Ice pellets tapping on the window

                                                                                   5:30 AM I’m so very toasty warm snuggled under the covers. I make the decision to get up anyway, the day is wasting. Slowly I slip from the bed as to not disturb the human heat machine next to me. The room is but 50 degrees this December morning. Normally, the outside temperatures would make dressing in here quite uncomfortable. My clothes would be as cold as the room air, but this year the room and the outdoor weather are questionably pleasant. As I stand in the living room my eyes need not adjust, our cabin in the woods is dark, an inky thick dark. No visible light penetrates the windows from the outside. Seems the early morning sky is heavy with gorged clouds awaiting permission from old man winter to spill their contents to earth. A soft warm glow from the waning charcoals greets me from the kitchen area where the wood stove stands sentry duty warming the cabin through out the night. Through the glass in the door the last vestiges of hot coals fill the space with amiable light, enough to see our old house cat curled up on the ash rug directly in front of it. The glow from the stove allows me a safe trip to the bathroom, I flip the button on the coffee maker as I tip toe by. Just as I reach the bathroom door the old cabin floor protests under my weight with a couple crackles and a squeak. A few minutes later I’m back in the kitchen. I choose to light an oil lamp to delay the harsh reality that hurts my eyes this dark morning. It is easy to hit the light switch on the wall and arrive at December 20, 2014 with modern electricity. My nostalgic mood dictates that I put the match to the wick of my trusty old lamp this dark damp morning. Suddenly, as the flame explodes and lights the wick, I feel I have been transported to the late 17th century Downton Abbey. The flicker of firelight warms my soul. Ancient memories engulf the darkness. I set the lamp on the counter top, (an arms reach from the wood stove) and place the ash bucket in front of the open wood stove door. As I scoop out the remnants of last nights’ ash, my brain prepares a reverie, so I surrender to my imagination and let it take me where it want to go. A  vivid scene opens with a young maiden armed with  only a small candle, scurrying through a dark castle wearing a long white night-gown. “The pats of her bare feet echo from the cold stone corridor floor as she is headed for her Masters sleeping chamber. The Lass pushes hard on the heavy wooden floor and is relieved when it only gives one muted moan as she enters her Masters quarters. It has been entrusted upon her to awaken early every morning and light a fire in the massive carved marble fireplace ensuring a warm morning for her Master and Lady. Small kindling and split logs had been left by the fireplace the night before affording her the quiet she had been so instructed. As my imagination continues, it becomes obvious that this young maiden has been taught well ash she immediately begins her work and lays down the small kindling pieces and covers them with yard waste such as moss and very dry leaves. Next she carefully places the logs in a Tepee fashion over the kindling and moss in the mouth of the huge stone fireplace. Satisfied with her efforts she reaches for a slim slice of wood that has soaked overnight in a crock of oil and lights the wooden piece from the small candle she carried with her. When it begins to burn hot she slides it between the balancing logs and touches it to the moss and dried kindling. Instantly fire explodes from the tinder and the kindling begins to crackle. She waits a few minutes to make sure all is going well and the larger pieces are burning well before exiting the room. The young maiden takes pride in knowing her Master and Lady will awaken to a roaring fire and warm room, she did her job well. My thought are brought back to reality by a bright pale gray hue at my windows. It is becoming daylight. I finish my work at the wood stove and relight my own fire. We are not so different, my sister from the past and I. If I were to bring my ancient sister to my peasant cabin in the woods she would have no problem keeping her Master warm with my modern cast iron box on legs. Very much to her liking I am sure. She may even think me wealthy for possessing such an amiable appliance. . . I am brought back to the here and now by the dog barking at ice pellets tapping at the window. Looks like the weather predictors got this one right. One to two inches of snow an hour can be expected with blowing, drifting snow. Storm should last at least the day and possibly most of the night, says the weatherman. . .

Find out what happens next, own your own copy today. Here is some of what you can expect;

Book cover promo Signals for Help–International ground to air symbols

Section 1–Analyzing a disaster–35 items that disappear first–10 disease seen first Section 2–On your own–Your sister, her husband and 6 kids, it’s not a vacation

Section 3–All about water

Section 4–Sanitation

Section 5–Keeping food cold

Section 6–Sleeping in the cold

Section 8–Appetite fatigue and bad behavior–Basic recipes

Section 12–Ladies and babies needs–Emergency baby formula–Off grid home pregnancy test

Section 14–Herbal remedies quick reference

Section 16– Rediscovering what great granny knew

Understanding that which is normal, Make ahead survival food, When it is necessary to pull up stakes and RUN and much, much more. Click on “How to Order the Book” on this website or go to If you don’t like waiting for it to be delivered by the mailman, ask for it at your favorite book seller. Remember, bad weather happens. When you find your clueless neighbor rummaging around in your garage after a few days of a power outage, you can confidently hand him this book and send him on his way. You’ll both be happy.


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