Every time I think I’ve gotten over feeling like we’re under attack when I hear a loud noise, something happens to change all that. Again.

Tonight, my daughter and I had just walked into our apartment when we heard an explosion. I ran to the window and saw people standing in the street staring down 8th Avenue with all too familiar dumbstruck looks on their faces. “Hmmm… that can’t be good…” then BLAM a louder explosion - that I can FEEL through the floor - and I see what looks like a huge piece of asphalt or building concrete come flying out from 38th Street into 8th Avenue. (I found out later, that was probably just a manhole cover or one of those metal plates they put over the streets here.) “What should I do? Let’s start by closing the window!”

So, thinking there are bombs going off within view of my apartment, I close the window and the curtains, herd my daughter and the puppy into the bathroom and then into the bathtub, turn on the radio, and grab the cell phone. Who am I calling? My ex-husband of course. He’s with FDNY and AT WORK. He hadn’t heard anything yet, so he says stay put while he finds out and he’ll call me back.

My daughter was totally frightened and a TOTAL TROOPER about the whole thing. She was starting to panic and when I told her to calm down, she pulled herself together and completely kept her wits about her. I am very proud of her.

Long story short, it turned out to be an underground fire causing explosions and blowing manhole covers into the air. I went out on the fire escape and got some pictures of the response. The ex got called to the scene and parked outside my building, so we went down and said hello, and then we trotted off to the dog run like any other night.

  

Note to self: I really should get around to buying evacuation backpacks for all of us and stocking them up with the necessities to hike out of the city. I’d hate to not be prepared for the real thing.