Back in May of 2011 I wrote Should I Stay or Should I Go Now? about how to fortify your home. If you haven't read it, please do. I'll wait...
Back? Okay, good.
If for some reason your home cannot be made into a fortress at a moment's notice (with a little prepping, of course) or with all the notice in the world, what will you do? Defending all the possible points of entry might be more taxing (and dangerous) than packing up and jumping ship.
But where to go?
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Flash Fiction: Mesquite
Jackie opened and closed cabinets. She peered into the oven. She shifted papers on the kitchen table. “Baby?” she called out. “Baby, I don’t know what I’m gonna do here.” She looked underneath a pot holder.
“What’s the problem?” He leaned on the door frame. He crossed his sweat and grime coated arms in front of his chest. The doorjamb tried to lean away from him. “And don’t fucking call me baby. I’m fucking tired of that gooey shit.” One of his arms slipped away and rested on his gut.
“I can’t find the new jar of Jamaican jerk spices I got the other day. I’m having a barbecue this weekend and I was going to use it on some of the meat.” Jackie opened a cabinet over the sink and stared at the jumble of cups, mugs, coffee filters, and discarded brik-a-brak that had never made its way to the trash. She picked up a chipped bluebird gazed at it for a moment, then returned it to the shelf. “Ba--. Jimmy, do you know where it is?” The top shelf, above her reach without a stool, was littered with stolen salt and pepper shakers.
“What’s the problem?” He leaned on the door frame. He crossed his sweat and grime coated arms in front of his chest. The doorjamb tried to lean away from him. “And don’t fucking call me baby. I’m fucking tired of that gooey shit.” One of his arms slipped away and rested on his gut.
“I can’t find the new jar of Jamaican jerk spices I got the other day. I’m having a barbecue this weekend and I was going to use it on some of the meat.” Jackie opened a cabinet over the sink and stared at the jumble of cups, mugs, coffee filters, and discarded brik-a-brak that had never made its way to the trash. She picked up a chipped bluebird gazed at it for a moment, then returned it to the shelf. “Ba--. Jimmy, do you know where it is?” The top shelf, above her reach without a stool, was littered with stolen salt and pepper shakers.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Dark & Stormy
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| From eHow |
Only three out of four of those items make sense.
Preparing for a storm of serious magnitude (especially one named after a hubris filled doctor), is serious business. Take care not to make mistakes like the one above.
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