Blogger litbrit writes:
...Our business has slowed to a halt, after we'd already plowed what we had in the bank into our new project, an organic and hydroponic farm powered by alternative fuels (wind and solar), once the wholesale ornamental plant business ground to a quiet halt thanks to the commercial real estate sector grinding to a far more spectacular and explosive halt in 2008. We figured, people will always need to eat. And they will. But it's taken all we've got, I'm down to the last dregs of my retirement money--my beloved's has long since evaporated--and we are crossing all functioning fingers and toes that a Clean Energy grant we recently applied for comes through. Thereafter, I don't know what we'll do. I really don't.
I never gave that much thought to what life would be like when I turned fifty--later this year, I'll do exactly that--but if I'm honest, I'll admit to a hazy, sun-soaked vision of myself sitting in my lush garden, relaxing at last as my children would be well past the diaper stage and able to make their own PB&J's; I'd be halfway through writing my novel, my car wouldn't be making weird, expensive-sounding noises--it might even be one of those snazzy electric cars!--and worrying myself sick at night would be a dim memory of what things were like when the children were little and always coming down with something.
Instead, I'm looking three months down the road to the dread date, and I can't envision anything at all--it's like trying to read a distant cluster of unlit road signs while peering through the dense fog at dawn. Or else sunset.
Our beaches offer little comfort: it's much too hot this summer--even for Florida--and the breezes seem to sputter and choke before they reach us. Besides, with every passing week, those vast clots of tar creep further southward. Seaside is ruined; our escape grounds will be next.
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4 comments:
One story with millions more coming down the pipe. We ain't seen nothing yet!
That I'm still up at 2:30 am gives you an idea of how badly I sleep. But we have it much, much better than many people in Florida. We're lucky to own our house and our land, and we hope (we hope a lot) to have some income flowing in before the taxes come due.
And that's something I'm grateful for--we do have a roof over our heads; lots of people don't. God, I hope things turn around. I long for some good news, or even just some heroes to cheer for in that news. Everything that oozing out of the tv set--when I can steel myself to turn it on, I mean--turns out to be dark slime of the metaphorical or actual variety. (Yeah, that's a Zappa reference, ha!) My mother wrote me a note the other day which concluded with her wondering, given the unrelenting tide of evil that keeps flooding us all, when we might expect an ebb.
I'm terribly flattered you featured my little comment on your site. Thank you. I mean only to let everyone who's having a terrible time right now--and I'm certain many have it worse, and my heart goes out to them--know that they aren't alone.
XXX
D.
I don't think this country can recover from 8 years of Bush-Cheny.
Probably won't cheer you up to learn that the photograph you used to illustrate the post is part of the estate of Tom Petters, local fat-cat plutocrat ponzi-schemer, owner of dozens of houses and art objects and so on, and perfect example of the shell-game entitlement scams of the very rich and very right-wing. He's in jail and the photograph is on the market, proceeds to go to his many, many creditors, but likely not his defrauded customers and high-and-dry employees.
ice9
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