The End of Civilization as We Know It!

It's the end of civilization as we know it. As a result of the recent snowstorms here in Washington's capital city:

• Mail service was suspended by one full week. I waited for two helpless weeks, tracker number in hand, for my Amazon.com box to arrive!


• There was no trash pick up for two weeks. Happily, residents will not be charged for extra bins out when service resumes.


• The local high school will not reconvene for...a while. The recent roof collapse (precipitated by snow) caused flooding throughout the building (apparently the pipes that feed the sprinkler system broke). And for reasons I cannot fully comprehend, natural gas lines must be relocated.

No mail, no trash, no public education. This is in addition to impassable roads, the worst plowing and sanding on record, and complete failure of the public transportation system. The end of civilization, I say!

At first, it seemed like an amusing commentary on snow in the northwest. But now it is snowing again.

Not just fluffly little flurries, but swirling, pelting, blinding snow whipped up by winds that make the trees creak in frightening ways. And as I slipped on my sherling boots, zipped into my LLBean all-weather parka and strapped on my faux-fur mad bomber hat in order to go out for provisions, I realized the change has come.

We have a new climate here in the Northwest, and we are utterly unprepared. One tiny snow storm has revealed how quickly the ice age can become the Dark Age all over again.

Already I miss the traditional Western Washington Winter, with its 40 days and 40 nights of unabated rain--and all the promise of civilization that implies!

A Man for All Things

When I was young, virginal and deluded, I imagined that one man could meet all my needs.

But now I recognize that in a time of climatic catastrophe I require more. Much more.

A tribe, in fact. The only question now is how to make that work.

I started by sharing this realization with my husband of 23 years. He was a little shocked, but I asked simply, "Do you want to be the man who hunts for moose, shoots them dead with no help from Sarah Palin's heliocopter, and then skins them?"

"No," he admitted. "I'd rather not be that man."

"Okay," I said, "I'll find one of those. Now, how about shooting people? I doubt you want to be the man who stands out at the edge and shoots marauders to protect me?"

Much to my surprise, he said: "I would do that!"

Really? Twenty-two years of marriage and I never knew!

So, now that I know that I have my own personal National Guard (apparently he's even had weapons training!) I can focus my attention on hunters, gatherers, healers and engineers.

The question is, what else do I need to complete my tribe, and how shall I break them in to do my bidding?

Making a List, Checking it Twice

I have just returned from the grocery store, where many shelves were completely bare.

I had not previously noticed that hot cocoa usually occupies a good 12-foot stretch of aisle 16. But the gaping hole left by Swiss Miss and Nestle immediately suggested haggard shoppers stripping the shelves like so many Soviet-era Russians in search of rare foodstuffs.

The absence of eggs, bread and Lay's snack foods was simply alarming. Clearly, the storms that have gripped the Northwest for more than a week now have immobilized the modern food chain, dependent as it is on transportation.

Without a break in the weather, shortages and riots could be in the offing. Thank heavens most folks are stocked up for Christmas (and the rest of us know what to do with a potato, an onion and a little oil...)

Truly, this turn of events gives us a tiny glimpse into the coming ice age. Sudden, bitter cold, an unprecedented accumulation of snow and ice (the ice is easily a foot deep in many locations), and a complete break down in our usual ways of doing business is disrupting routines, challenging our infrastructure, and revealing the weak who will surely collapse under the slightest pressure of climate change.

Based on this fascinating week, here's what I know for sure:

1. I require at least one strapping man with an engineering mind (who is also be able to take direction) to perform such tasks as clearing a path, carrying firewood, and engineering work-arounds when systems such as electricity and road maintenance fail completely.
2. When picking a puppy, select the one delighted by the snow. That way you'll always have the potential of a sled dog, should you need one. Dogs that require a sweater to go outside for business are a liability to their owners and surely spell doom for their slavishly devoted people in the event of an ice age!
3. Everybody needs a tribe. Your own willingness to help a stray is the measure of your likely survival. When picking a stray, however, be sure to take number 1 and 2 into account.
4. God bless the Australians who made the sherling boots currently keeping my peds warm and dry! When the ice age descends, I simply must have well-crafted boots with good traction. And if the ice age is going to press me to make my own replacements, then I want sheep and whatever else it takes to perform such sherling miracles!
5. A simple knit cap is manna from heaven (though the currently trendy mad bomber hat is a fantabulous addition for going outside!).
6. Gloves just make your hands cold. Mittens are the only way to go!

Keep warm! Be safe! And start making a list.

Lacking the gene for survival...

Alright, I've been absent for nearly three months. AWOL. Traveling, working--doing everything but blogging. And thinking there was no real need...after all, it seemed (in the warm glow of the fading autumn) that climate change must have been a figment of the collective imagination...a mistake...a rouse...the straight line for "drill baby drill."

