It’s 2012. Less than a month before the world ends.
Do I believe that? Well, I’m not sure. Honestly, I am a little bit concerned. I don’t want the world to end. I don’t want electricity to end. I want grocery stores and air conditioning and my van. I love my furnace.
But I’m standing in the kitchen and I think that if something bad does happen, barring a meteor hitting and obliterating the entire Eastern seaboard of the United States, then we might be okay. Because I’m standing here in the kitchen pouring heavy cream into my coffee. Heavy cream that’s pouring out of a little cardboard carton and I’m thinking, “I don’t suppose a little RBGH will kill me today.” (I never can remember which of those letters is supposed to be lower case. Sorry.) So anyway, here I am, separating the whey from my homemade, cultured creme freche with homemade, cultured, raw milk yogurt in the fridge and seven butchered deer in the freezer. We have gallons of pecans curing, quarts (not nearly enough, but some) of canned tomatoes, peaches, pickles, preserves and a lot of dehydrated veggies, too.
We have a fireplace. And lots of wood. We won’t freeze.
And then I think: Tina, you’re batshit crazy. The end isn’t near. The status quo will hold. That little bit of commercial dairy that your husband bought is probably not going to hurt you at all. Just drink the damned coffee.