My mother was on a self-reliance “kick”. To be ready and prepared for any kind of problem, or economic downturn. Ah, she was before her time.

Or not.

She did live right on the tail end of the “Great Depression” after all.

My mother insisted on having 6 months of food storage in her basement. And over all I think that this was a good thing. Don’t you know.

Since those days, oh and I’m going back decades, I’ve had tons (over 15) of sudden layoffs. Many in the days right before Christmas… so many of course, that I get PTSD around Christmas time. And then, of course living paycheck to paycheck, I had to scramble… make do… and hustle to find something else. Often in a small down in West Bum-Fuck.

And that would necessitate a move.

Sucks to be me, but I guess that I was to be the “representative” of human-kind at this moment in time… the “canary in the cage” to tell our benefactors what is actually going on.

Anyways…

Having a stockpile of food, and some gas and water is a good thing. It’s difficult to stress out when you have money “in the bank”, a fully stocked larder, and an array of resources that you can live off of when things get dicy.

Now, back then, the food in my mother’s storage room (actually the entirety of the basement near the furnace, ) were these super deep shelves made out of plywood by a carpenter named Ralf, that I wrote about before. My mother’s kid sister dated him, and he was a good guy, though my auntie chose a wealthy dentist instead.

Anyways, so this larder would accumulate with all this food. But the problem was that we weren’t ever depleting it, we weren’t rotating the food. And so as the pantry grew, food got old.

And then us trying to eat five year old cans of peas.

Or even a ten year old bag of spaghetti.

Ah. eventually, my mother threw it all away, when she moved, and accumulated a months supply of smaller food. And so the lesson here is maintain a stockpile, but plan a rotation schedule, and make sure that no food goes bad.

Lesson learned.

PS.  When you have resources stockpiled, the “life events” that will impoverish you will decrease significantly. When things go wrong you are always in your lowest point, with having resources, that is impossible, and so the fates of disaster tens to avoid you.

Word to the wise.

Today…

Free trade expert takes down the best arguments for tariffs

Brilliant.

Hamburger Vegetable Chowder

Equipment

• Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons oil or shortening
• 1/2 pound ground beef
• 1 cup canned tomatoes
• 1/2 cup diced carrots
• 1/2 cup diced celery
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 1/4 cup uncooked rice
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper
• 1 1/2 cups water
• 1 cup cubed potatoes

Instructions

1. Heat cooker. Add oil and brown meat. Add tomatoes, carrots, celery, onion, salt, rice, pepper, water and potatoes. Close cover securely. Place pressure regulator on vent pipe and cook for 15 minutes with pressure rocking slowly.
2. Let pressure drop of its own accord.

An Unemployed Nation: Why Jobs Won’t Come Back To America

LOVE ACROSS TIMELINES

Written in response to: “Write a story in which someone time-travels 25 years or more into the past.“

Maria Barrett

The flickering neon sign of the “Time & Tide” bar cast an eerie glow on Elara’s face. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. Tonight, she was taking a leap into the unknown, a desperate gamble to save the future.

Elara, a renowned chrono-archaeologist, had stumbled upon a chilling discovery: a catastrophic event, a “temporal fracture,” was about to shatter the very fabric of time, erasing the 21st century from existence. The only way to prevent this cataclysm was to travel back to 1990, the year the fracture originated, and find the source of the anomaly.

The chronometer, a device of her own invention, hummed ominously, its emerald light intensifying. “Ready?” Dr. Kai, her colleague and closest friend, asked, his voice laced with apprehension.

Elara took a shaky breath. “Ready.”

The chronometer surged with energy, the room around them dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors. Then, silence.

When Elara regained consciousness, the air was thick with the scent of ozone, not the sterile air of her lab. The neon sign was gone, replaced by a quaint “Open” sign in the window. Disoriented, she stumbled out of the bar, the rain having subsided to a gentle drizzle.

Elara, a woman out of time, was adrift in a world that no longer recognized her. Her clothes, her technology, everything screamed “future.” The sleek, form-fitting jumpsuit she wore felt out of place amongst the pastel power suits and acid-washed jeans. Her sleek, silver communicator, a marvel of 21st-century engineering, was met with bewildered stares.

She quickly realized she needed to blend in, to become invisible. Finding a payphone, she used her limited knowledge of 1990s slang to purchase a pre-paid cell phone. The grainy quality of the voice on the other end of the line was a stark contrast to the crystal-clear video calls she was accustomed to.

Next, she sought refuge in a small, family-run bookstore, the scent of old paper a comforting balm in the unfamiliar world. The owner, an elderly woman with eyes that held the wisdom of a thousand stories, introduced herself as Evelyn.

Evelyn, intrigued by Elara’s unusual attire and hesitant speech, offered her a room above the store. Elara, desperate for a place to regroup, accepted.

