Terrible Analogies

Little known fact about us: The wife and I are preppers.

No, we’re not some crazy, unhinged militants who think that the world is going to end in 2012, we don’t believe that the zombie apocalypse is just around the corner, or hold any stock in Mr. Prophet telling us that the end is nigh.  Rather, we’re ready in case of an earthquake, a prolonged power outage, or any other tragic event that can cripple our delicate infrastructure.

And if we had to, we could eat for at least three months with our stock of food and water, we have a nice collection of medical supplies, clothes, and camping equipment, and if push comes to shove, we can protect ourselves with deadly force.

And no, we’re not “survivalists”.  We’re normal, urban professionals.  We’re college graduates burdened with a mortgage.  We have a two-year-old and a cat.  We don’t have any strange habits.  We pay our bills on time and have never broken the law.

We just so happen to be prepared to provide for ourselves should the worst ever happen.

We know what a BOB is, and have ours ready.  We have an escape plan should we need to leave the home.  And we know our neighbors and have come to find out that we’re not the only ones who think about, and prepare, for catastrophic events and can band together with others for support.

And it doesn’t take much before things start falling apart.  Take, for example, the power outage the west coast experienced in September 2011.  Power went out at 4pm across California, Arizona, and Mexico, and wasn’t restored until late the next day.  Gasoline pumps no longer functioned, people were trapped in elevators, ATM cards were useless, stores closed down, and traffic was snarled.

What would happen if the power remained out for 24 hours?.  What if it remained out for days?  Weeks?  How would the average person cope?

It’s this sort of thing that we think about, and I’m relieved to know that my family is prepared for just such an event.

And what’s interesting is that the National Geographic Channel has a new upcoming show entitled Doomsday Preppers.  I have yet to see this show, but after watching some of the clips on their website I have a concern over how they portray people who prepare for disasters.  What I would like to see is less of the sketchy-type, crazy-eyed individuals and more of the average “I can’t believe Bob from accounting preps” type of people, if for nothing other than to put more of a positive spin on a subject that, in my opinion, should be taken seriously by everybody.

Again, I’m an optimist who likes to believe that society will keep on trucking.  But then again, if it doesn’t, what harm can it do to stock some extra food and water?

In the early 90′s I was an avid rock climber.

I climbed nearly every single day.  My training ground of choice was Mt. Woodson in Poway, CA.  Several times each year several friends and I would camp out in Joshua Tree for days at a time to climb.  And I actually got pretty good at it.  Not great, but good enough to lead 5.11 climbs on the sharp end of the rope, and even bagged a few 5.12 routes.

I did have a few accidents, but nothing major.  Broke a finger, lost a finger nail, and twisted my knee pretty good peeling off a solo route while bouldering out at Red Rocks.  Luckily I never got too crazy, unlike Alex Honnold here and his solo climb of Half Dome in Yosemite.

Even I got a bit nervous watching him tackle this.

I understand the need to excel, but at what point is enough enough?

It’s been a few years since I’ve climbed. I’m thinking that it might be time to break out my shoes and chalk bag and hit up Mt. Woodson or the Santee boulders. It’d be neat to introduce Tyler to climbing someday…

There’s nothing quite like witnessing the slow death of a once great blog.  And the slow decay of a blog as it slides into disuse and obscurity is like watching the physical decline of a good friend.

As it often happens, you stumble across a blog by happenstance, or are referred to it from a link on an existing blog.  An interesting article is posted, and you make the extra effort to post a comment.  Said blogger then does you a solid by posting a comment on your blog.  And as the weeks and months roll on this action is repeated, a certain sort of familiarity and raport is formed, and a vague, distant friendship is born.  E-mails might even be exchanged as ideas are banded back and forth regarding a wide range of esoteric topics that are the bread and butter for bloggers.

This, my friends, is the very essence of blogging. And much like driving a car, blogging is not a spectator sport.  There’s a certain amount of personal investment that goes into the creation and maintenance of a blog that posts updates on a reliable schedule.  Consistent readers who regularly comment become noticed.  You then begin to follow other blogs.   You link to them, and they recriprocate.

