The other day, well, maybe about a month ago, my two younger brothers and I were talking about our respective roles when End Times comes. (No, this End Times obsession of mine has nothing to do with the recent election. AS IF! It’s simply a result of watching three hours of Battlestar Galactica per night.) As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I feel pretty unprepared for the Reckoning. And not just emotionally. An undergraduate degree in English literature and a master’s degree in publishing aren’t exactly the best preparation for being a productive citizen during End of Days (which, like Reckoning, is basically another term for End Times.)
Somewhere along the line, I’ve managed not to pick up a single functional skill. Mooning about politics and watching a LOT of television aren’t exactly pioneer skills. (Please note that I see End Times as a cross between Little House on the Prairie and Lost. Please also note that I’m very sad on my own behalf that all my frames of reference are TV-based.) Anyway, my brothers and I came up with stuff for almost everyone in the family to do. My brother Trevor, a millwright, can fix the farm machinery (for the farm we’re going to get from… somewhere.) Aaron is going to build things. Scott is going to be the head gardener. My mother will can things and bake bread. James will fish.
And I will… well, I will not watch TV, because there won’t be any. And I won’t be able to read all day, because unlike on Lost, where people seem to spend a lot of time farting around on the beach and indulging in copious quantities of personal back story, I think people are going to have to be busy in order to get ahead during End Times. It’ll be more like The Littlest Hobo. You know, that show where the border collie trotted around everywhere and never got any damned rest because it was just one crisis after another. I won’t be able to be a writer, because no one will have time to read (similar to how things work on The O.C.)
I was feeling pretty useless there until Aaron pointed out that as the proud supporter of a giant horse, I’ll be able to a) give horse rides to those who lost their limbs during the Reckoning and b) coerce my giant horse into pulling a plow. So I’ll be a horse wrangler. But I have this sneaking suspicion that Tango will have other ideas about what his role during End Times should be. (I’d imagine he’s probably leaning more toward a free-ranging, grass grazing state of affairs.) So that leaves me with knitting. To prepare for this eventuality, I did a little End Times knitting this weekend. Using some yarn that I’ve knit up no less than FIVE times into various hideous and unsatisfactory garments, I created most of my first End Times sweater.
As you can see, it’s both girlish and gloomy. I think it would have looked darling on Laura Ingalls Wilder, especially if she’d had a skateboard to go with her pigtails. (And was living on a set for The Chrysalids.)
And let me take this opportunity to send a shout-out to my fellow knitters who were making their own slightly less apocalyptic projects.
Oh, and speaking of apocalyptic cults, not that we were, the Book of Fred by Abby Bardi is amazing and you should read it right now.