The psychic’s declaration had penetrated that part of me which harbors my scared-silly cells.	Everybody raise their hands who felt a peck of relief this past weekend when the predicted tidal wave did not wash over us. Not many hands, I see. Well, I’m not shame-faced to admit it — I was scared! Well, at least a tad part of me wobbled in my sandals at the reports. The other 95 per cent of me balked at the thought that something as alien as a tidal wave would obliterate our way of life. It all started last Tuesday with a call clewing me in to the front-page story in the paper. Immediately I read the piece, thought it was interesting, and went back to my work. A while later, I realized an anxious feeling had crept over me. After a little self-psychoanalysis, I discounted the caffeine I had ingested earlier and knew the psychic’s declaration had penetrated that part of me which harbors my scared-silly cells. Could it really happen, I wondered intermittently? Nah, the rational inner me reassured calmly. When the believe-in-anything component of my personality popped up, I found myself scanning the horizon from my 10th-floor perch for the highest piece of land. Throughout the next day or so, I mulled over contingency plans. Given that only 10- to 15-foot waves were predicted, the building I worked in would provide a safe refuge. Perhaps I would go to work on Saturday and let everyone believe I was just a dedicated soul? Nah ... too much effort. A tidbit of news appeared in front of me — the highest point in St. John’s was near the Pippy Park Golf Course — it might be a good day to take up golfing. I also thought of taking an impromptu flight to visit my family on the west coast. Events became increasingly complex. Friends called and invited us to their cabin an hour outside the city — we jumped at the chance. Granted, even before news of the predicted catastrophe we were eager to get out of town for the weekend, but now there was an even more compelling reason. Then in a twist of fate, another friend called to say that a country home — the one in which we had been wanting to spend a weekend for the past five years or so — had finally become available. One small detail: the retreat was on a bay — back to the water again!
	Even before the news we were eager to get out of town for the weekend, but now there was an even more compelling reason.	I felt like the great spirit was testing me. If I remained faithful to the first friends (but whose cabin could possibly be visited at any time), we would likely be spared. If we took up the rare second offer, we could be swept away, even if the wave was a wee one. In the meantime, the tidal wave frenzy kept me on a rollercoaster ride. One moment I was becalmed by those around me who scoffed (even laughing heartedly) at the The-Sky-is-Falling reports; then all it took was someone to say they too felt a tinge of fear. Moreover, everything I read appeared to be warning signs. The Calm before the Storm, a headline blared; Exiting this World Gracefully another counselled. The ad for the movie Armageddon stood out a little more than the rest. At home, when the “What if ...” questions seeped into my mind, I looked around at the late-summer landscape and tried to imagine that it soon could all be swallowed by a wall of sea water. Momentary moments of sadness rose up in me, only to be swept away by the sounds of children bickering and the smell of burning supper. Suddenly my own chaotic world held appeal. Overall, I was somewhat tranquilized by the lack of general media coverage and the seemingly unfazed momentum as people carried on as normal. Still, people were talking and worrying about the great flood. There was word that hotels in central Newfoundland were booked solid and airline seats off the island were hard to come by. As if things weren’t dramatic enough, the psychic then jacked the wave heights to 50 feet! Consequently, I had to go back to the drawing board and come up with Plan B — sites on higher ground. As we gathered with friends on the bay this past weekend (yes, we were daring fate), the tidal wave topic occasionally arose, especially since we were practically sitting on the water froth. We were reassured, however, that the house was well above the 50-foot mark.
	If we survived, it would have been rather thrilling to see the lost civilization of Atlantis.	Strangely, as Saturday came and went I was feeling more disappointment than relief that the volcano remained dormant. After all, if we survived, it would have been rather thrilling to see the lost civilization of Atlantis. So the tidal wave catastrophe has been abated for this weekend anyway. The seer did say there was a five-day window when the big event would occur. Perhaps I should attach a permanent life raft or take up residence in deep Central? Oh well, something to fret about for another day. Right now I have to tackle the housework which had been put off all week. My husband and I has reasoned that we shouldn’t waste our energies — after all, there would be nothing like a good tidal wave coming through to give the house a much-deserved cleaning. “Honey, where’s the Comet?” Comet? Did someone say something about a comet!?