The way things look on the economic front, it appears I may not be able to finish Alyssa’s story before the great collapse occurs. That would not be good as I still have so much to share. Perhaps in the future I’ll just run an outline of the rest of the story containing some of the more necessary details we will need to survive. If I see that this medium that I’m using to get this message out is going to die, I’ll try to quickly get something out.
A few weeks ago I commented on the foolishness of the economic stimulus package Congress passed. There has been a lot of talk and advice given about what individuals should do with that money. After hearing much and thinking some more, I’ve come up with a few options depending on your situation and your attitude.
1) If your main concern is the welfare of the United States:
Maybe your best choice is to send the check back or tear it up (I don’t know which of the two creates a bigger or more bureaucratic bookkeeping problem). Anything you could do to limit the amount of money that the US treasury has to borrow would be a step (no matter how small it would be) in the right direction. You could also buy one or two thousand forever stamps. That way the money still goes back to the treasury, but you actually get something in return, albeit when the post office closes the stamps will be worthless. Of course you could sell or trade them to other people prior to that. You know if we bought 50 billion forever stamps, that would put 20.5 billion dollars back into the treasury - might help a little, but just for a while.
2) If you’re well enough off and your main concern is the welfare of others:
You should donate the check to non-profits, the money would still be spent by someone and possibly achieve its purpose. Additionally it would give you a small tax write-off assuming the IRS is still in business in April 2009.
3) If you are barely making ends meet now, making your main concern the survival of your family:
You should purchase as many REAL goods as possible with the cash. Items like fuel oil, coal, food that can be kept safely for a long period, seeds, garden tools, soaps, toothpaste, pharmaceuticals, eyeglasses, rubber boots, raincoats, winter gloves, ammunition, batteries, hand powered generators, candles, matches, metal cooking pots. Purchase them before hyperinflation drives their prices through the roof and /or supplies have been cut-off.
Some are advising using the check to pay as much of your debt as you can, but what difference does it make if you owe $48,800 instead of $50,000? Will it really hurt you if you owe a bank money when it goes under? Isn’t it much better to owe them than have them lose your money in the collapse?
Turn your paper dollars into something real as soon as you can. Yes, and if the end becomes very imminent, I would think someone trying to insure his family’s survival might even use credit to buy those real things. I would even consider buying some items on credit now and plan to pay the card when the US check comes in May or June. Although if things snowball faster than most expect, we shall never see that check.
4) If you are of means and want to preserve as much as you have:
Assuming you have the bases already covered mentioned in #3, buy gold or silver with the check. You can’t eat it, but it will have a real value regardless of what happens to the dollar. My sincere wish is that people of means will be able to aid those of us who do not heed the warnings that are being plastered all over the place.
Sorry to paint such a grim picture. But truly, as rough as the going might be for awhile, the final outcome might not really be that bad. Our world is in need of a major cleansing, and what’s coming down the road might just do that. Please don’t feel pressured by any of my opinions. Consider the facts, draw your own conclusions, and take whatever steps you decide are necessary.
I’ll try to get back to Alyssa’s story, but in the meantime, God bless you all.
To be continued??????? Mort Stump
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Chapter Twenty-one - Mortality
“Joan Wolfe, Wayne’s wife, passed away this morning,” Butch announced.
“How? What from?” Joe inquired.
“She awoke at the usual time,” Butch answered, “appeared a little sluggish, ate about the same breakfast she normally did, and then lay back down. It was her normal routine, not unusual for an eighty-nine year old. About an hour later, Clare went back to check on her, and she was gone. What from? We’re not really sure. Our best guess is some complication from her diabetes. She had been on insulin for years. When her supply ran out, we managed her sugar pretty well with her diet, but evidently her system couldn’t take it. At least it appears she went peacefully.”
“That’s good,” Dad said. “How’s Wayne taking it?”
“So far, really well,” Ben responded. “He’s been expecting it for some time now; he knew he could lose her any day. Right now he has other things on his mind, which is what brings us here. He needs your help.”
“Of course,” Harvey replied, “how can we help?”
“Joan always wanted a big church funeral,” Ben continued. “Had her scriptures and hymns all picked out; even discussed the plans with Reverend Schneider. She and Wayne often talked about it. Wayne says it was important to her, that he had promised her he would carry out her plans, and he intends to do so.”
“Rightly so,” Harvey agreed. “What’s our part?”
