Is it possible to fall out of love with a magical place? This perpetual fog along the coast paints everything in a flat, dull light. Santa Barbara looks unspeakably dreary, the rugged mountains to one side of town and silver-blue ocean to the other cloaked from casual view.
I know they’re still there, of course. But like believing the promise of better days that is perpetually pushed into the future, it’s difficult to fully believe that the fog will lift, the sun will shine, and my hometown’s enchanted beauty will be on display once again.
The ever-present rumbles of “bank system collapse is imminent, stock up on emergency supplies, expect the EBS any minute,” parade past me like a phantom tickertape. If I hadn’t been following similar announcements for what seems like years, I might be more inclined to stock up on supplies and expect the EBS.
I’ve never given credence to a full-on financial system collapse, which could just be sheer stupidity on my part. I simply don’t believe the banking system will be wiped out, even though many say it’s necessary in order to destroy the deep state and make way for the new system.
The notion that my locally founded and operated community bank could be swept away on that tsunami feels patently absurd, and I hope “they“ are incorrect in saying that everything has to go. It would be ruinously wasteful to remodel a structure by razing it to the ground when only some of the rooms and mechanical systems need renovation.
I can’t shake my rose-colored belief that most ordinary people will be spared the worst of the negative impacts when the financial carpet is yanked out from under the deep state. I base that belief on nothing more than my internal sense of what is likely. The same criteria also tells me that “military is the only option“ just ain’t so.
Which means that I would be as filled with consternation as the unawake and unaware should the EBS actually occur, and the military come marching in.
The fog has not magically lifted while I’ve been writing. The lack of sun creates a low level of depression that is nearly impossible to escape. The forecast is for sun tomorrow, which happens to be the first day of the I Madonnari chalk painting festival, a Memorial Day tradition that heralds the start of the summer festival season in Santa Barbara.
There have been the usual prognostications from truther-commentators that massive events and potential false flags are in store for Memorial Day weekend all the way through July 4. Even though some circumstances occurring on the world stage do appear to indicate we’re ramping up to Big Changes, making such events more likely, I’m still taking a page from Missouri, the “Show-Me” state. I’ll believe it when I see it.
I’m not likely to head down to the Mission to enjoy the chalk painting festival. But should the sun appear tomorrow, I will celebrate in my own way, kneeling on the lawn and humming while I pull dandelions from the gray-green dymondia carpet. I will marvel at the magnificent mountains I can see from my house, and make the short drive up Fairview Avenue into the hills to take in the ocean view, reassurance that yes, it is still there.
Perhaps I can become re-enchanted with my hometown. Perhaps I might be glad of the emergency stores I have. I might even pay attention when KUSC inexplicably blurts its EBS signal (which it frequently does, with no accompanying announcement). Who knows? This time, there might be interesting words to accompany that warning blare.
“However the slogan [the Show-Me state] originated, it has since passed into a different meaning entirely, and is now used to indicate the stalwart, conservative, noncredulous character of Missourians.” ~ https://www.sos.mo.gov/archives/history/slogan.asp