A couple of nights ago, the smoke detector in our bedroom
went off – for about 10 seconds.  There
was no fire, no smoke — maybe something had wafted in through the open
window?  We’ll never know.   But at about 3:00 am I was torn out of a
sound sleep by the most terrifying shriek (something like a nuclear-powered
steam whistle) and every nerve in my body leapt to
super-adrenalized-flee-for-your-life status instantly. 

Once we had peeled ourselves off the ceiling and sniffed the
entire house for whiffs of smoldering (there were none), we decided it was just
some flukey thing and that if there was any danger the other smoke detectors
would go off.  And we settled back down
and tried to sleep.

Needless to say, it takes a little time (an hour or so) to
work down from super-adrenalized to nodding off.  So, I lay there thinking “what if there
really had been a fire?”  And I knew that
if I had woken to that blood-curdling alarm and found the room filled with
smoke, I would have no thought beyond getting myself, the family, and every
living creature out of the house as fast as possible: the husband, the college
kids – who happened to be home (note to self: take inventory of family members
before retiring for the night), the 4 cats, the fish in the 50-gallon aquarium?
(someone later suggested that the punchbowl might be kept handy), the hermit
crab I could carry out in a pocket (note to self: sew pocket in nightie). 

Me, them out of the house – that was it.  Nothing else even registered. 

Not my writings.  Not the
photo albums.  No computer, no jewelry,
no family heirlooms.  No yarn.  Not my knitted pieces – not my irreplaceable
one-of-a-kind knitted pieces!  Nothing –
i.e. no thing – was going to make it
out of my burning house.  Just me, the
family, the pets (hopefully the fish included). 

Kind of eye-opening – how it can all go up in smoke quite
literally.  Note to self: use the good
china, thumb through the photo albums, read your poems, wear the handknits.