Never mind that scientists recently reported that 2 trillion tons of land ice (sweetly abbreviated 2T Ice, as if it were a simple kitchen ingredient) has melted from Greenland over the past 5 years, resulting in a measurable rise in the oceans. Never mind that Saudi Arabia recently opened two gigantic new oil fields that "promise" to deliver more oil than human kind has consumed thus far. Never mind that there is now a hole in the earth's magnetic field (okay, so that's probably unrelated, but it does sound a bit more dramatic than a hole in the ozone layer--that's just so last century).

So many words.

And like so many, I was distracted by other interesting things. My quickly emptying nest. An historic election. Opportunities to explore my notion that an island is simply the opportunity to see the ocean from many perspectives...

And then came the snow. And the ice. And the snow.

For days ice has followed snow has followed wind has followed snow. Nothing too unusual for Boston. Or Denver. Or Wasilla. But for the moderate Pacific Northwest, this is something!

And I have been reminded: we are doomed! Simply doomed!!

Look down now. If you have webbed feet, you're toast. There is no way for Pacific Northwesterners to survive the coming ice age!

Here's why: First, we are transfixed by weather-related news stories! In the event of a real catastrophe, we will drown while waiting for the next Doppler update to break into the emergency broadcasting network instructions for evacuation.

Secondly, we are unable to educate our young. It goes without saying that all school is cancelled upon sighting of the first snowflake. With ever-increasing rounds of inclement weather, this puts a whole generation at risk of ill-literacy.

But more importantly, we are unable to plan for the inevitable (and the simple).

We were all properly appalled by the bungled evacuation of New Orleans for Hurricane Katrina--the shock and surprise at gas lines and traffic jams. And yet, our self-righteousness is compuh-letely unwarranted. We are equally vulnerable to oblivion by the obvious.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we cannot even plow the roads. It is not for lack of preparation--we have had weather updates every half hour since the storm originally appeared on radar--nearly three days before it arrived. In fact, last night, there were three weather updates during Saturday Night Live alone, each explaining that the Doppler radar had been switched to "winter mode" so that the storm would appear in white on the map, making it "easier to detect." As if we couldn't see the amassing snow and ice out side the window!

And it is not for lack of equipment. There are plows circling everywhere--blades mysteriously up.

No, we are suffering from some deeper malady. Some clear but unnamed desire to languish as the waters rise, as witnessed by the intersections here in the Capital City.

Although roads around the city have been randomly plowed--cleared for stretches then randomly left to the vagaries of traffic-induced rutting for a stretch, then cleared, then abandoned--in no case has an intersection been cleared.

Not the entrance to the mall. Nor the Costco. Not the intersection leading to the State Capitol and all the government buildings. Not the intersection that joins a major commercial thoroughfare to the Interstate. I can say with perfect assurance that every major intersection is blocked by two feet of churned up snow requiring four-wheel drive and the clearance of a Hummer to pass.

I take this to mean that we simply lack the will to survive. It's the same lethargy that explains the performance of all Seattle sports teams.

It's just too much trouble to figure out what makes sense, what needs to be done, what would help get us past our most immediate thought to the days beyond.

If climate change comes in a scenic, nature-loving way, the kind where we can hop in our kayaks and go for a good paddle, we will be fine. Even if we find ourselves water-borne for weeks, we'll be fine, taking an occasional pause from paddling to eat smoked salmon and sip a fine merlot.

But if it's more violent--and icy, well, we simply lack the will to survive. And like the people of Pompeii, we'll leave a perfectly preserved example of Americans going about business as usual, unaware of danger in the offing.

And realizing this, I am back from my hiatus.

Penicillin: The Greatest Human Invention

One foggy Sunday morning in 1928, Sarah McElroy Fleming was cleaning out the refrigerator, opened an old jar of haggis, and through her revulsion, began to scream.

"Take it away! Take it away!” she cried as her husband came running.

Mrs. Fleming shuddered and gagged. She pushed the jar into Dr. Fleming’s able hands. He peered inside. “My lovely wife has been completely immobilized by a simple, though colorful mold," he observed. Fascinated, he began to poke at the specimen.

It was thick and spongy from feasting on Scotland’s national dare-you-to-eat-it food. Arranged in concentric circles, the mold was forest green, grassy green, black, and white. The doctor’s mind began to work. “Women are delicate and weak compared to man and beast. And yet, they are stronger than the common cold…” He looked more intently into his accidental Petri dish. The wheels were turning.

