When misfortune arrives, all the basements fill with rainwater, with insects, the pungent whisper of natural gas.   Inside panic rooms, people grow sick with worry, become obsessed with domestic hazards: reckless stairwells and faulty floorboards, the rattle of screen doors as night slips inside.   We do everything possible to avoid inclement weather, blind curves, and oncoming headlights.   Let me be explicit - you can squander an entire lifetime doing nothing more than preparing for death.  Just yesterday, a boy who slipped while climbing a tree became a fallen heap of flesh wounds and fractures.   A commotion of sirens near the wreck of his body splayed unnaturally in the dirt.   Family and neighbors gathered around upset, oblivious.  Doors left unlatched in haste,  another open invitation for disaster.