Number 1, Volume 2
According to the Mayan calendar, this world, as we know it, will end on December 21, 2012. If this is the case, then I need to rapidly revise my “To Do List.” The most urgent task would be to go through boxes and donate many of my books to the library, so that people can quickly catch up with their reading. Yet I hate to part with them as they are like old friends. I just scratched that out and wrote on the top line, “clean out closet and donate clothes to Goodwill. Those two things must get done immediately. Although there are a couple of dresses which might be used for theatre costumes….
I am glad I did not discard my 1970s miniskirts, by cutting them six inches more they would be in fashion today with boots. My legs should still be in fairly decent shape as I walk around the lake three times – that is four and a half miles a day while I think about what I’m going to write. Writers like to walk a lot.
No. 3 on my list would be: “forget about my portfolio – investing out the door – not doing well anyway. What good will gold coins do me if I have to worry about contamination of my food supply? Perhaps I should buy hundreds of packets of water purification tablets instead. That reminds me, I had better check out my emergency backpack to make sure I have extra batteries for my radio and flashlights; also, candles and waterproof matches. My First Aid Kit, is fairly up- to-date, but I need an extra bottle of aspirin because something tells me I’m going to need them. Not for me, but to hand out to my friends. Since my husband grew up in Utah and knows how to hunt deer and rabbits, we should have plenty to eat. And, in any case, I also am a “country” girl. I grew up on a farm in Scotland. I’ll never forget the joy of chasing the hens, playing in the pig pen, and jumping off haystacks, much to my dear mother’s dismay. “She’s such a tomboy!”
The last time we went camping in Arizona - and I mean the LAST time - John sent me out to collect wood to start a fire. Some itty bitty insect crawled up my leg and bit me. I didn’t feel it because I was busy looking for rattle snakes. Had I seen one, I would have scrambled into my car driving down the mountain with a left-behind husband yelling at me. Instead, in the velvety black night of the cold tent, I felt deathly ill. Poor survivalist hubby had to dismantle the tent in the dark and drive me to the nearest hospital under the threat of “D I V O R C E!” I had been bitten by a poisonous spider. The next time we go camping whether in Utah or Arizona, it will be at a four-star hotel with a whirlpool bathtub. And I mean, replete with English lavender scented bubbles. And lots of other bubbles in a glass and classical music. Or, he can go camping with the boys. Wives don’t always have to do what husband’s like. After all, he won’t join my chorus group. Doesn’t like to sing. I don’t like to fish. Too stinky!
So with my cleaned-out house and survivalist gear up-to-date, I am now ready for the end of the world. But what should I do with my time while waiting for Armageddon? I must admit it will be a bit of relief not to have to watch on television the asinine things the politicians are doing. And I had to chuckle to myself thinking that if President Obama thinks he is going to be re-elected in November 2012, he had better research the Mayan calendar, because his days of glory will not be prolonged. If Mitt Romney were to get elected then I think I would have more hope for our future, and would not mind seeing the former Massachusetts Governor’s handsome face on T. V. once in a while, because I think he would use it less for political propaganda than our current president. If he does not get elected, he could always do toothpaste commercials with that great smile of his. And if Obama does not get re-elected, he could find work doing toothpaste commercials with that engaging grin of his. Although he seems to be grinning less with this new 112th congressional session.
No matter what my thoughts are, destiny has a way of playing itself on stage, and talking about stage, one of my unfulfilled dreams would be to play Evita, another ambitious face-all-over-the-place personality with political ambitions that knew no boundaries, because of the dramatic histrionics I could portray. It is great fodder for the persona to be able to rant and rave and lie like politicians. Lots of fun!
But now I must concentrate on reading the Bible, to see if Granny Lindsay, (may she rest in peace) was right. At the end of our meaningless life, it all boils down to family and friends. I should forgive old grudges, and look into my heart to analyze my sins, and wonder how I could have changed things. Or, could I have helped someone, yet not done so. Was more expected of me because I have been exceptionally blessed?
With less than twenty-four months to go on living in this crazy, mixed-up world, I had better do some more introspection if I am going to be meeting my Maker. I am wondering what heaven will be like. I think I have a bit more of an inkling of what hell is like, having spent some time there these past two years. Yet if there is an after life, what an adventure! But if this is all there is then I had better start planting my victory garden and learning to cook. After all, isn’t eating chocolate and reading a juicy romantic novel a bit of earthly hedonistic pleasure we still can enjoy for the next few months?
Maybe the calculations of the Mayan calendric system were incorrect. After all, they couldn’t even find a cure for smallpox that the Spaniards brought to their shores. And they did practice some terrible human sacrifices. So hopefully they were wrong, and I will put more trust in our Gregorian calendar. Although it is hard to trust anybody these days. What a pity – what would Norman Rockwell think about our loss of Americana? Am I being too nostalgic in thinking back to those innocent times when Huckleberry Finn sat fishing at an unpolluted lake? How I wish those simplistic times would return, especially for our grandchildren to enjoy. One thing an incurable romantic does not like is a blatant reality.
Nowadays we even have to defend our Christmas trees and crosses at veteran’s memorial sites. At the veteran’s memorial cemetery where my father is buried, there is a cross with his name and rank on it, and next to him, his close friends, are three Stars of David with their names inscribed. You see, when they died together, religion did not matter, they all went to face the same God.
Nostradamus predicted the end would come in the year 8000 and that gives me a little more time to rethink my life. Now I won’t have to worry about finding a whistle for my emergency equipment. I wonder what I will need it for. Who is going to pay attention to a whistle blower? On the other hand, isn’t that what is happening in Washington these days? Maybe there is hope after all, and just in case the world does not end in 2012, I better concentrate on learning my music as we have a concert to perform this spring.