Living in the past was a constant struggle. Every mundane act – using a payphone, hailing a cab, even the simple act of buying groceries – was a challenge. The sheer volume of information she had to relearn was overwhelming. Pop culture references, fashion trends, even the lingo – it was all a foreign language.

She spent hours in libraries, devouring newspapers and magazines from the era, trying to piece together the social and political landscape. The world of 1990 seemed both quaint and terrifying. The threat of nuclear war loomed large, AIDS was a global pandemic, and the internet was still in its infancy, a nascent network connecting a few universities and research institutions.

Despite the challenges, Elara persevered, driven by the urgency of her mission. She needed to find the source of the temporal fracture, the anomaly that threatened to erase her entire existence.

Her search led her to the heart of Miami’s scientific community, to the renowned Wexler Institute. There, she encountered Dr. Julian Wexler, a brilliant but eccentric physicist, whose groundbreaking work in quantum mechanics had captivated the world.

Julian, with his disheveled hair and eyes that sparkled with an almost childlike wonder, was unlike anyone Elara had ever met. He was brilliant, yes, but also kind, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His office, a chaotic whirlwind of papers, equations scribbled on blackboards, and half-finished experiments, reflected the unbridled energy of his mind.

As Elara delved deeper into Julian’s research, she discovered a disturbing pattern: his experiments were becoming increasingly erratic, pushing the boundaries of science with reckless abandon. His latest project, a device known as the “Chronos,” aimed to manipulate time itself.

Elara knew she had found the source of the fracture, but how to stop it? Julian, convinced he was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, refused to believe there were any dangers. He saw the Chronos as a key to unlocking the universe’s greatest secrets, a tool that could revolutionize humanity.

Their. interactions grew more frequent, fueled by a strange, inexplicable attraction. Julian, captivated by Elara’s knowledge of the future, found himself drawn to her, while Elara, despite the danger, was drawn to his infectious enthusiasm for science.

They would spend hours debating the nature of time, the possibilities of parallel universes, the ethical implications of tampering with the fabric of reality. Julian, with his youthful idealism, saw only the potential for good, while Elara, burdened by the weight of the future, saw only the potential for disaster.

Their burgeoning romance was a constant battle between logic and passion. Elara knew she had to convince Julian to shut down the Chronos, but how? Reason and logic seemed to have little effect on him. He was too consumed by his own brilliance, too blinded by the allure of the unknown.

One evening, as they sat on the rooftop of the Wexler Institute, watching the city lights twinkle below, Elara finally confessed her true identity. She revealed that she was from the future, that she had traveled back in time to prevent a catastrophic event, an event that Julian’s experiments were inadvertently causing.

Julian, initially skeptical, was slowly convinced by her desperate plea. He had always been fascinated by the idea of time travel, of exploring the unknown. Elara’s story, though outlandish, resonated with him on a deep level.

He agreed to shut down the Chronos, but the task proved more difficult than anticipated. The device, fueled by a volatile energy source, was on the verge of implosion. Julian, in his haste, had made a series of miscalculations, pushing the Chronos to its limits.

As the Chronos began to destabilize, the lab shook with the force of the impending explosion. Julian, risking his own life, rushed towards it, attempting to deactivate the energy source. Elara, her heart pounding, watched helplessly as the machine surged with power, threatening to engulf them both.

Then, a blinding flash of light.

When Elara regained consciousness, she was back in her own time, the rain-lashed windows of the “Time & Tide” bar a familiar sight. Dr. Kai, his face etched with worry, rushed towards her.

“Elara! Are you alright?”

Elara, disoriented but alive, could only nod. The chronometer, silent and inert, lay on the table. The fracture was averted.

But the memory of Julian, his brilliant mind, his kind heart, haunted her. She had saved the future, but at what cost?

Weeks turned into months, but Elara couldn’t forget Julian. She had fallen in love with a man who existed only in the past, a ghost in the grand tapestry of time.

One day, while sifting through old files, Elara stumbled upon a photograph. It was a picture of Julian, younger, his smile as bright as she remembered it, standing beside an elderly woman. The woman was Evelyn, the bookstore owner.

Elara realized then that Julian had survived. The temporal fracture, in a strange twist of fate, had altered the timeline, ensuring his safety.

A bittersweet smile touched Elara’s lips. Perhaps, in another timeline, they were together, their love story unfolding amidst the quiet charm of 1990s Miami.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she would find a way to visit him again, to see him one last time.

The future was safe, but the past, with its echoes of love and loss, would forever hold a special place in Elara’s heart.

The rain continued to lash against the windows of the “Time & Tide” bar, mirroring the storm still raging within Elara. She had averted the catastrophe, but at what cost? The past, with its lingering echoes of Julian, haunted her every waking moment.

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and still, the image of Julian, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, his laughter echoing through the lab, remained vividly etched in her memory. She found herself drawn to the “Time & Tide” bar more often, the familiar scent of old wood and damp earth a strange comfort.

