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What I Gained In the Fire

525,600 minutes. 525,000 moments so dear. The big hit song from the musical Rent, Seasons of Love, keeps playing over and over in my head. How do you measure a year in the life? I've heard in on Broadway, on the radio, in church and in every karaoke bar across the nation. Even though the math isn't quite right, (I remember last leap year doing a recalculation and trying, unsuccessfully, to sing it with the adjusted lyrics don't bother) I've always liked it. I've had to say good bye to quite a number of important people in my life and at those times I seem to always I think of this song. How do you measure a life? You measure it in love.

It popped up in my head again yesterday as I was frantically packing a bag as part of the mandatory evacuation for the approaching San Diego fires. It was like playing that values clarification game they tried to get us to play in grade school. "If you were on a life boat and could only save 2 people and your choices were: a. a non-descript elderly person, b. a non-descript challenged person, c. a movie star with perfect teeth and d. a charming young Senator/presidential candidate from Illinois, who would you save?" I never liked that game. I don't think I have enough Vulcan blood in me. I especially didn't like it yesterday while trying to pack. As a confirmed metro-sexual' (or whatever the term is these days), single man, how was I supposed to choose which designer fragrances, hair products and clothes would make the cut? Is it worth living, if living is without Armani? One should not have to pick between D & G and Prada. They both have very different uses and fulfill very distinct functions in my life. And, don't even get me started on my wardrobe! I looked again, in disgust, at the smallness of the bag I would be able to carry with me and resigned myself to just make do. As I went out to the garage to further expand my options, and felt the burning sensation in my lungs and the stinging in my eyes, my perspective had a sudden shift. I saw a young mother trying to shield the eyes of her newborn while carrying two bags on her shoulders and dragging a third bag behind her all the while assuring her toddler that everything would be alright, the shelter would be fun, like a camp out, and that it was OK that daddy wouldn't be able to join them tonight because he was busy putting out the fire, but that she was sure he was just fine. It seems we were all playing the "what's most important?" game

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