1999 has finally arrived, and with it, a harsh dose of winter is blustering away outside. All things considered winter is probably my least favorite season, but it does provide quiet hours for contemplation in front of the fireplace. And I'm thinking this is probably "it," and if not "it" then certainly next to "it." "It" being of course the last year of my life. I find that thought more than a little unsettling.
Now, I'm only in my early 50's, and statistically for WASP males I should have some 70ish number of years available to me. But at best there would seem to be one more after this, and more likely, none. Because of the "situation" you see.
The "situation" is the incredible cusp we're reaching as the millennium draws ever closer. We've an egomaniac in the White House (do you still capitalize White House anymore, after all that's happened?) who's on a power trip that has Hitler's ghost rolling on the floor in hysteria screaming "chutzpa" at the top of its vaporous lungs - quite a feat, that. We're randomly bombing an insane dictator because he has little glass vials of terrible things which can kill gobs of people in no time at all, assuming he won't send one of those little vials over here hidden in some incredibly clever place, like maybe someone's pocket (this is the same guy who told his sons-in-law "Come home, all is forgiven" and executed them upon arrival - I'm not counting on his forbearance). And of course we have Y2K (a.k.a. "The Millennium Bug") which is going to bring the computers to a confusing halt very soon; like say, sometime this year. And these electronic minions are the very things that bring us the simple things in life like electricity and government checks (did you know some 50% of the folks now get these checks in one form or another?) and automobiles that run and.... lets just say it's a long list. And that might not be so bad, but we've seen the mobs rioting over silly things like the King verdict and soccer scores, so we're pretty sure freezing to death and starving to death is going to make them a little cranky.
So, like many others, we've spent the last few months trying to "Be Prepared." Calculating, preparing, stocking up for a six-month/ one-year interruption of basic services. Wondering if we could get more remote, more private. We have our own water source, lots of acreage, food supplies, weapons, ammo, and a shooting range on which to practice. I've learned to reload ammunition, we've stocked up on seeds and books, we're studying herbs and medicine. We even considered a backup underground hidden last resort kind of thing. And then reality dawned. All the effort was for nought.
It is for nought because of the very first part I mentioned regarding the situation - the egomaniac in the White House. It is for nought because he is most definitely going to "take care of us" (talk about double entendre!), and that means by taking total control, probably martial law. And all of that gives the final impetus to one of his short term goals, disarming the citizens (insert "for their own good/protection" here if you must, it sickens me too much to do it myself) which I suspect will happen as early as this summer or autumn. And this realization of impending events got me to the final stage of preparedness for the coming times.
The final stage of preparedness was of course making a decision, one I didn't take lightly. I'm not going to give up my weapons, and I'm not going to spend endless fearful hours burying and digging and hiding and recovering. They're mine, dammit! The Constitution reaffirms my right to have them, my father introduced me to them and trained me in their use, my government trained me further and sent me off to use them. I've grown accustomed to them over the years, and I'm not giving them up so I can spend my final days in a government internment camp or groveling to goblins who have invaded my home. This is HOME, and it is ours. And I will most probably die here sometime this year; maybe in the driveway, but most likely here in this room. I can't tell you how it moves me to write that last sentence - it scares the hell out of me. But it is where I draw the line. And really, that's all any of us get, the right to draw the line at a place of our choosing.
Have you made your decision yet? It never hurts to be prepared.
(c) 1999 Peregrine
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