No. I’m not joining the ranks of the ever-pessimistic set. It’s a brand-new preparation philosophy the past few days has inspired in me.
Here in the middle of Alabama, we don’t take our snow warnings lightly. If even an inch of snow is predicted, you can bet your bottom dollar the grocery stores will be run amok with shoppers preparing for all contingencies: batteries, candles, the proverbial milk and bread. And if you are like me, a bottle or two of good wine plus supplies for plenty of projects to work on in the event the power is lost. But what is most common, even when an inch or two is predicted, is a light dusting with little if any accumulation.
And so when the forecast proclaimed we’d get a mere dusting, I figured we’d be lucky to even see a flake. That is not what happened.
By 9:30 a.m. on January 28, I was calling Richard to ask if there had been mention of the employees being sent home. There had not been. This was to be a mere dusting, remember? A little after 10, I called again to report our streets were already covered and cars were having difficulty. Finally, at 11:40, I got the call I’d been hoping for, and he was on his way home—a 30-minute drive. Some 3 hours and 20 minutes later, Richard pulled into the driveway.
I was very relieved, but little did I know how bad it would get. Richard was lucky! As the day wore on, the number of cars going by slowed and then ceased altogether. I watched a steady trickle of pedestrians walking by as the sun went down, having abandoned their now useless vehicles. I wanted to offer coffee or cocoa or some hot soup. But I was out of coffee, had no milk, and nothing on hand to quickly whip up a hot meal. I called out to one young girl hurrying by and offered to let her to come in the house to warm up. She thanked me but declined, clearly in a hurry. I don’t blame her.
We were good for the night, eating leftovers from the night before, but the next morning, we had to scrounge to come up with breakfast. Mid-morning, we leashed the dogs and went for a stroll. I snatched my camera, excited at the possibility of some enchanting photo opportunities. I snapped one shot before the battery died. For the rest of the walk the impotent camera hung at my side, now just an annoyance.
Later that morning, Richard trotted off to the nearby coffee shop in hopes they might have opened so he could procure a bag of that nectar of the gods, the coffee bean, but to no avail.
While he was gone, it occurred to me: We are 911 shoppers. We buy gas when the light comes on in the dash. We charge the battery when we need the camera. In an effort to shave food dollars, we purchase only what we simply have no more of. All wrong. I can do this more skillfully.
I’ll move the action to the front of the equation. We already have to regularly buy gas. Why not get it before the tank is empty? So, next time we have a “snowpocalypse,” I’ll be prepared. I’ll be stocked with coffee, candles, and food. When I pick up the camera for a great photographic opportunity, the battery will be charged. The car will have gas.
Pre-planning will serve me because there will be fewer mad dashes to the grocery store and less opportunity to spend money on impulse buys. We’ll also save on gas and time spent on quick trips. But in addition, we will create fewer carbon emissions and be better prepared if we are called upon to lend a hand of some kind.
I’m sure this will take some planning, effort, and trial and error in order to unlearn and retrain myself of this habit, but I’m ON IT! Hear ye this! Half-full is my new empty.