Apocalypse Now

When I was 12, I waded through a year-long phase that held me in limbo between complete fascination and utter horror at the thought of a cataclysmic event, such as nuclear war or a global pandemic. Or Geraldine Ferraro becoming Vice President. You get the idea.

As a child, I did not take into account the fact that my parents were way ahead of me on this one. My little slice of reality took for granted the stockpile of wheat germ, canned hominy, toilet paper and inumberable 25-gallon water barrels my parents had amassed from the early days of their marriage. We moved a lot, and one of the unspoken requirements when looking for a new home was a room/basement/garage/shed in which to store this heavenly-mandated loot.

I was often reminded of the bounty in the basement (or room or garage or shed) because I was most often chosen to retrieve some Sunday dinner necessity from the bowels of the house (with my mother hollering from behind me, "And hurry, please! We're almost ready to eat!"). I recall one occasion when the food storage was tucked neatly in the crawl space of our basement-less house in Brighton, Colorado. My mom asked me to go down for a few cans of corn, and being the compliant, sweet child that I was, I rushed quickly to the hole in the floor of the laundry room, threw back the trap door and descended into the darkness. I pulled the lightbulb cord and searched fruitlessly for corn (our food supply at this point was akin to half of Costco's inventory). From the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Slick, meandering movement. Diverting my full attention to the source, I realized I was being stalked by a hognose snake. Yep. A three-footer. I lit out of that hole like a rocket and ran screaming through the house. Fortunately my eldest brother Javan quickly devised a plan; he grabbed a shovel, descended, and chopped that sucker into 463 pieces. He avoided the clean up, however, and ever after the carcass remained a stark reminder that I should give more consideration to peripheral vision.

I digress...

My mother had surgery last week, and I was lucky enough (thanks to Sean and Susan) to be able to take a few days and come over to aid in her recuperation. That really means we get to hang out and do whatever we feel like, which is divine. Anyway, feeling the need to be productive today (at least for a short while), Mom and I decided to do some organizing.

Let me tell you something, this is the place to be in the event of a national emergency.

My parents have enough medication to heal (hallelujah!) the entire population of several third world countries, enough pork and beans to feed all branches of the Armed Services for a decade, enough toilet paper to keep Godzilla feeling fresh for life, and thanks to all that wheat they've held onto since the conception of my eldest brother nearly 40 years ago, enough "bread potential" to sustain the Northern Idaho Panhandle (that is, until they move to Colorado next month).

Kudos, Con and Glo! I love you guys!