The Lazy Prepper

I have to agree with Garfield, even though I'm not a "cat" person. Mornings are just...early. Seems like my gears don't start moving until greased with coffee. And even following several hours of laying in bed and sleeping,  I seem to need another hour of  resting in my chair. You could call that lazy. I call it my warm up. 

I read a quote that said it well, "In order to counteract my laziness, I need obsession."  Sorry, that is a loose quoting and I don't remember the quote-er.  Rang very true to me, though. With a new interest or endeavor, I jump in enthusiastically and usually become slightly compulsive in my pursuit. Typically, I wear myself out and when the shine has dimmed, the newness faded, I become lazy.

This is the case with Prepping. Honestly, being prepared for disastrous possibilities is something I very much believe is important.  Our world is unpredictable and perilous on many levels. A can of beans could make the difference in another day of survival for you or your family.  Still, after an initial concentrated effort about a year and a half ago, to build a supply of food, water, medications and other provisions for a survival situation, I became lazy.  I go in my closet on occasion, searching for a item that I've ran out of or something to make a meal from and I don't always remember these days to replace that item I pilfered. I'm feeling quite guilty that I haven't been emptying a few containers of my stored water on my flower beds or lawn and refilling them.

In my defense, I say that it is not pure laziness, it's also distraction. Things like everyday life, my writing...which I discovered is another project that requires discipline when the fresh excitement has waned...get in the way, detour your mind and energies into other directions.  There is a good thing, however, about prepping.  Not only is it beneficial on any level you choose to prepare, whether you slide some extra supplies under your bed or have a whole basement full of stores, once you've made a start you can return to a neglected cache.  I can march right out there today and empty some water containers and refill, the containers are already there and thank heavens, the water is there.  When I go to the grocery store this week, I can buy a few extra things to replace some I have "borrowed" from my storage.  I've always maintained that some is better than none, when it comes to prepping.

Bottom line is that I'm a lazy prepper these days, but I am a Prepper.

Stupid Human Tricks

Forest Gump's mother said, "Stupid is as stupid does". She was very correct. Humans have a large capacity for stupidity and I must admit that I am one hundred percent human. I don't claim to be any world traveler, however, the spouse and I do venture around quite a bit in the USA.  When folks leave the environs they are accustomed to and journey into unfamiliar territory, it is the perfect situation for one's ignorance to pop right out in front of everyone.  Sometimes, our mistakes can actually make the other poor souls, out there muddling around, feel a little smug.  Oh, don't deny it, we've all been there. Some pitiful jerk makes a big boo-boo, stumps their toe, runs into a glass door, goes into the wrong restroom, etc. and we feel a bit better about our shortcomings. We just cluck our tongue and think, what an idiot.  Of course, in our heart of hearts, we are praying oh, lordy, don't let me do something assinine like that today. 

Well, the spouse and I have been traveling the last couple of weeks. True to form, we were not without our small stupid tricks.  Of course, there is the expected and norm. You are just bound to miss an exit, take a wrong road or have to backtrack.  You know, you drive all those miles down to the beach, walk around and get your shoes full of sand. Then on the way back, you say "Wait a minute, where was that old lighthouse that was supposed to be down there?" And your partner in stupidity says, "What lighthouse?"  And, Oh my goodness, Washington DC is not for the faint of heart. Trust me, you may think you're pretty smart, but if you're not accustomed to maneuvering around in a big city, YOU KNOW NOTHING. The simple act of using the metro rail system is a huge challenge. You feel like you're in a weird movie where you are the only two moving in slow motion amidst a sea of fast forwarded blurry figures. 

I have observed that the American way of life is very consistent across the country, but there are all those those small quirky differences. Some things are due to climate or terrain and some are just cultural preferences, such as foods they eat or don't eat or season in a way that is very unlike what you are used to. Not to mention, what your stomach is used to. I have to say that from Texas to the nation's capitol and back, there was always someone willing to help. That is encouraging. Someone notices your deer in the headlights look of complete lost-ness and steps up and gives a hand. 

I, personally, challenged a previous record for stupid on the first half of our journey.  For nearly 2000 miles, I b----ed and whined because I didn't have data service on my cell phone. I had really counted on using that phone to check hotels, weather and those things your hubby "nascars" past that make you wonder, hey-y, what was that? I was fully prepared to give my cell phone company what for, as soon as I returned home. We had an extra day outside of Washington and I decided to go into an AT&T store. I broke the take a number and wait until you turn gray protocol and stepped forward, said to the nerdy bespectled twelve year old behind the counter, "Excuse me, I don't mind waiting, as long as I am sure you can help me, since I am so far from home?...." more stupidity spilling from my lips.

Dodging the little knives of hatred from all the other weary waiters that were hurling at the two of us, he took my cell phone, touched it twice and said, "There you go, Mam. You just had the packet data turned off." I wanted to know what the packet data was, but the phone store had suddenly became a dangerous place to be. 

I gave my biggest Texas smile, said, "Well, bless your heart,"  pranced my old ass out, happy as a pig in mud.  My phone was working, I would look up the whatchamacallit later. Even the perpetual stupid get a break on occasion, or a hand up or manage to do something brilliant. The spouse and I fully participate in the dance of life, even if sometimes we don't know the steps.  JO

Brain to Mouth, Stay Out of the Author/Reviewer Wars

Do you ever feel like you have a direct path from your brain to your mouth...you know a tube without a filter or trapdoor that just lets words fall out of your brain and go spewing out of your mouth? If they are bad or hurtful words, they are written on someone's heart with indelible ink, they just never go away.  Oh, there can certainly be regret, there can be apologies and the words can maybe be covered, faded away with time. The truth is, They Never Go Away.