“We need to get the grave dug ASAP,” Butch answered. “There’s no undertaker around with embalming fluid; she should be buried tomorrow. We assume Steward’s backhoe is still at the church cemetery. Would you accompany us to the church to run the backhoe and could you spare a couple gallons of diesel fuel in case its tank is dry?”
“I will,” Harvey said, “but are you sure the backhoe still works?”
“No, we’re not,” Butch continued. “We’re planning on taking charged batteries and jumper cables. We’re hoping your mechanic, Barry, can go along as well, and bring his tools. And if we can’t get it running, the men at our farm are gathering shovels and picks, so we can dig the grave by hand if we have to.”
“Do we know where the gravesite is?” Harvey asked.
“Wayne drew us a map and there’s already a stone there; shouldn’t be a problem,” Butch answered.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said. “I guess the minister needs to be notified some way as well?”
“Right,” Ben replied, “we thought it would be a good idea if we took your moped along on the wagon so one of us could track the Reverend down and let him know.”
“Good idea,” Harvey said. “Your wagon will be pretty full. How many of us do you need?”
“Just you and Barry,” Butch answered. “It’s dinnertime already. It will probably be after dark until we get back. Your men need to be here to get your work done; we’ll have enough hands.”
“Then let’s get started,” Harvey said.
“Oh, one more thing Wayne could use some help with,” Ben added.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“Well, the women are helping Wayne getting Joan ready for the funeral,” Ben continued. “You know, talking out what she’s going to wear, fixing her hair, and the like. But he plans to build a coffin for her, and I believe he fully expects to carry out his plans. Your dad’s really good with woodworking. It would be great if Harold would come up with us to give Wayne a hand. We have the lumber, hardware and the tools. Maybe your father-in-law could come as well. I think it would be good for Wayne if the task wasn’t so solitary and that he’d be in the company of two fellas nearer his own age who could talk things through, if he needed to.”
“Kinda like years ago, when a widow, together with other women family members and friends, would have to devote all kinds of time to the funeral and wake preparations,” Dad said. “It kept her mind off all the grief she was bearing.”
“Yes, like that,” Ben agreed.
“I’m sure Poppop and Grandpop will be glad to help Wayne,” Dad said. “They’re probably getting things ready for dinner. Alyssa, let’s go find them.”
We found my grandfathers with the kitchen crew and shared the news with all the others there. Everyone was glad to comply with Wayne’s wishes and to follow Butch’s plans. The funeral came off without a hitch. We used Brutus to haul some of us to church. Others rode bicycles or rode on the two wagons Butch had hitched up, one of which bore the coffin.
It was a dreary, drizzly day; maybe the way it should be for a funeral. The church was cold and somber; not how I was used to it being. It usually had a warm, bubbly, cheerful, and friendly atmosphere. Mel played the piano for the hymns. She was good, considering the pressure. Though it wasn’t the same as organ music. Of course, Reverend Schneider had successfully been located. We even found Joan’s closest living relative on a farm north of town. It was her youngest sister and a nephew and his family. They sure were glad we did. Countless hours had been spent by thousands of people the last few months, worrying and wondering how distant family members had survived. It was good to have closure for at least one of those families.
That evening I heard Mom, Dad, Jean, Harvey, Poppop, and Grandmom talking about funerals.
“You want to be buried at church?” Jean asked Harvey.
“Why do YOU want to know?” Harvey joked. “I plan on burying YOU first.”
“In your dreams,” Jean replied. “I’m serious, where do you want to be buried? We never did get around to buying plots at the church cemetery like we talked about years ago.”
“I know,” Harvey said. “I’d just as soon be buried here on the farm.”
“Me too,” said Poppop, “hope that’s alright with you, Grandmom?”
“Machts nichts aus,” she replied. “(Makes no difference) where we’re buried; been here for over 55 years. Might as well be here on the farm. Either of you have a spot picked out?”
“I kinda like,” Harvey answered, “at the far end of the meadow, up near the top of the hill, near the pine woods. It’s peaceful; you have a nice view of the whole valley and the farm buildings.”
“Like you’ll be able to see anything after I’ve planted you there,” Jean quipped.
“I know mother,” he replied, “it’s the thought that counts.”
“I like that spot too,” Poppop said. “It’s close to a couple of our deer hunting stands. I shot a few deer up there.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dad agreed, “good memories.”
“Now ain’t that an important reason to pick a burial sight,” Mom countered. “But in the meadow? You want cows stomping on you for eternity?”
“Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing,” Dad answered, “I’ll put you in extra deep.”
“Oh, so you’re burying me?” Mom whined.
“Planning on it,” Dad replied.
“Don’t worry; we’ll build a fence around it,” Poppop said. “Maybe even a stone wall. The old limestone quarry is only a few hundred yards from there.”
“Uh oh,” Harvey said, “I wonder how that vein of limestone runs. I don’t want to hit limestone clunkers every time I go to plant one of you.”
“Listen to him,” Mom said, “he’s planting us.” Turning to him she added, “I’d much prefer to sing at your funeral.”
“And so you might,” Dad acknowledged. “I wouldn’t worry about the limestone, Harvey. It’s been years since that pasture ground’s been plowed, so I can’t say for certain, But the field just next to it is shaly loam soil – wasn’t formed from limestone.”
“And,” Poppop added, “in the driest summers you can see a distinct line in both the meadow and the field where the limestone soil switches to the shale. You know, on the shale side the grass or crop planted there dries up much earlier. On the limestone side it stays greener for a couple weeks longer. Your spot for the cemetery is on the shale side of the line.”
“That’s settled then,” Grandmom announced, “another crisis solved. Who wants to be first?”
Of course it was a rhetorical question. We’d have to wait for the future to give us the answer.
“Makes me wonder about the quarry, now,” Dad continued. “If we want to grow crops without commercial fertilizer, could we find a way to mine the limestone like they did a century ago, and then burn the stone in a kiln to make lime to feed our crops?”
“I guess we could,” Harvey replied. “Another project, for another time.
To be continued….. Mort
“How? What from?” Joe inquired.
“She awoke at the usual time,” Butch answered, “appeared a little sluggish, ate about the same breakfast she normally did, and then lay back down. It was her normal routine, not unusual for an eighty-nine year old. About an hour later, Clare went back to check on her, and she was gone. What from? We’re not really sure. Our best guess is some complication from her diabetes. She had been on insulin for years. When her supply ran out, we managed her sugar pretty well with her diet, but evidently her system couldn’t take it. At least it appears she went peacefully.”
“That’s good,” Dad said. “How’s Wayne taking it?”
“So far, really well,” Ben responded. “He’s been expecting it for some time now; he knew he could lose her any day. Right now he has other things on his mind, which is what brings us here. He needs your help.”
“Of course,” Harvey replied, “how can we help?”
“Joan always wanted a big church funeral,” Ben continued. “Had her scriptures and hymns all picked out; even discussed the plans with Reverend Schneider. She and Wayne often talked about it. Wayne says it was important to her, that he had promised her he would carry out her plans, and he intends to do so.”
“Rightly so,” Harvey agreed. “What’s our part?”
“We need to get the grave dug ASAP,” Butch answered. “There’s no undertaker around with embalming fluid; she should be buried tomorrow. We assume Steward’s backhoe is still at the church cemetery. Would you accompany us to the church to run the backhoe and could you spare a couple gallons of diesel fuel in case its tank is dry?”
“I will,” Harvey said, “but are you sure the backhoe still works?”
“No, we’re not,” Butch continued. “We’re planning on taking charged batteries and jumper cables. We’re hoping your mechanic, Barry, can go along as well, and bring his tools. And if we can’t get it running, the men at our farm are gathering shovels and picks, so we can dig the grave by hand if we have to.”
“Do we know where the gravesite is?” Harvey asked.
“Wayne drew us a map and there’s already a stone there; shouldn’t be a problem,” Butch answered.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said. “I guess the minister needs to be notified some way as well?”
“Right,” Ben replied, “we thought it would be a good idea if we took your moped along on the wagon so one of us could track the Reverend down and let him know.”
“Good idea,” Harvey said. “Your wagon will be pretty full. How many of us do you need?”
“Just you and Barry,” Butch answered. “It’s dinnertime already. It will probably be after dark until we get back. Your men need to be here to get your work done; we’ll have enough hands.”
“Then let’s get started,” Harvey said.
“Oh, one more thing Wayne could use some help with,” Ben added.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“Well, the women are helping Wayne getting Joan ready for the funeral,” Ben continued. “You know, talking out what she’s going to wear, fixing her hair, and the like. But he plans to build a coffin for her, and I believe he fully expects to carry out his plans. Your dad’s really good with woodworking. It would be great if Harold would come up with us to give Wayne a hand. We have the lumber, hardware and the tools. Maybe your father-in-law could come as well. I think it would be good for Wayne if the task wasn’t so solitary and that he’d be in the company of two fellas nearer his own age who could talk things through, if he needed to.”
