Cirque Peak, Foxtail Pine
Cottonwood Basin
Southern Sierra Nevada
Don't get me wrong. Thunder and lightning terrify me. I have sprinted like Usain Bolt through many a high altitude Sierran meadow, jettisoning my pack and water bottle and all common sense as lightning strikes around me and the air crackles with the dry, sandpapery smell of ozone. I become primal at such times and rather stupid: do I run towards that lone Foxtail Pine or away? Do I run uphill or down? Do my metal hiking poles conduct electricity? What exactly are eggs Benedict? Yet once I am safe and sound and sheltered in my tent, please let the show begin. Let me feel the earth shake beneath my Thermarest. Let me roost like a sparrow in a kettledrum.
I understand that lightning strikes planet earth 70 times every second. That's a lot of current! That's a lot of curly hair! Many people are struck by lightning; few live, and those that do can speak only in italics. What follows is the remarkable true story of a lightning strike survivor...
Luz Lapitas was a simple woman. She lived alone in the Oakland Hills with her taxidermied guinea pig. She enjoyed macrame, People Magazine and visiting wax museums. She bought slurpees at 7-11 on hot days and poured them over her head when she returned to her car. She was a knuckle-deep nosepicker, but only when she listened to NPR on her car radio. She worked in Human Resources for the animals at the Oakland Zoo and once spent an entire year settling a meerkat strike (They unionized and decided to stop acting cute until their grain supply increased by several bushels).
Everything changed for dear Luz Lapitas during the storm of November, 2005, when the barometric pressure fell, the tides went haywire and the moon waxed instead of waned. It was also the night of the time change (Spring ahead, Fall back) and the 1,000th episode of Sabado Gigante on the Spanish channel. It was the recipe for the perfect storm (as well as the recipe for bouillabaisse). Poor Luz didn't know this, however. She had watched the weather reports on the Weather Channel, but regrettably, she had watched the Weather Channel reruns which she had TiVoed from the previous Summer. While everyone else hunkered down in their basements with candles and their rosaries and extra batteries, Luz was out walking on the fire trail listening to Glen Campbell's Not So Greatest Hits on her iPod.
She didn't notice the approach of rumbling thunder, the sky becoming thick and dark, the stampede of rodents running for cover, and finally, she didn't notice the hair on her forearms standing at attention and the static-like smell in her nostrils. She was singing "Like a Rhinestone Cowboy" along with Glen and just loving life as she summited a rocky prominotory.
The bright light came quickly and caught her by surprise, like an irritating relative with a flash camera at a family gathering. She felt a searing, electrical pain enter her right ear and exit her left foot. It was similar to stepping on a hot thumbtack, just 1,000 times worse. "This is not pleasant," she thought, and for an infinite moment she felt shish-kabobbed and somehow connected rotisserie-style to both the heavens above and the magma within the earth beneath her. Her life flashed before her eyes: the operation where the doctor removed the mole from her neck, the time she tried chewing tobacco and thought she would die, the time she put the spiders in the microwave...
Then, all went white. I know that sounds strange, but for our protagonist, Luz, all certainly did go white. She heard a voice, a man's voice. "Luz," it said gently. It sounded soothing and welcoming.
"Regis, Regis Philbin?" Luz asked. She wasn't sure if she said it out loud.
"No," the voice said, "I am not Regis." He laughed as if he had heard a mildly amusing pun.
"What is required of me?" Luz asked, trying to see from where the voice came, but again, all was simple whiteness without any form.
"It is not your time," the man replied. "Luz, " he continued, "Remember, all is mystery, and all is not nothingness, but somethingness. Return from whence you came, do good works, love your enemies, seek my face, keep the thermostat set at 60 degrees when you leave the house and machine wash warm, tumble dry."
Then, all went white. I know that sounds strange, but for our protagonist, Luz, all certainly did go white. She heard a voice, a man's voice. "Luz," it said gently. It sounded soothing and welcoming.
"Regis, Regis Philbin?" Luz asked. She wasn't sure if she said it out loud.
"No," the voice said, "I am not Regis." He laughed as if he had heard a mildly amusing pun.
"What is required of me?" Luz asked, trying to see from where the voice came, but again, all was simple whiteness without any form.
"It is not your time," the man replied. "Luz, " he continued, "Remember, all is mystery, and all is not nothingness, but somethingness. Return from whence you came, do good works, love your enemies, seek my face, keep the thermostat set at 60 degrees when you leave the house and machine wash warm, tumble dry."
Then her mind went blank.
Some hikers found Luz on the trail in the morning. She was unconscious but breathing. Her hair was frizzy and course like a brillo pad. Her skin was diffusely blistered and tomato red. When the hikers removed the iPod from her ears, they noted that the device seemed to be stuck, and the line Riding out on a horse in a star spangled rodeo from Rhinestone Cowboy was playing over and over. Luz convalesced for several months, during which time The Oakland Tribune ran a front page story about her which uncharitably read: "Nut Survives Bolt."
Once fully recovered, Luz's life changed in many ways. Now she could fold socks correctly after laundering them. She could predict college football scores. She could communicate with turtles. At nighttime she loved reading a good book while wrapped in a blanket full of static cling. She started a used lightbulb collection. And inexplicably she loathed Glen Campbell and became vertiginous when she heard his songs. But mostly, she now enjoyed simple pleasures like a beautiful sunset, a child's face, volunteering at the soup kitchen, and, for the first time in her life, using fabric softener.
Some hikers found Luz on the trail in the morning. She was unconscious but breathing. Her hair was frizzy and course like a brillo pad. Her skin was diffusely blistered and tomato red. When the hikers removed the iPod from her ears, they noted that the device seemed to be stuck, and the line Riding out on a horse in a star spangled rodeo from Rhinestone Cowboy was playing over and over. Luz convalesced for several months, during which time The Oakland Tribune ran a front page story about her which uncharitably read: "Nut Survives Bolt."
Once fully recovered, Luz's life changed in many ways. Now she could fold socks correctly after laundering them. She could predict college football scores. She could communicate with turtles. At nighttime she loved reading a good book while wrapped in a blanket full of static cling. She started a used lightbulb collection. And inexplicably she loathed Glen Campbell and became vertiginous when she heard his songs. But mostly, she now enjoyed simple pleasures like a beautiful sunset, a child's face, volunteering at the soup kitchen, and, for the first time in her life, using fabric softener.
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