THE mood is dire in the United States, and who are we to argue?
Doom’s predicted in the Canadian media, too, because if the great ship
known as the U.S. Economy sinks, chances are we’re going down with it. Yet
nobody in Canada has thought to lasso a lifeboat.
Maybe that’s because this isn’t the sort of emergency that we Canucks
tend to expect. We’re more familiar with the kind doled out by Mother Nature.
In my neck of the woods, for instance, we’re aware that we’re perched
precariously on a coast with delirium tremens. We know we could be struck at
any time by an earthquake or a tsunami, not to mention a deluge of unprecedented
proportions. Big clumps of mud or rock or snow are always falling off things
and onto us, or we fall off things and onto them. The British Columbia resident’s
vulnerability to outdoor disaster is enough to make a worrywart out of a Hell’s
Angel.
To protect ourselves from major catastrophes, we know we ought to have
lots of water, nonperishable food, a first aid kit, spare eyeglasses and cash
secreted in some spot that’s unlikely to be crushed when our house falls in.
Such suggestions, however, seem pathetically utilitarian at a time like
this, when it’s an economic crisis that threatens us, rather than a natural
one. For most people on the North Shore, at least at present, the problem is
not that we are likely to lose our homes. It’s that we may no longer have the
wherewithal to hire the pruning company to trim the Japanese maples. Painting
and verathane-ing the deck could become superfluous. Some of us might have to
part with our honkin’ SUVs and settle for déclassé sedans.
Nevertheless, given the economic uncertainty, there’s a lot of morose
counsel on Canadian TV and in newspapers about what to do with “all” our
investments. Should we buy cheap real estate in the U.S. in hopes of making a
killing somewhere down the line, or sell our own real estate now in hopes of
not taking too much of a beating as prices deflate? Beats me. For those of us
who just have the one piece of property, which we gratefully use as shelter,
these discussions are moot. (For those of us who don’t even have that, they’re
simply insulting.)
These gloomy media pundits don’t realize that what the middle-class
Canadian family is really obsessed with now is maintaining its own status quo,
and we certainly don’t wish to be seen as overreacting. Who wants to be one of
those frumpy keeners who, the instant the house -- or the economy -- collapses,
whips out a kerosene stove, cracks open the beef jerky, and crams the whole
family into ponchos made out of space blankets? What we really crave are
guidelines for sailing gaily through this mess.
Personally, I’m putting together a family emergency kit for economic
recession that has nothing to do with hoarding money. I’ll pack this kit the
same way I would for a plane trip that I know will end in a wreck on a tropical
island that might spin out into a hit TV series. Feel free to emulate my
sensible example.
Tuck something warm and waterproof for each family member into the
package, in case electric heat or furnace fuel get too pricey. Choose outfits
for yourself in two neutral, complementary tones, such as black and taupe; you
can always splash on colour via accessories. Do resist the urge to toss any
high heels into the mix. True, they lengthen your legs, but they’re useless
when it comes to outrunning packs of feral rabbits.
And just in case we do get kicked out of our houses due to an economic
catastrophe, we need a back-up plan for our domiciles -- structures that allow
us to look au courant no matter what
happens.
It’s always best to consult the experts. So, on your behalf, I used
mental telepathy to ask the designer from a home makeover series to devise a
Home Economic Emergency Preparedness (HEEP) kit, packed with “the New
Essentials.” The kit will be available at selected locations; you can set it up
in any old clearing.
Although Random Designer Guy (RDG) prefers to remain anonymous, you’re
advised to crack open his cleverly crafted HEEP at the first televised sign of
jowly 50-year-old men in wire-rim glasses breaking down in tears about the TSX.
RDG claims that as of this week, we’ll all want to hunker down and
cocoon, but in a stylish way -- “Nothing too 9/11.” The kit itself is a
2-metre-high collapsible “shed.” Made of stainless steel, it’s shaped like a
kidney, because, says RDG, “We’re trending toward essential organ shapes for
fall.”
Once you pop open the solar-heated shed and walk inside, it’s remarkably
spacious. Its “calming” aquamarine interior walls are studded with brushed
steel hooks, on which all the remaining parts of the kit are neatly hung. The
hooks themselves snap together to become a wind-powered Vespa with matching
Italian silk scarf.
The New Essentials include:
• fold-out wicker beds with cheerful/spiritual saffron yellow duvets and
matching pillows
• a robot that automatically cleans up the shed without any
peon-type sass
• beanbag chairs that you can fill with re-purposed squirrels’ nests
(Tip: Remove squirrels first)
• a laser-fuelled heating element that, in a pinch, can be used for
tanning
• a manual espresso maker with detailed instructions
• espresso cups that will double for servings of soup, cereal and pasta
(“You might as well lose weight while you’re sitting around waiting for your
house to regain value,” RDG opines)
• a giant sack of oranges because of scurvy, and man’s perpetual need
for a centrepiece
• a case of tequila, a case of Margarita mix, and 400 little paper
umbrellas
• dried pasta from Italy, in many shapes to avert boredom
• a grater and a giant wedge of Parmigiano Reggiano (“I don’t care if
it’s the financial apocalypse, there’s no excuse for Kraft,” RDG says sternly)
• organic food, water and shampoo for your pets
• primitive looking battery-powered tiki torches for “Survivor” ambience
“Why think of an emergency as a bad thing?” asks RDG. “After all, don’t
they bring people together, and whatchamacallit and so forth? A little bit of
pizzazz can make any eventuality a real hoot. Don’t be glum, chum -- celebrate.
As REM sings, “It’s the end of the world as we know it/ And I feel fine!’”
