Sunday, April 5, 2015

Coming Out Of The Closet…Yes, I’m A Survivalist

Mormons are interesting people. Although I am not Mormon myself—I consider myself a Conservative, Republican Catholic—I have learned a lot from my interaction with a salt-of-the Earth Mormon couple.

The husband is one of my best friends and he has mentored me in something I already knew: preparedness. His wife is a cherished curriculum collaborator. Oops...we are teachers.

I can hear the roars of laughter. You’re one of them? A survivalist? A doomsday prepper?

Yes, I am.

As mentioned, I am a teacher and no I am not a wealthy, anti-American, Libtard union activist. 

I belong to the teachers’ union because I have no choice. 

I am forced.

I either pay or I have no job. That is not American, but I have no choice in the post-common-sense world of the Liberal-Socialist Gestapo.

As I am fond of saying: it is what it is.

I grew up with my grandmother and her sister who canned food—mostly fruit—and stockpiled for a rainy day. My pantry as an adult always had excess supply.

I used garden. I have started again

I even raised chickens in my back yard as a teenager.

My leap into the world of survivalism came with the realization that I get ten paychecks a year—not twelve—and if I stockpiled during the ten paid months, I could skate through the two unpaid relatively unscathed.

I told my Mormon friends that I was a “two-month Mormon” because I had stockpiled enough food for two months. They grinned and challenged me on to the next level of preparedness.

I will save other things for additional posts, but suffice it to say I am a single father of one amazing daughter and my life’s work is to make her safe, sane, and loaded with common sense.

We live in an earthquake and flood zone. We have 72-hour “bug out” bags. We even have our cat and three dogs dialed in. I am a responsible pet owner. I took them in and I feel duty bound to care for them—as long as I can without compromising my daughter first and me second.

My Mormon friends were thrilled at my attention to detail.

At a moment’s notice, we can load the family Fusion and bug out. Yes, it will be cramped, but—for 72 hours—I am prepared. I wish only that I had been a Boy Scout.

When I was a boy, the priest frowned on Boy Scouts.

Of course, he was molesting two boys in the parish…hashtag hypocrite.

I am cooking again because I know how to.

I have made chicken and beef stock to kill for. All-natural marinara sauce, green enchilada sauce, and hearty vegetable stock that have amazing flavor.

I am sodium free.

I plan to buy a freezer.

I need to buy a freezer.

Let people laugh at my doomsday preparedness bent. When I die, and my casket is being lowered into the ground, if nothing needing this level of preparedness was necessary then laugh at me.

Meanwhile, I have the upper hand.

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