st louis « Robin Writes

Is it time to bug out? I don’t know. I’m ready, but the house isn’t quite. Oh, we could certainly make it work, and we’re about one-third moved, but we have one small problem:

Last kid in high school.

Even though he’ll be 18 next week, he’s still a senior in high school and I’m certainly not going to abandon him, particularly if SHTF. He says he’d be “fine,” but he says that about almost everything. Sheesh. Kids.

Everyone has a reason why they can’t bug out or move out, and everyone’s reason is perfectly sane and acceptable to each of them. Others might tell them differently, but that doesn’t matter. It’s personal.

But there will come a time when you might need to re-think and re-evaluate those reasons.

For us, if SHTF before graduation, we’ll have to re-think a lot of things. For instance, what is the Event and how will that affect education? Is a high school diploma going to be necessary? What about college?

I’m really hoping I don’t have to make those decisions, and I might not—depending on the Event. Will there even BE high school at that point?

And some of your reasons may be non-existent or less important when SHTF. You really need to have a plan for at least half a dozen scenarios.

I read the other day that it’s much better to bug out prematurely than be caught up in a shitstorm. Or in traffic. Or to be turned back because the government thinks it’s better if you stay where you are, regardless of your own feelings on the matter.

This is why you have a BOB, both personal and packed in your vehicle. This is why you have a plan if, perhaps, you all aren’t sitting at home when the Event occurs, and you better have a plan for that too.

Here’s ours, for all-of-at-home:

All pets—right now, five of them—go immediately into the cats’ room. Yes, they have a room; it used to be our guest room, but when our daughter sent her two cats to live here, they needed a space to adjust, so . . . But this way, they’re out of OUR way.

Thankfully, at this point, we have everything we need for survival already stashed at the new place, so it’s mostly a matter of grabbing weapons, BOBs, personal items, cash, and family/financial records.

And then, of course, wrangling the animals into their carriers and harnesses.

Practice, practice, practice.

What happens if you’re wrong? What if it’s NOT time to go?

Eh, no big deal. You’ve had even more practice, fueled by adrenaline and therefore more realistic—like a dress rehearsal. And you come home in a couple days and take up where you left off.

Revision is important, whether it’s because of an Event or that your circumstances have changed. For example, we had one weekday plan when my husband was at one job, another when he changed jobs, and still another when the kid started driving himself to school.

And now we have two more: what if one or both of us are working at the farm and the kid and/or one of us is in town?

Make your plans, and all the decisions possible, now. Write them down. Memorize them.

And practice, practice, practice.

No, not football. Not quite. I’m talking about the recent dust-up at Mizzou.

I lived in CoMo for about 15 years. I’m even a Mizzou alum, sorta kinda. Okay, just one semester, and it really stunk, GPA-wise, but still.

I’ve also been called a lot of names over the years. But I guess that’s okay, because I’m white, right? And I have this “white privilege.”

I’ve certainly been “privileged” in my lifetime, and it may have been because of the color of my skin, but it’s not like God said, “Hey, what color do you wanna be when you’re born? Have any preference?”

Besides, if people are complaining because they’re being “offended” by comments due to their skin color, but then turn around and accuse me of “privilege” because of my skin color, isn’t that a little, well, unfair?

I get the slavery thing: black folks sold other black folks to white folks, who worked them to death and held them against their will and usually treated them like crap.

And then came Reconstruction and the black folks were still treated like crap, even when free, and in many cases it’s still happening.

I get that. I really do, even if I, personally, haven’t experienced it.

But.

There’s always a but.

If a black person is treating ME like crap, because I’m white, that’s not okay either. Even if—and they didn’t—my ancestors had “owned” this person’s ancestors.

Because I am not responsible for what anyone did 150 years ago. I wasn’t there.

Neither were you.

So, back to Mizzou:

Some people insulted some other people. This happens all the time. Everywhere. In this case, the insulters were white and the insultees were black. This, too, happens all the time. No difference. None.

I’ve been insulted, and I’m sure you have too.

Do you call on everyone to give in to your so-called demands? Do you call for the resignation of anyone?

Of course not. You fume and stew and maybe even toss an insult right back. You might blog about it.

That’s it. The End. Move on and take care of your own life.

And what’s up with this “safe space” garbage?

On a college campus, or anywhere, you should be safe from physical harm. You cannot legislate or demand that other people stop thinking or saying things you don’t like.

That’s your safe space. The rest, it’s what you make of it. How you react. Wait, what’s that? How YOU react. No one can “make” you think or feel something; not bad, not good, not anything. Your feelings are YOUR choices to make.

Someone once told me that there are four basic feelings: sad, mad, glad, and afraid. If you’re insulted, you’d probably feel mad; even sad. Glad, of course, is off the table. Maybe you’d feel afraid.

Let’s talk about that for a moment.

Why were you afraid? Did the insulter have a means at his disposal, right then, to physically harm you? Probably not. That’s why he was insulting you. If he’d had a weapon and actually threatened you, you could and should call law enforcement.

But words? Meh. Get a grip. People will keep calling you names your whole life. You won’t like most of them. But it’s not legally actionable. Or even protest-actionable, IMHO.

All it says that you’re a big wuss and too tender to be allowed to be an adult. You need a padded room with zero input or stimulation. Do you really want to live like that?

Oh, you want change? Don’t we all. But change isn’t affected by stomping around and screaming about how unfair things are. Change comes from, trite as it is, one act of kindness at a time, one person at a time.

Change happens with conversation and getting to know people—think about it: you’re probably much more forgiving towards your friends, people you know, than you are to a stranger, right? One of your friends can piss you off, and usually, eventually, you get over it. If you don’t, you have bigger problems than I thought possible.