On forgetting, and remembering

Winter has arrived here in Santiago. I find myself praying for rain and the clear air that inevitably follows as the smog chokes the city and it's inhabitants, slowly, like the second-hand smoke on a Saturday night in the TAB. My students are also praying for rain, so that there is more snow on the ski fields. And the housekeeper down the street wants rain so she doesn't have to water the grass "every goddamn day" (her words not mine). The earthquake was only 6 months ago, and yet we have more or less forgotten. Even the TV news only covers the reconstruction about once a week now, 5 minutes for the earthquake and 55 minutes for the football. However, occasionally when I turn the tele on, and see someone lining their temporary housing with flattened milk cartons to insulate it, or sleeping in a tent under a tarpoulin surrounded by sandbags to try and keep the water out, or someone is speaking about the below zero temperatures they are enduring while waiting for some solid shelter because their house was destroyed six months ago in a massive earthquake, I think that perhaps I can deal with the smog, and that skiing is a luxery, and that we should try and remember these things, and not forget.