Closed

The beaches are closed in my home town. Up and down the coast the beaches are closed.

Elevated bacteria and what not.

I chuckle a bit . . . Thinking of the property value of my family home . . . Terrorized out of my due by my sister.

Truly — the value there will probably hold. . .but there is an unattractive bit of my being — that feels — HA!

But the beaches are closed as far north as mid-Maine.

I have been fortressing my apartment:

Dry goods, forever foods, freeze dried, water containers, hot plate, pop up tent, shade cloths, bug spray, antiseptic, hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, toothpaste, small portable grill, tiny pocket stoves for gas or wood or alcohol. A cot, a mattress, a camp tarp, candles and oil lamps and citronella and wicks.

Frankly I just enjoy this sort of swag, always have . . . Though my roughing it excursions have always been brief. Well that isn’t entirely true. I have boiled snow for water and shit in an outhouse and gone without running water and limited electricity.

I can rough it — but I like my AC.

My roughing it has always been during fall or winter or early springs in Alaska, and that was decades ago now.

My biggest worry is SHTF going side ways in a hot summer.

I don’t think anyone will fare well.

Least of all fat middle aged broads that wilt over 70 degrees.