Then, one day, you notice that they haven’t posted an update to their blog in days.  Days turn to weeks.  Sometimes a half-hearted posting is published, followed perhaps by another in a week’s time.  Then, ultimately…nothing.

You might send an e-mail asking if they’re alright.  Perhaps they’re focusing their energies on another blog?  Sometimes you receive a reply back, but sometimes you don’t.

And that’s it; the death of a blog.

You saw the warning signs.  You silently hoped that that person was simply too busy with work or family to post, or if you’re lucky then they’re just extremely sick and on death’s door but will eventually get back to their blog just as soon as the doctors cure whatever near-fatal disease has them twitching in their death throes.  But more often than not, they simply drop off the face of the Earth, never to return.

You’re reminded of how great their blog once was every time you glance at the link you placed on your blogroll.  Sure, they haven’t updated their blog in months, but you have yet to delete the link, perhaps hoping for a renewal.  A rise from the ashes.  A glorious return to their posting heyday when ideas flowed and comment count numbers were high.

But, deep in your heart, you know that’s most likely not going to happen.

Losing a blog is like losing a friend.

It’s a shame, but it’s the cycle of blogging life.  You’ll get over it.  Eventually.

And so, to all those blogs that have gone before me, here’s tip of the glass and a hope that you’ll start another blog in the near future.

Who knows…perhaps all they needed was a new template to get them back into the swing of things?

One of the coolest versions of Depeche Mode’s song Everything Counts. Ever.

Dig the kids in the background.  Here’s hoping that our Tyler grows up to be just as cool. We often catch him dancing to songs he hears on the television, and he enjoys the music his old man pumps through iTunes, so confidence is high that he’ll at least grow up to appreciate music…

Five Minute Fiction is an ongoing experiment. The goal: To write as much as I can in five minutes.  Don’t think.  Let the fingers do the work.  Once done, walk away then come back later to clean it up.

Enjoy!

Golden Years

Maggie grips the contoured handles of the wheelchair tightly as she guides it underneath the softly swaying shade trees.  The Parkinson’s had sunk itself deep into her husband, and for the past three years he rarely ventured out of this infernal wheeled beast.  Scarce were the days when he was conscious enough to show any sort of recognition, but on those days, when glimmers of his former beautiful personality emerged, she never left his side.

He was now on a diet of baby food, and last week the doctors took him off his medication, claiming that they were no longer doing him any good.  Maggie knew this day would eventually arrive, but the news still came as a terrible shock.

Her once striking blue eyes were now grey, macular, and perpetually Saran-wrapped in tears.

But today was one of the increasingly rare good days where, in the final stage of this damned disease, her husband was cognizant and the tremors not as severe.  Today they talked, laughed, and kissed.  And today, with tiny, careful steps, she pushes the shell of her husband through the park where they first met.

She: Smiling through her tears.

He: Doing his best to direct her with a shaking hand.

Together they stroll, skirting the great lawn, watching families playing and young couples lounging on blankets.  In the sky brightly colored kites flew, doing their best to avoid the occasional balloon that had slipped itself free from young clenched fists.  They walked past the stands selling ice cream cones and lemonade, over the footbridge where they first kissed those many years ago, and under the long green canopy avenue of leaves where Maggie watched the sunlight dance like playful sprites on her husband’s cheeks.

With him prompting they hopped up a curb, rounded the corner, and were lost to sight from the park.  Alone, they made their way around the small fountain where they proclaimed their love for the first time, then turned on to the hard packed earthen trail that would lead them into a dense forest of oak and birch trees.

Ahead, they could hear the rushing waters of the Samsanee where trout still swam and great moss-covered logs could be used to cross the raging current if one was young and brave enough to try.

Pausing, she lovingly brushes his cheek.

He grabs her hand and kisses it.

Together, they head for the river’s edge.