Another shapeless day lies ahead and many brooding thoughts to fill the space. Thoughts I spread out like tarot cards, oblivious to the significance of each figure in a fortuneteller’s deck. I struggle with how quickly we must process new information. From the moment we open our eyes there is something to digest and assimilate into our existing reality.
Today…to take my mind off the current situation, I decided to read about underground bunkers. Okay, I understand the well heeled are probably down there right now doing breast strokes in their lap lanes while we careen about from one germ-laden surface to the next, but what can I do?
Supposedly the super-rich have been preparing for moments like this for years…building luxury pads with pool tables, bowling alleys, and the everyday plush amenities of home. Yes, underground real estate has become big business and once again, I’m a dollar down and a bunker short.
We did have a bomb shelter when I was growing up. A leftover precaution from Russia. When we purchased our house, the previous owner had forgotten to remove their dugout supplies. I remember looking at the mildewed Monopoly box, and a stockpile of seeping canned goods, and wondering what fear prompted such preparation. And if we did find ourselves in a disaster, would whoever pulled through, gather round and vie for Boardwalk and Park Place? Fight over the coveted Top Hat or Scottie dog game pieces? It was hard for me to believe that one might experience glee in that dark musky hole, and find gut busting thrills playing hours of twilight Twister?
A few years back, I met a woman who lives smack dab on the fault line. She had a fully stocked bomb shelter with enough canned goods to put Costco to shame. I took a tour of her underground hideout and damn if the entire place wasn’t painted like the inside of a submarine. Every few feet there was a round porthole with a shark swimming by or a scuba diver staring in…a few painted bubbles rising from his tank as if each held a warning. There was an old clock in need of a battery and a calendar with generic stock photos of sunsets and rainbows. Strategically placed at an angle on a small coffee table was one lone deck of cards. I envisioned her family huddled around that miniature tin top dinette playing Crazy Eights.
These are days in which we jokingly decide whether to hide money under a mattress or grab a shovel and break ground on new subterranean digs! Living in these shaky times feels a little like trying to focus on the easy top line of an eye exam…and coming to grips with the fact that everything is one big blur.
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