Prep Monday—Is it Time Yet?


As always, whenever there is a new media circus around a shooting event, many preppers begin the call of doom. What was that movie? DOOM ON YOU! DOOM ON YOU!

I don’t do that, particularly for a single news story, but when they seem to come in waves with a definitive “us versus them” addition, things seem a lot scarier.

Now, we’re in a good location and we’re pretty much ready for anything, but we still have been stepping up our game this past weekend:

The new security system is operational.

Supplies are inventoried and increased.

We have plenty of practice ammo and more, if there are intruders.

That does NOT mean we’re looking for trouble or starting any. It simply means we’re ready and now we’re going about our business.

Long ago, I read a book with a saying that has always stuck with me: “Prepare for the worst, then forget about it.”

When I’ve had biopsies, when my husband had cancer and heart issues, when one of my kids was doing something stupid, all these times I’ve prepared myself, mentally and otherwise, for the “worst” and then I’ve been able to “forget” about it.

Of course you can’t actually forget—no one can, and no one should. Not about those things, not about things happening in the world today. Sure, there are times that I tell myself “enough,” and stop reading the same old shit on a different website. Anything new, yes, I’ll keep informed. I particularly find it hard to read the human interest stories—not because I don’t care, but because I need to keep my sanity.

So I know what’s happening, I keep abreast of the news and events, but I don’t have to WORRY about my family or myself.

I know some of you do. I am sorry for that.

Some preppers, vocal ones, well-known ones, like to make predictions about when or if SHTF. I listen to/read their remarks and draw my own conclusions.

Some theories are pretty far-fetched. Some have their adherents. Some are downright wrong and/or silly.

For a long time, I watched the market, checking trends twice a day. I still do that, but I no longer think that economic collapse is the most likely SHTF scenario. Not that it won’t happen, but it will be a result of other things besides the performance of foreign markets.

The election is coming up. It’s a farce. Not just this one, but many or most or all of them. I’ve thought this for a long time, decades even. And it doesn’t matter who wins. Things are going to change, but maybe not in the way you’d imagine.

I expect more riots, more unrest; I expect more “them vs us,” regardless of who the players are each time. I expect supply lines to be erratic, and by this I mean your local grocery store may not have enough food for all the shoppers. I expect gasoline to be in short supply, as well as all the products that make modern life so convenient and easy.

And it may even be worse than all that.

I’m not worried. I’m fine. But I am concerned that all of you may not be so fine. SHTF is not necessarily a doomsday scenario with burnt-out buildings and buzzards circling and dirty survivors running around shooting each other.

It’s people living without power and no way to get to work if they still have jobs, or finding blocked roads when they venture out to find food or other goods—and not finding anything at all. Or having a job but no way to cash that paycheck, if they get one, or being intimidated by neighbors or strangers into giving up what they do have . . .

 

Work Wednesday—Bathroom Remodel Part II


Sunday, my husband started more bathroom destruction: the removal of the giant corner jetted tub. Now, it might be nice to have now and then, but it’s a real PITA to clean—not to mention getting in and out. Plus, it takes up a lot of room and collects dust and tools and parts.

And the cat. He’s going to miss it . . .

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So we decided to remove the wide ledge at the back of the room, but left the other one on the east side. At press time, the cat is still trying to figure out why his dish moved and how he can reach it . . .

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The next step was rebuilding the walls; fortunately, we have all the old cherry that he pulled off the outside of the tub, and of course, after that, a new tool is needed for the edges of the sill.

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Off we went to the city.

About halfway down the state highway, the car dinged and it took me a minute to realize it was NOT the “change oil” ding, which sounded a couple days ago, but the YOUR ENGINE IS SERIOUSLY OVERHEATING ding.

Pulled off the road onto a farm lane and shut down the engine.

We were weighing our options when a pickup slowed and turned around. Brent offered to run home and get a couple gallon jugs of water, which we accepted, and then chatted with us for a bit while the car cooled down.

He also gave us recommendations for two local mechanics, told us he knew exactly where we lived, having known the previous owner some time back, and told us about the downfall and history of the little ‘burg nearby—actually, literally, a wide spot in the road.

He even offered us a ride, if the car wouldn’t make it either direction.

Finally we decided to go back home and grab the truck and go get a new whatchamacallit. You know, the thing that regulates the radiator pressure. The words, Robin, use the words!

It took us a bit to get there, though. We drove a few miles, the gauge went up. We stopped. We drove again, the temperature rose. The last stop seemed to do the trick—we made it 10 miles and the gauge stayed right where it was supposed to be.

Must have hit a rock or a pothole just right . . .

Well, I elected to stay home after this and finish up some trimming in the orchard.

Guess we’ll have to put off tiling the bathroom floor until tomorrow.

Oh, darn . . .