The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

I got more than a couple of friends who think the economy — the world economy, no less — is on its way down the toilet. Huge debts, large deficits, the Federal Reserve printing money like it was Charmin — they see a Fiscal Armageddon on the horizon. Depression, unemployment, then the collapse of civilization as we know it. They’re wondering if it’s time to buy a gun. Or an arsenal. They’re wondering if they should buy Chinese currency or a year’s supply of food and water. They’re wondering what to do with their money that will keep them afloat when their neighbors drown.

I remember one of my dad’s pals, Malcolm, building a bomb shelter in his basement. Great guy, Malcolm, salt of the earth, a family man, just taking care of his family down in Northern Georgia near the foothills of the Appalachian where we lived. He took me down into his basement — I was all of 12 years old — to show me the shelter that would keep his family alive after the communists attacked us with nuclear weapons, an event he saw as inevitable.

He had water tanks and shelves full of canned goods. He had gas masks and a propane stove. He had flashlights and a ton of batteries. “Electricity’ll be gone. Maybe forever,” he told me. There were bunk beds and a portable toilet. It looked like Motel 6 had mated with a Goodwill. It really didn’t look like a home for months of subterranean living, unless you were gophers.

In the corner by the door Malcolm had his hunting rifle. “For food?” I asked, thinking maybe a dinner of radioactive deer might be the way to go. Malcolm picked up the gun and gave me a ‘serious’ look. “No, Skeeter,” he said solemnly. “Your dad didn’t plan for what’s coming and … well, when you all try to come to our shelter, I’d have to stop you. There’s only room for us.”

Now, I wasn’t the sharpest kid on the block, but I took his meaning pretty quick. “You mean you’d shoot us, Malcolm?” Malcolm set the rifle back in its spot and nodded. “I have to protect my family first. That’s the way it is.”

It’s real hard to like a man who tells you he’d kill you, whether you’re 12 or 64. The world after a nuclear war, and probably an economic Armageddon too, would be filled with Malcolms. They see the bleakest future and the darkest side of human nature, I suspect because they find it in themselves. Me, I’m not interested in either. But I’m always glad to know who to avoid, catastrophe or no.

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I think if I hear one more news story about Covid or the omicron variant or vaccinations or mask wearing or social distancing, I’ll go out and overdose myself with horse dewormers . Enough is never really enough for the news media. Pandemic pandemic panfriggingdemic already!

So now I’m saturated with warnings about the coming war in Eurasia. No, wait, Ukraine. The enemy is massing troops on the border, the enemy is waging cyberwarfare. The enemy is staging war games in Belarus. The cold war is about to get hot! The war is imminent! There will be heavy sanctions if the enemy invades. The drumbeat is insistent, the drumbeat is getting louder, the drumbeat is driving me batshit crazy!

And we’re not even talking yet about Taiwan.. Well, we are, but the drumbeat of the Other Enemy drowns out the warnings about the Not-so-Sleepy Tiger. I swear, it’s enough to drive a man to drugs. Geez, yeah, there’s that opioid crisis too. And partisan politics. Don’t forget the January 6th insurrection or the voter suppression laws or the Roe v. Wade reversal coming. Book bans and critical race theory fights, the Big Lie and Republicans who are convinced Trump won by a landslide. I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning and I sure don’t want to hear story after story repeated endlessly. I think I got the Message already!!!!!

And don’t even think about bringing up Global Warming or Climate Change. Let’s just agree that those whackjob goobers who think Armaggedon is tomorrow, welcome it in fact, well, okay! The anti-Christ is on his way, the End is Near, the Time is Now, I get it, I live in an insane asylum and I no longer assume I’m the sane one. Happy?

Let’s just say it’s time to turn the damn dial. Time to put on some music, read a good novel, play a banjo and take a walk on the beach. Time to check out for awhile, listen to the tide turn, wait for spring. I got fruit trees to prune, a garden fence to build, wood to split and bring in for next year, a life to live. Gotta start somewhere, maybe today. I want two plus two to equal four again. Is that too much to ask?

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