In a few hours, the state is about to get hit with a tsunami. I figured this out at 6:30 am when Olivia woke me up. My husband wasn't in bed, but I could tell he wasn't exercising either since I couldn't hear the stationery bike and his exercise clothes were on the floor.
I hollered to him to see what he was doing. "We have a tsunami coming," he replied. "I have to make arrangements for work stuff (the mortuary is open Saturdays, and weekends are the busiest time for funerals)."
Boy. That got me up!
I was supposed to attend the Kamehameha Schools Ho'olaule'a today. I later heard on the news that the event is still on, but my friends and I decided to heed the Civil Defense request to keep roads clear. I'll hunker down here at home.
"Should I get gas? I only have half tank. Should we go get more food?" I asked Claus, slightly panicky. I'm prone to worry. He is not. That's good. We balance each other out. Dang, that I didn't go to Costco yesterday. I was JUST about to but I didn't.
"No," he said, and pointed out that I've long ago made provisions here at home. Good thing I just last month bought a PortaChef butane cooker from City Mill, per Paul Drewes' advice.
So I filled up some buckets with water and busied myself at home doing stuff I want to attend to before the power goes out. Here is the difference between me and my husband: I get nervously busy, and he lounges.
He is watching TV in his favorite position on the sofa. I'm zipping around the house distracting myself because I'm anxious. I've already asked him three times if we're about to turn into a scene from Lost.
We watched the television for a bit to get the latest information, until it turned into the same information I've been hearing over and over. I know those days. I was once the one sitting up there doing the rip and read, or the live interviews. I enjoyed the adrenaline of those days.
It still feels weird to be sitting at home, NOT covering an event, NOT having to go to work in a disaster. I am not saying I miss it and want to be working, but it is a little weird, that's all, to break a 16 year habit.
At some point, I realized there are some Honey Do things I want him to attend to- nailing pictures to a wall, installing racks for our surfboards. Stuff that's been sitting around for six months (that's the typical pattern) before he gets to it.
He works so much, and six days a week, that when he gets home he doesn't want to do chores, so usually he only will do chores on Sunday for a half day before he begs off. Four hours a week. That's all I have from him.
"Hey," I called over to the sofa. "Since you're home today, can you please put up the surf rack?" He didn't love the idea, but he didn't complain, and he went to the garage and did it. I was pleased.
I went out 15 minutes later to tend to the laundry, just as he was wrapping it up. He had put away the drill and was cleaning up. "Oh. Why are you doing that? Don't you want to put up the pictures, too?" I asked. "I mean, since you're home."
He made his lips tight and looked at me flatly. "Do you have Ed's cell phone?"
"Ed who?" I asked, and considered what Eds I know and why he wants their number. There's Ed at Oceanic. There's Ed the photog. There's Ed Teixiera, vice director of State Civil Defense.
"Teixeira. I wanna see if I can call off this tsunami event." And he walked into the house with the drill kit.