Terry Mattingly, who saves everything, forwarded to me this e-mail I sent him on October 12, 2001, one month after the 9/11 attacks. I publish it here to let you know that I am married to the perfect woman for me. The perfect one. She told me this morning that I'm a cross between Mark Bittman and James Howard Kunstler, and therefore the perfect man for her. This actual real-life dialogue from the frightening days right after 9/11 shows you the kind of marriage we have (basically, an ongoing Seinfeld episode, except for the presence of Orthodoxy, and the absence of Kramer -- though Matthew is pretty tall for his age). I can't imagine going through life with anybody else.
Julie and I were talking in bed last night as we were trying to sleep. I mentioned that I shouldn't have had a coffee late in the day, and that coffee was probably a bit too entwined with my daily existence for my own good."Well, I got us some coffee for the survival stash," she said.
Huh?" said I.
"When we decided that we were going to stay here no matter what, I went to the store to buy some things to put in the closet, in case we had to bunker down in the apartment."
"I thought you just got water and tuna fish."
"No, I got some other stuff too."
"Why coffee? We have lots of coffee?""Yeah, but what if we can't use the grinder? I got instant."
"INSTANT!?!? Yuck! Why on earth would you do a thing like that?"
"Well, what if we don't have electricity?"
"We'd have to drink it cold!"
"Yeah, but I figured we could choke down cold instant coffee if we had to?"
"But why would anybody want to?"
"To keep from getting a headache that interferes with our life-or-death decision-making.""Let me get this straight: you bought vile instant coffee with the idea that we should have something we can mix with tap water to drink cold to keep from getting a caffeine headache in case of the apocalypse?"
"It's not vile. I bought Italian."
"Wait a minute! You're buying the nastiest and most deranged form of coffee known to man, and yet you still manage to be a snob about it! I'm not drinking that stuff."
"But what if your head hurts so bad that you can't think straight, and we die?"
"That's insane. Instant coffee isn't fit to drink. The only way I'd take that stuff into my body is with an enema bag."
"Well, I'm not going to squirt coffee up your butt in the event of crisis, so just deal with it."
"I'd sooner soak a brown crayon in water than drink instant coffee."
"Well, too bad, because we'll have pound cake to go with it."
"What?"
"I bought a hermetically sealed pound cake to go in the box. Some kind of Entenmann's thing."
"Don't you know that that thing will be stale by next week?"
"Not this one. We have till December to eat it. I also bought Triscuits."
"Lord, Julie, if the city is hit so hard that we have to turn our basement into a shelter, snack crackers are the last thing you'll be thinking about."
"Not true! I find Triscuits very comforting. And I didn't buy the lowfat kind either, because I figure I wouldn't care about that > sort of thing, and that I might need the fat."
"Next thing you're going to tell me is that you bought dehydrated goat cheese, just like the French astronauts eat."
"That's not a bad idea."
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Two words to fight caffeine deprivation. Tea Camelias. Any chance they might thrive in Dallas? Or you could get really adventurous and consider a yerba mate tree.
My husband is soooo into this stuff. Have to admit it's nice having food - canned, boxed, frozen - to last us several months. The higher food prices this summer haven't effected us too badly because of the supply.
We also have a couple of large buckets of emergency rations and bottled water for the "real deal" should it occur. Oh, and let's not forget our "bug-out packs." He made up two backpacks with emergency supplies in case we have to leave in a hurry.
I guess opposites really do attract. ;-)
PP
And a stack of squirrel recipes.
No kidding. When it comes to squirrel, my cup runneth over.
Driving through the Ozarks once, I saw a bumper sticker that read "Squirrel - It's not just for breakfast anymore"
I grew up in Appalachian KY, so I know all about the squirrel. Haven't had any good fried squirrel in cream gravy since my Mam'maw passed away.
PP
Once upon a time, I belonged to a mostly Catholic extremist religious group. Their teaching became more and more apocalyptic. A large group of people actually moved to the Midwest from California, because there was supposed to be a giant earthquake that would cause that sin-ridden state to slide into the sea. Little did they know that when The Lord spoke of bringing Termination upon them, He really meant Arnold, not an earthquake. But I digress.
Back then, believe it or not, I was a very shy, modest Catholic girl. I actually wore a headscarf, such being the popular fashion to indicate proper submission and godliness at the time. Nevertheless, we eventually got kicked out for being "rebellious." Our Dear Leaders didn't frame it that way, of course. They sent one of their godly goon/flunkeys around to catechize us about our leaving and make sure it was perfectly understood that we were doing it of our own free will. This was emphatically not the case, but I agreed under duress. As in, "Yes. YES! I'll say ANYTHING to get your narrow white heinie off my property before I go medieval on you and mess you up like a protomartyr, all pregnant as I am." But again, I digress.
The point is, the SPECIAL members of the group, who were in on the super sekrit teachings, had started storing comestibles down cellar, like the Mormons. There's keeping up with the Joneses (hopefully not the Jim Joneses) even among rightwing religions. The only members of our former group of "brothers and sisters" ever to invite us over again after our expulsion gave us a tour of their new house, and we saw the telltale garbage cans full of water and the stacks of beans in their basement.
This was back around 1980, when the Apocalypse was supposedly well on its way. We're still waiting, I see. I guess our erstwhile pals ate a lot of beans in the 80s. Why do people in the richest and most secure nation in the world do this? Why has this become a cultural meme, repeating over . . . and over . . . and over . . .? Beats me.
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