An aquarium filled with goldfish sat atop our woodstove when the great ice storm struck Maine in January, 1998. To say that my husband and I were ill-prepared for the five days without power that ensued would be an understatement.

We'd used the stove with great gusto for several years after purchasing our house in 1988. Then Paul developed asthma, and we thought it best not to add to his problem with wood smoke. Why not turn the stove into a decorative accessory?

Obviously, we had not given any thought to the fragility of our lifestyles. To be fair, why would we?

We lived in the city and previous outages had lasted only a few hours. I had survived the blizzard of 1978 in southern New England. Back then, the power was out overnight. Roads were closed for days, but walking had never been an issue for me. Once I got home safely (my car broke down in a parking lot and I had to be rescued by my father), the whole event became an entertaining adventure.

Our experience in 1998 convinced us that our woodstove should return to its intended purpose and be at the ready for future disasters. But that's all we did. As bad as the ice storm was, local supermarkets remained open and well-stocked, restaurants a block away were serving hot food and we had ready access to cash at our credit union. Water flowed from our taps until we drained the pipes. What, us worry?

It took Katrina to really open my eyes to the grim possibilities. And talk of bird-flu pandemics. The U.S. economy slowly going down the tubes. Run-of-the mill nor'easters conking out power for days on end.

Hmm. Perhaps I really ought to lay in a year's supply of lentils. Driving around with a few gallons in the tank and a few bucks in my wallet was probably not the smartest way to operate.

Though I'm an optimist at heart, I had to admit it: Things can fall apart at any minute. Apparently I am not alone in my new desire to be prepared.

"Once seen as a radical and paranoid ideology, survivalism is expanding as a business and growing fast," Josh Allen reported recently in the Christian Science Monitor.

Lehman's, an outfitter that traditionally catered to the Amish, is selling more water pumps and farm equipment.

"Minnesota-based Safecastle, which markets home shelters for protection against disasters like hurricanes and chemical attacks, has seen revenues more than double since 2007," Allen wrote. And KI4U Inc., "a Texas-based seller of products like meals ready-to-eat, personal radiation-detection devices and potassium iodide, a compound known to protect the body from some effects of radiation exposure, has seen business surge after the terrorist attack in Mumbai, India."

New books, such as "Just in Case: How to be Self-Sufficient When the Unexpected Happens," by Kathy Harrison, have appeared on the market. This interesting and clearly written guide covers power outages, fires, storms, pandemics, terrorist attacks and toxic accidents. Don't read it before bedtime!

Preparedness gurus run the gamut from true survivalists who think we all should learn how to skin and prepare squirrels for supper, to more moderate types like Harrison, who believe that everyone should be ready to go for a week off the grid, without access to Wal-Mart, McDonald's or an ATM.

What they all have in common is an awareness that the supply chains that keep our comfortable lifestyles going are fragile. Most of our food comes from miles away. Suppose the trucks can't get through?

Many of us enjoy the freedom of charging and debiting our purchases, and keep little cash on hand. What happens to all those nifty card-swiping gizmos during a widespread power outage?

Doing away with telephone landlines is another popular trend. But cellphones have to be recharged somewhere. Even digital phones are problematic in these cases. I am looking at my vintage 1962 black rotary dial phone with new interest these days. Nothing can touch that baby for reliability, though its ring could peel paint off the walls.

That phone is so basic I could probably fix it myself if I had to. How many other items in my house could I say that about? Sometimes I feel I'm a stranger in my own home. It feels good to write by hand, light candles and burn wood.

Yes, we now have a shed full of wood, a closet full of candles and a hand-cranked radio ready to connect us to the world. You know, like they say: Just in case.

Liz Soares is a freelance writer and the author of "All for Maine: The Story of Gov. Percival P. Baxter." She welcomes e-mail at lsoares@gwi.net.