The things we need to carry with us are the things we deem necessary for our survival, though what that might be depends on our location and circumstances. And yet, much that we label as “needed” is anything but. Things like morning coffee, microwave popcorn, and Doc Martens are niceties, not imperatives.

It’s not surprising that we struggle with determining what is necessary – much seems to be labelled thus these days. Despite the efforts of those doing the selling; however, what apocalyptic entertainment and natural disasters illustrate is that necessaries are those things vital for our survival.

For the house.

Improving our odds when it comes to surviving “unfortunate events” is why preparing a disaster kit for home is a good idea. Chaotic circumstances aren’t when you want to be figuring things out.

Make sure you’re keeping a fortnight’s worth of non-perishable, low-prep food in your house at all times, along with a manual can opener. You don’t want your growling stomach giving away your location to the vampire hordes. Much advice suggests three days of food. Based on recent events, that seems perilously low.

Also, don’t cook with propane inside the house. Ditto using it for heat. That’s how you end up with suffocation.

You’ll need a supply of bottled water, quite a bit of it. For drinking, set aside about four litres (one gallon) per person per day. You’ll also want to keep some eighteen-litre (five-gallon) jugs of water on hand to help those toilets flush. Or plan a bucket-and-bag system of some sort.

Since disasters don’t confine themselves to warm weather, make sure you have ways of staying warm. Tents for inside the house help localize body heat. Ensure you have enough blankets and/or sleeping bags for the household-plus.

Have a plan for flooding as well. An inflatable boat is a good thing to have tucked away. Put a pump with it – not one that you plug in.

Disasters usually mean infrastructure failures, and if there’s no electricity, there’s no lots of stuff, including air pumps and light. I lived through a three-day power outage once. I don’t recommend it. It gets dark when the sun goes down.

Make sure your disaster kit has flashlights and torches along with replacement batteries. I also keep a charged cell phone power pack as part of my disaster kit, and a reminder on my phone goes off every three months to check the charge.

A battery-powered radio is also a must, as are hand tools, matches, and a small first-aid kit.

A comprehensive list for the home can be found here.

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For the car.

In 2001, a young, British Columbia man went missing on a road trip between his home in Aldergrove and his destination in Prince Rupert. The alarm was sounded when he missed a planned stop in Quesnel, six hours and six hundred kilometres (three hundred and seventy miles) away.

That’s a large search area. This was pre-mass cell phone adoption and coverage. And as the days ticked on, hope faded. But he was found alive on day eight. Dehydrated, and suffering exposure, but alive, in part because he’d had access to water in his car. They made a movie about it – Eight Days to Live. It’s all right. A bit tense.

I live in British Columbia. We all take long road trips. Much about this story hit home, and after he was found and details emerged, I started to carry in my car necessaries that went beyond jumper cables and a first aid kit. Though I don’t have orange accident cones on board; I probably should get some of those. Ditto flares. If only for the zombie apocalypse.

I do have one of the magic, seat belt ripping, windshield breaking hammers, and let me tell you: I’ve tested it, and it works as advertised. I needed to break some tempered glass, and that stuff is as advertised – hard to shatter. One tap with the magic hammer, however, and it was history.

An insulated lunch box lives in my car now, and it always has a week’s worth of water and a handful of snack bars. I rotate the food and drink out every six months or so – I don’t think life in the back of my car does plastic water bottles any favours. My houseplants appreciate the periodic application of softened water – ours is a little chlorine-heavy, what with the prolonged drought of the northern hemisphere.

And there’s always a blanket in my car. I add a secondary sleeping bag in the fall and winter, but the down throw stuffed into a sac lives in my car’s cargo space year-round. Ditto a change of clothes and an extra pair of shoes. You never know when you’re going to fall into a puddle.

A comprehensive car list can be found here.

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For the heart and soul.

“Heart and Soul” is one of the first songs many of us learned on the piano. I didn’t know there was more to it than a fun duet until years later when a band instructor played the whole song to us. I loved it. I’ve always enjoyed jazz and swing.

I should make a jazz and swing playlist. I have so many others. The music I like has been sorted by me – or others – into playlists featuring country, classical, decade-specific rock and pop, show tunes, and my son. There’s also my current rotation playlist which is sixty-ish percent new music, and the balance whatever I catches my fancy. I have no allegiance to genre. I’m perfectly comfortable with Chester Bennington following Dolly Parton by way of The Beaches. And there’s always Megan Trainor.

Music is necessary for my survival. “Murder on the Dance Floor” is playing on the radio in the background as I write this. I listen in the car. When I’m gardening. When I’m in the shower or bath. Music makes me happy. We do not live by bread (or water) alone (for years, I misattributed that quote to Shakespeare – it’s Deuteronomy).

Luckily, unlike the survival kits which must be stored somewhere, and take up not insignificant space, all the music can be with you wherever you go while occupying little in the way of physical space.

Assuming you remembered to charge your phone.

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