Suddenly, they locked into place. “Eureka!” the good doctor exclaimed, “You are a fine woman, Sarah, and if this simple mold can incapacitate you, then surely it can kill the lesser species that cause scarlet fever, pneumonia and mengitis!"

Clutching the jar, he kissed Sarah’s cheek and made a dash for his lab. The rest, as they say, is history.

Unfortunately, I’m allergic to penicillin, so I have to admire this incredible bit of human ingenuity from the other side of the pharmacy counter (though I do sometimes wonder if I could eat the green fuzz straight from the refrigerator and still avoid anaphylactic shock).

Penicillin is so well documented that I can, while driving, download its history, pharmacology and chemical structure from the mobile Web on my cell phone.

So I ask with all earnestness: if we happen to sever our digital umbilical cord and lose access to the documentation of the greatest scientific discovery of all time, will human kind ever again put two and two together and come up with mold as the for cure for raging, Gram-positive infections (and the unmentionable Gram-negative, gonorrhea)?

A Life Without Chocolate? Now There's a Climatic Catastrophe

Lately I've been focusing on things we take for granted because, I believe, those are the things we need the most in our life. We're just like the fish who, as they say, don't know they live in water until they find themselves flopping around on the dock.

When this ad arrived on my cell phone, thanks to my chocoholic daughter, I realized that chocolate is woven into the very fabric of my life. I love chocolate. I entertain with chocolate. I express my love with chocolate. I use chocolate for crowd control in my work as a conference planner (why do you think they give you chocolate cookies at 3:00 pm every day of a conference or convention?)

And yet, apparently I completely take it all for granted. Chocolate will always be here. And I will always yearn for it.

So now that Reese's has drawn my attention to the effects of global warming on the chocolate supply, I am completely willing to make whatever changes are necessary! Sign me up!

How about you?

Spiderman and Rainbows

On Saturday, I headed out to McCleary, Washington to Hartman Jewelry repair. The Hartmans are fabulous people. She is as nice as he is cynical. What could be better? Their little shop is packed with fun things and I always spend a ton of money I didn't mean to.

I went to get my watch fixed. Yes, the birthday watch. Hope springs eternal, I suppose. Plus, it was Hartman's 10th anniversary and watch batteries were 25% off.

I did not need a new battery. The friction pin on the minute hand has burned out. Fascinatingly though, after the check up (no repair) the watch worked fine for the 35 minutes my husband wore it. As soon as I put it on, the minute hand started cu-chunking its way backwards.

The friction pin can be affected by electro-magnetic force, and therefore, a girl who has been hit by lightning.

More and more I am coming to grips with the reality that our run-ins with Mother Nature, just like radioactive spider bites, become part of our biological fabric.

I can forget that I was hit by lightning--or at least go for years and years without thinking much about it. It's not something that has all that much relevance to my day-to-day life. Except when I burn out a watch or crash a computer system by standing too close to a critical component. Then I reminded that it's not a memory. It's a force in my being.

Our outer world gets under our skin. It changes us in ways we can't consciously explain. And then it all oozes back into our lives in ways we can't consciously explain. We're all a little bit like Spiderman that way.

And that's the good news, I think.

Even Sarah Palin now agrees that climate change is eeking its way into our lives. The question is whether the change will be slow and incremental or catastrophic.

Mark Lynas argues in Six Degrees (a great new book from National Geographic) that the earth will heat up one degree at a time causing incremental change. It will become part of us and we'll face the next degree with our new and improved selves. John Medina makes a compelling case for how we adapted when we "came down from the trees" in his fun new book Brain Rules.

It gives me hope.

But here's the thing: I was hit by lightning on top of the Mount of the Holy Cross in August, 1978. Although lightning is a regular occurrence in the Rocky Mountains towards the end of summer, it was still unexpected and remarkably sudden.

The sky was gray. There was no rain, no thunder, no warning. Suddenly the world turned white and blue. I was flying through the air, balls of electricity flying from my finger tips. I landed face first in a small trickle of water--the headwaters for some mountain stream.

It happened at the speed of light. Nothing we knew or believed mattered. We were powerless to act.

A part of me still believes that when the weather changes it will be violent, sudden, unexpected and crippling. Of course it will change us forever, but what will we bring to the experience? Will our own inner Spiderman be suited up and ready to rock?

Everyone in my Girl Scout troop made it down from that mountain in one piece. My sister took care of me. "Stay down!" the leaders had shouted after the lightning sent us all flying. My sister crawled to me from somewhere and covered me up with an old Army poncho. It was thick and smelly and I could hear the hail thudding violently against it. She marveled at the blue balls of fire zipping from my pinkie. I marveled at her presence of mind.

And then someone called out, "There's a rainbow!" It was all over. And in an instant, I realized exactly why we humans put stock in mythical stories.