Other Scary Things...

I am freshly loaded up with hot tea, raisiny toast, and all of your thoughtful get well wishes. Recovery is in sight! So, rather than regale you with the scary details of my bug... I thought I'd walk you through the Safe Zone!

The Safe Zone is where my children prepared to host their friends for the season premiere of a certain Zombie-Dead-Apocalypse-Walking-Gross-Drama... it is seriously disgusting and creepy, and full of characters, dead and otherwise, who convince you that either you would want them in your safe house, or that they are utterly dense, deplorable, and disposable. Yes, much drama. Only utter Carl's name to fans of the show, and you'll see what I mean.

*Parenting note: The youngest child, of any large family, will never ever, ever be as coddled, sheltered, or spared as the siblings who came before her. She will see monsters, and hear tales, and know the three main tactics of defense against vampires, rebel robots, and zombies. Maria is no less precious, no less protected and respected, but she has big brothers, and the big brothers have friends, and honestly... zombies are hard to contain!! She does not watch this television program. No way. No how. But, our darling girl knows a thing or two... somehow or another...

Welcome to our Safe Zone.

Shhhh... in spite of all the rotty bits, apparently zombies have terrific hearing.

The windows are covered. Feeling shut in, yet?

Plenty of reading material, but only one gas mask.

Seeds. Good thinking.

In fact there is actually a great deal of good thinking in organizing a Safe Zone. Substitute "zombie" with "earthquake," or "tornado", and you'll soon realize that ample fresh water, first aid, food stores, shelter, tools, a home garden, ingenuity, resourceful-diy intelligence... they make a world of difference to surviving any natural, or unnatural, disaster.

Sweet skills, and common sense. It's gonna be that easy.

They tuned the radio to static... no one's out there! The lights were out... and we fumbled around by the light of (l.e.d.) candles. If it comes to depending on SPAM... I shudder at the horror!

Yeah. My office. I think I'll keep the sign.

Just to add to the realism, our oven died. Again! Again. Pardon me. I need a moment. Last time it took nearly three months to bring the darn thing back to life. Last time it was at the start of the holidays... Thanksgiving, birthdays, class parties, Christmas! No baking! No roasting! Crying... pitiful, sad crying...

Max brought out his Nerf arsenal. Maria made targets. Ah, art. How darling of her to illustrate and hang... whoa! Gah! Blarghh... Maria! These are bugusting!

There's no point, she only laughs, proudly, then aims and takes fire.

I call this guy Drip.


This is Fangs. Looks twitchy.

Maria's a good shot. She told me how to hold the Nerf, and where the sight is... I got Drip right in the cranium.

Oh!
Cheese wiz.
This isn't one of the target zombies.
Someone must have sketched me while I was napping, during my pitiful, moaning, and writhing phase. It is, unfortunately, a good likeness. I feel this hideous.

The party-ers arrived and feasted, and took at aim at villainous foes, and watched some gross shows. And from upstairs, where Maria and I watched Public Television, and snuggled, it seemed like a pretty good time!