Ellie's blog has me thinking and remembering how it felt to be little during the end of the cold war. I realize our parents have stronger memories since it filled their whole childhoods. But I remember.

There are distant memories of being eight and watching duck and cover videos, the huge (looking back it still seems huge) fallout shelter sign at the public library, the movies of bombs going off and obliterating everything. It's a wonder we are all close to sane. Not that I'm belittling our children's current fears, it's just not the same.

I remember feeling scared and chernobyl sending me into years of panic that I probably should have gotten therapy for. I realize 12 is late to realize you are mortal, but hey, sometimes I'm immature.

I also remember feeling like I wasn't prepared. Almost panic because I didn't know how to raise a garden, can food, weave cloth or butcher anything. I felt like I was waiting. Waiting to be a soldier in some unknown, future war where good would triumph over adversity. And I wasn't alone, friends in college felt this way too, like warrior women unfulfilled.

It ended in 89. We did predictions for yearbook my freshman year. Months before it happened, I wrote it down as my prediction. It did. It also made the yearbook.

How was I that aware at 14?

Cosmos tapping.

That's the only thing that makes sense since I barely watched the news.