My husband wanted me to wait to post up anything until the power came back on. I waited, months slipped by, there would be day here and there where the lights would flicker, and the dark dust filled corners of the house would see light for a few hours then the power would wink out again. I was patient, for a few months, but no more waiting, after sour words and a bit of nagging I have the internet connection hooked to our generator, my laptop charged, a negotiated time of 30 minutes in which to surf through what remains of the internet and post this to one of the few sites still broadcasting bits and bytes of what is left.
I don't know if anyone will see this. My husband has asked me, exasperation with a dash of frustration seasoning his voice, "why now? You didn't have a blog before the Finacpocolypse, why now?" I don't know. I read blogs before, almost with a fervor. I rarely commented, and I never had the desire to create one of my own, but now, now I long for those connections that I took so for granted in the past. I want to read a recipe of the day, a handy DIY outdoor project, a funny anecdotal account of a some other persons day. I want to read it so I can feel what I thought of at one time as normal. My initial idea was to create that kind of blog. A fun witty blog filled with recipes for bean and bologna casseroles, DIY homemade deodorant, and better living through candle light style posts. Maybe I will do those things. Right now though, right now I just want to ask a question. What happened?
A while back I heard a huge crash in the living room where my kids were playing. I rushed in to see the last moments before the post traumatic wailing would commence. There was my lovely 2 1/2 year old with a stunned and soon to be sobbing face in the middle of a pile of debris that seemed to contain all the pictures, art, and curtains from the windows and two separate walls. My 4 year old looked on inquisitively from her seat on the couch and explained seemingly unaware of what had happened. After the tears, antiseptic and bandaids I asked the most logical question, "what happened"?
You cannot imagine the mess and my confusion. The curtain rod was on the floor, the pictures that usually hung to each side, the wall art from above, the decorative candle and shelf from the perpendicular wall all on the floor. WHAT HAPPENED?
The mothers out there will love the next three words from both my little angels mouths, "I don't know..."
Phase 2 is the interrogation. Any mothers out there already know that no useful information is ever gleaned from the interrogation of a 2 1/2 year old. I went to the 4 year old, she will rat out her brother for an extra spoon of peanut butter on her apples. Nothing. She was reading her book and then Matt-Matt feel.
I feel like my 4 year old when looking at the mess that is left. I was just doing what generations of Americans have done. Marriage, mortgage, kids. Then all of the sudden the tranquil quiet life is gone, and we have what to say for it? Should we proceed with an interrogation? Would that do any good?
What was the first domino? The dumping of treasury bonds world wide, the switch from the dollar to the euro by OPEC, rapid inflation as the system suddenly recognized the dollar as an overvalued commodity, then the sudden announcement that peak oil had been reached.
I sit here in a house brightened only by my battery fed screen and wonder what happened. The economy is a man made process, how does it simply stop working? In a breath all we had saved, all we had planned and dreamed became less than the vapor rising from a kettle.
When I look back on it though its not what I lost that scares me the most, but what I could have lost, what I almost lost before the crash. Maybe next time I will write on that, but my timer has already rung and I don't want to push my luck.
Goodbye for now..
