem. The cab driver asked me where in the complex I wanted to go, and I said that I wasn't sure which building it was, but it was the main building of National Rehab. He said OK, then drove right past an entrance sign that said "National Rehabilitation Hospital." I thought that maybe he didn't get that "Rehab" was short for "Rehabilitation," so I said, "National Rehabilitation Hospital." We get around to the other side of the complex, and there's another entrance. I point at the sign and say, "Over there, National Rehabilitation Hospital." He says, "OK," and then drives right past it.

He then turns to me and says, "Children's National, right?" I said, "No, National Rehabilitation." He said OK and turned into an entrance that only led to a parking garage. There were some official-looking people standing around, so I asked the driver to stop and I asked them for directions. They gave directions, and then the driver tried to follow them, but made what I was certain was a wrong turn. I said, "I'm pretty sure you need to be on that street back there." He said, "No, this is it. See, right there, Children's National." I said, once again, "NO, National Rehabilitation."

Some more people walked by. He rolled down his window and asked for directions to Children's National. I shouted, hoping the people could hear me, "No! National Rehab! National Rehab!"

After driving around the complex twice, I figured out where I wanted to go and which entrance to take, so I just told the cab driver where to turn, which he did, grudgingly, while assuring me that I was not going the right way.

In total, we spent 20 minutes driving around that complex.

When I had my huge orange cat, Solomon, who was HUGELY skittish and RUNAWAYNOW!we had a fire alarm go off at about 9:30 pm at night, when I lived on the 9th floor.

I didn't have a carrier, and I grabbed him and stuffed him in a pillowcase, and grabbed my purse, keys and pants and hustled a yowling, spitting, thrashing pillowcase down 9 flights.

It was just a little fire in the garbage chute. Solomon was NOT pleased.

BT, OMG those pictures are so, so adorable! Ryan is a darling baby.

Say, has DCJ checked in since his wound specialist meeting? I hope everything went ok and that they found a way to take care of things.

Hil, I'm sorry getting to your fitting was so bothersome.

Hil, how you did not smack him in the head I'll never know.

Your cabs are zones not meters, right?