But Seriously, Folks. . .

How are we going to deal with this weather? Today, in Essay Effay, the temperature never topped 60 degrees and the wind howled icily down the east/west streets. I had on the Man's windbreaker, which I wear all winter for park walks, but I forgot my hat (wool) when we walked dogs this morning and, as a result, I have an earache.

Meanwhile, on the East Coast they are frying. "Dogs are sticking to the sidewalks" as my Dad used to say, quoting (perhaps) Thornton Wilder. "Could fry an egg on that sidewalk" as somebody or some bunch of bodies used to say, to express overheated urban conditions. And in Texas, everything is drying up and blowing away (can you say "Dust Bowl"? How about "Great Depression"?) And, as goes Texas, so goes a lot of agriculture and up up up go food prices. And then there's China, desperately needing water. And Vermont, drowning as the rivers swell and tear away the land.

Not so long ago, it seemed possible to exist comfortably and eat just fine on a modest monthly income. Fish and chicken were cheap, vegetables even cheaper, beans a good protein source. . . Last time I checked, salmon was $18/lb. Chicken could be had for under $3/lb., if you were going for something that wasn't raised on hormones and pesticides, but that would be a special. So, you're an old person (yes) trying to make a small amount of social security go a long, long way and you better hope you are good friends with your neighborhood butcher, who can save you a couple of soup bones to add to your parsely broth. That's while he/she is still in business for the next few months. But then?

My compadres are old enough to remember the back-to-the-land surge of the late 60's. All of a sudden, we coddled little suburban brats were asked to learn how to chop wood and haul water and garden and keep chickens for eggs and meat (I don't have to detail what it took to get to meat with chickens, do I?) And this was all in order to be self-sufficient, because Vietnam and corporate America made us think the shit was hitting the fan and we needed to get off the grid. Some of us are still out there, more comfortable now, no doubt - maybe growing a little for a medical marijuana collective, maybe specializing in quail eggs or heirloom tomatoes, maybe just growing enough to can and freeze and trade a little with neighbors, if it's a good year and the late rains don't steal the pollen.

It would be wise not to be helpless during these dark days.