“Kinda like years ago, when a widow, together with other women family members and friends, would have to devote all kinds of time to the funeral and wake preparations,” Dad said. “It kept her mind off all the grief she was bearing.”
“Yes, like that,” Ben agreed.
“I’m sure Poppop and Grandpop will be glad to help Wayne,” Dad said. “They’re probably getting things ready for dinner. Alyssa, let’s go find them.”
We found my grandfathers with the kitchen crew and shared the news with all the others there. Everyone was glad to comply with Wayne’s wishes and to follow Butch’s plans. The funeral came off without a hitch. We used Brutus to haul some of us to church. Others rode bicycles or rode on the two wagons Butch had hitched up, one of which bore the coffin.
It was a dreary, drizzly day; maybe the way it should be for a funeral. The church was cold and somber; not how I was used to it being. It usually had a warm, bubbly, cheerful, and friendly atmosphere. Mel played the piano for the hymns. She was good, considering the pressure. Though it wasn’t the same as organ music. Of course, Reverend Schneider had successfully been located. We even found Joan’s closest living relative on a farm north of town. It was her youngest sister and a nephew and his family. They sure were glad we did. Countless hours had been spent by thousands of people the last few months, worrying and wondering how distant family members had survived. It was good to have closure for at least one of those families.
That evening I heard Mom, Dad, Jean, Harvey, Poppop, and Grandmom talking about funerals.
“You want to be buried at church?” Jean asked Harvey.
“Why do YOU want to know?” Harvey joked. “I plan on burying YOU first.”
“In your dreams,” Jean replied. “I’m serious, where do you want to be buried? We never did get around to buying plots at the church cemetery like we talked about years ago.”
“I know,” Harvey said. “I’d just as soon be buried here on the farm.”
“Me too,” said Poppop, “hope that’s alright with you, Grandmom?”
“Machts nichts aus,” she replied. “(Makes no difference) where we’re buried; been here for over 55 years. Might as well be here on the farm. Either of you have a spot picked out?”
“I kinda like,” Harvey answered, “at the far end of the meadow, up near the top of the hill, near the pine woods. It’s peaceful; you have a nice view of the whole valley and the farm buildings.”
“Like you’ll be able to see anything after I’ve planted you there,” Jean quipped.
“I know mother,” he replied, “it’s the thought that counts.”
“I like that spot too,” Poppop said. “It’s close to a couple of our deer hunting stands. I shot a few deer up there.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dad agreed, “good memories.”
“Now ain’t that an important reason to pick a burial sight,” Mom countered. “But in the meadow? You want cows stomping on you for eternity?”
“Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing,” Dad answered, “I’ll put you in extra deep.”
“Oh, so you’re burying me?” Mom whined.
“Planning on it,” Dad replied.
“Don’t worry; we’ll build a fence around it,” Poppop said. “Maybe even a stone wall. The old limestone quarry is only a few hundred yards from there.”
“Uh oh,” Harvey said, “I wonder how that vein of limestone runs. I don’t want to hit limestone clunkers every time I go to plant one of you.”
“Listen to him,” Mom said, “he’s planting us.” Turning to him she added, “I’d much prefer to sing at your funeral.”
“And so you might,” Dad acknowledged. “I wouldn’t worry about the limestone, Harvey. It’s been years since that pasture ground’s been plowed, so I can’t say for certain, But the field just next to it is shaly loam soil – wasn’t formed from limestone.”
“And,” Poppop added, “in the driest summers you can see a distinct line in both the meadow and the field where the limestone soil switches to the shale. You know, on the shale side the grass or crop planted there dries up much earlier. On the limestone side it stays greener for a couple weeks longer. Your spot for the cemetery is on the shale side of the line.”
“That’s settled then,” Grandmom announced, “another crisis solved. Who wants to be first?”
Of course it was a rhetorical question. We’d have to wait for the future to give us the answer.
“Makes me wonder about the quarry, now,” Dad continued. “If we want to grow crops without commercial fertilizer, could we find a way to mine the limestone like they did a century ago, and then burn the stone in a kiln to make lime to feed our crops?”
“I guess we could,” Harvey replied. “Another project, for another time.
To be continued….. Mort
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