My spouse is a man of very strong and true character and a man with a rather unforgiving temper that he has worked hard to moderate.  Over the years, I often told him, "No matter how right and justified you are, once you loose your temper, once you release critical and hateful words on someone, you instantly become the bad guy. All your rightness is lost in an instant. It just flies away on the wings of anger and you are left somehow looking and feeling like the s--t heel.

I have to say, that even though I am a gal who often has a mouth in motion, I rarely say everything that I am thinking.  Even when it is something that I truly think, if it is a negative thing, I simply can't bear that glint of pain that comes into someone's eyes. I just never thought it was my job to inform my friends and family of all their faults or some secret occurrence that they were not aware of. Some of the worst conversations I ever had, began with "I don't think you know this, but blah, blah, blah...blah blah. Sorry, but I just thought you should know." Even if it was a truth and something I did need to know, the only real BUT(T) in that sentence is the teller.  That self righteous speaker that is sure you must be informed.

Now, unfortunately in the wild west, wide open internet world, this unfiltered brain to mouth tube has become filled with toxic slime.  Because, no-one has to actually see the glint of pain in the other person's eyes. They can just sit in anonymity, in the bright glare of their computer screen and spew out their hateful rivers of negative dialogue.

While nothing compares to the social media bullies that have become vicious and dangerous, a fray that has been ongoing for several months now is a perfect example of why you should close the trapdoor to your mouth and not spill out every thought that is churning in your mind, onto your keyboard.  I don't need to go into detail about the confrontational and malevolent  internet skirmish between SOME authors and SOME reviewers.  It's easy to find all the gory details on the web.  The hubby has a favorite saying, "The truth is somewhere in the middle, not out on either extreme end." I agree.  The whole situation, is indicative of what I always warned my beloved about. It has escalated into such viciousness that the right side or viewpoint has been buried. It is now completely covered with the nastiness of both sides.

Momma said, life isn't fair. It's eternally true and we know it. We just don't want to accept it.  On occasion we need to shut our mouth and stay out of the fray. Some things are not easily resolved.  Just because internet combatants can't see where their word bombs are landing, doesn't mean they aren't doing plenty of damage. Think before you open your mouth or touch those keys.  JO

Cabin Fever

Is it Spring yet?  In the front yard, the view is brown. That's because the front street side yard has the good cover, the nice grass that the neighbors and passerbys can see. And that good thick St. Augustine has enough sense to not put on it's pretty green summer frock until Winter has made it's exit.

 Now the back yard, well that's a different story.  The back yard is the heavily used playground, the well trampled home of the patio that takes us from garage or trips to the mailbox into the back door. The back door, where all of our family and close friends are welcomed into our home.   The back yard is not for show, it's for use. This space has all the trappings of warm weather outdoor activities, the picnic table and chairs, the outdoor seating, the bar-b-que and fire pit. The place we stand around the fire in the early Spring and Fall, don our sandals and shorts in the Summer and flip burgers, lounge around on the seating and have iced beverages.  The yard surrounded by a tall wooden fence that blocks out the eyes but not the pleasant sounds of the neighbors as they enjoy their days. 

The grass in the back yard is not the lush lawn of the front, it's the very diverse mix of whatever will grow in sandy soil, some areas fully exposed to the changing climate and some covered with tall old hardwood trees.  This eclectic stretch of  grass is not shy, popping up this time of year in all different heights and shapes and with great courage, it is dressed in green. It braves the undeniable fact that any night could leave it covered with frost.  And though, when (and IF) the summer finally sets in, here in the scorching Texas sun, it will struggle to survive and not look so good, for now it gives us this promise that Spring might soon arrive.

Of course, I don't for a second trust that this long Winter is done. I don't need some stinking old ground hog to tell me that.  When my feet hit the floor in the morning, I immediately slide into my fuzzy house shoes, grab some fleece to wear and follow that chilly trail that the hubby has created through the house to the coffee pot.  That well worn path that leads from his recliner to the window and back to the window, and to the kitchen, to the window and to the bathroom...to the window and dejectedly back to the chair.  As if, looking out the window will somehow make old man Winter pick up his pace and go away.  But the old man stubbornly dawdles around.  I'm speaking of the Winter now, not my cantankerous but lovable old spouse. Old man Winter just keeps hanging around and even if you step into the bright sun, he coughs out his cold breath on you, to let you know he is still in residence.  

So, the bold back yard junk grass gives me a spot of hope.  Among the birds popping around in the weeds (might as well admit it, it's mostly weeds) is a robin and the fruitless pair tree that is always the very first to bloom actually has buds.  The hubby is banging around in his closet and he comes up his Winter trodden trail, muttering to himself, By God, I'm going to the golf course today. Our temporary separation has become imperative.  He, determined to go outside and me, dreaming of a silent television, clean counter tops and perhaps a purse shopping expedition.  It's not Spring yet, but I see a distant vision, feel a promise of warmth.  Perhaps we will cure this cabin fever.  As always, the freshness of Spring is wonderful medicine.  Soon, we plan to take a vacation, we'll walk in the sun, outside and like each other again...at least until the summer heat makes us miserable and grumpy and pushes us back inside under the air conditioner.