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Under the Sun
Cynthia Oi
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A brief reprieve from the consequences of neglect
SUNDAY was to be a day for odd chores, small things left undone, mostly because they weren't urgent and could be fit in between reading the newspapers, a dash to the bookstore and maybe a lazy afternoon nap.
Coffee grounds were in the filter, awaiting the first gurgle of hot water the Krups would flush through them.
Clink. Tinkle.
Hmm, earthquake? I wondered as the Earth's wiggle began, a sensation familiar due to part-time living on the Big Island.
A series of quick thoughts flashed through my head, corresponding with the quake's progression. Quivers, how interesting; shudders, not too bad; real rocking, yikes!
Survival instinct kicked in. I headed for the front doorway and held on to the frame. My brother's Ford Bronco bounced in the driveway, ti plants threw off the morning rain, the willow tree's trailing branches shimmied like a cellophane hula skirt.
Then, all was still again. A tiny mejiro, curiously sitting on the ground, chirped tentatively and flew off, its green wings sharp against a gray, overcast sky.
Back inside, nothing seemed amiss, except for fallen books and a vase that had moved from its usual place. A thin stream of coffee settled in the carafe, its aroma triggering the caffeine craving of java addiction.
When the second quake rattled through, fear prickled chicken skin, but just as quickly the shakes quit. So did the lights, coffee machine, iMac and ceiling fan.
As a journalist, I am keenly aware of the need to be prepared for emergencies. Time after time, news articles have listed what a sensible citizen should have on hand for hurricanes, floods and the host of bad stuff that can happen.
At our rural house on the Big Island, we are well stocked with head lamps, flashlights, water and water filters, food, matches, lighters, camp stoves and the other essentials, but in Honolulu I'm only semi-prepared.
City supplies consist of about a dozen 8-ounce bottles of water, a few cans of soup, Spam and tuna, two mini-flashlights, one larger one, two extra batteries and a Tiffany-blue scented candle my niece gave me a couple of years ago.
If need be, I could heat food with a hibachi and a half-bag of charcoal, but had the power been out for a long stretch, I'd be cooked.
Those problems weren't my primary concern that early in the day. A dose of morning coffee and an itch to find out what was happening were.
I had no battery-powered radio (it's probably buried somewhere in a storage closet), so I thought to feed my jones by driving the trusty Toyota to find an open Starbucks or 7-Eleven for caffeine while listening to KSSK in the car.
For about 15 minutes, I ignored the advisory to stay off the roads unless necessary, but eventually a guilty conscience sent me home. Through the day, I got information via my non-electricity-dependent, low-tech phone from my confidant in Volcano, where power and cable TV inexplicably stayed on.
I have no excuse for being unprepared, except that in the city, buffered by the trappings of so-called civilization, I felt less vulnerable to the forces of nature. There's a sense that there will be others to help should something go wrong, and while that may be true, I ought to have done what I could to sustain myself, at the least, if not my family and neighbors.
When the power came on just after sunset, I cheered loudly, relieved that we'd all dodged the worst. And though I'd had cold meals of cheese, crackers and peanut butter, I made myself a hot dinner anyway, just for comfort.
I didn't have to make coffee. Earlier in the day, I'd discovered that the water from the heater had stayed hot enough to make a weak brew. It was one small lesson of many learned on Sunday.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin since 1976. She can be reached at
coi@starbulletin.com.