One rainy afternoon, while browsing through a collection of old photographs at a flea market, a peculiar sensation washed over her. A tingling sensation, a sense of déjà vu, as If she had seen this exact scene before. She traced the feeling to a worn, leather-bound journal tucked away in a dusty cardboard box.

The journal belonged to Evelyn, the bookstore owner. Its pages, filled with elegant cursive script, recounted Evelyn’s life in vivid detail. There were stories of youthful adventures, of lost loves, of dreams both realized and abandoned. But it was one particular entry that stopped Elara’s breath.

Evelyn described a chance encounter with a brilliant young physicist, a man with eyes that held the stars, who had arrived in Miami with dreams of changing the world. He had been working on a revolutionary project, a device that could…manipulate time.

Elara’s heart pounded. Could it be? Had Julian, somehow, survived the temporal fracture, his existence subtly altered by the very event he had inadvertently caused?

Intrigued, Elara delved deeper into the journal. She discovered that Evelyn had fallen deeply in love with this young physicist, a love that had blossomed amidst the chaos of his groundbreaking research. However, their happiness was short-lived. The physicist, consumed by his work, had disappeared without a trace, leaving Evelyn heartbroken.

The journal ended abruptly, the final entry a poignant reflection on the fleeting nature of time and the enduring power of love.

Elara, her mind reeling, rushed to the bookstore. Evelyn, now frail and elderly, greeted her with a warm smile. Elara, hesitant at first, decided to reveal the truth about her journey through time.

To her astonishment, Evelyn’s eyes widened in recognition. “Julian,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

Elara, speechless, could only nod.

Evelyn, tears welling in her eyes, recounted the story of her lost love, the brilliant physicist who had vanished without a trace. She spoke of his passion for science, his unwavering belief in the power of human ingenuity, and the profound impact he had had on her life.

As Evelyn spoke, Elara pieced together the fragments of the past, the altered timelines, the intricate dance of fate. Julian, his existence forever intertwined with the very fabric of time, had found a way to survive, his life subtly altered by the events he had set in motion.

A profound sense of peace washed over Elara. She had saved the future, but she had also discovered a piece of the past, a love story that had endured across the chasm of time.

Julian, in a way, had found happiness, a quiet contentment in the arms of a woman who loved him for who he was, not for his scientific achievements.

Elara, with a newfound understanding of the delicate balance of time and the enduring power of love, left the bookstore, the rain finally ceasing, a rainbow arching across the Miami skyline. The future, once a source of anxiety, now held the promise of new beginnings, a future where the past, with all its joys and sorrows, would forever be a part of her.

She knew she could never truly forget Julian, but she also knew that his spirit, his passion, his love for Evelyn, would continue to inspire her. And perhaps, just perhaps, in another timeline, their paths would have crossed, their love story a timeless melody echoing through the corridors of time.

Elara returned to her own time, the chronometer a silent testament to her journey. The future, though altered, was secure. Yet, the echoes of the past, the whispers of a love story that had unfolded across the boundaries of time, continued to resonate within her.

She began to visit Evelyn more frequently, their conversations often drifting towards the past, towards the memory of the brilliant physicist who had captured Evelyn’s heart. Elara, through Evelyn’s eyes, learned more about Julian, about his dreams, his fears, his unwavering belief in the power of human ingenuity.

She learned that Julian, despite his scientific pursuits, had a deep appreciation for the simple things in life – the warmth of the sun on his face, the sound of rain falling on the roof, the quiet companionship of a good book.

Through Evelyn, Elara began to understand that Julian’s legacy extended beyond his scientific achievements. He had touched the lives of those around him, leaving an Indelible mark on their hearts and minds.

Elara realized that the temporal fracture, though a near-catastrophic event, had ultimately brought her closer to Julian, not in the physical sense, but through the shared memories, the shared connection to the past.

She began to see the beauty in the interconnectedness of time, the way that seemingly disparate events could have profound and unexpected consequences. The future, she realized, was not a fixed point, but a dynamic tapestry woven from the threads of the past.

And as she gazed at the stars, twinkling like distant memories, Elara knew that Julian, in his own way, would always be a part of her, a reminder of the enduring power of love, the fragility of time, and the infinite possibilities that lie beyond the horizon.

U.S. Demands Banks Cancel China Deals As Finance Giant Warns China Will Dump More U.S. Assets

That one day

Written in response to: “Write a story in which someone time-travels 25 years or more into the past.“

Laura Camacho Frias

I had to pee. I woke up in the middle of the night and walked the corridor to the bathroom. I was exhausted. I had not slept properly for weeks, and to make it worse, I felt like an old lady, having to visit the bathroom at least twice every night. With my eyes closed, I sat on the toilet and started to think about everything I was supposed to do the next day, or in three hours, to be more specific.

 

Things at work had been complicated at best. We were in the middle of a department restructuring, and I was supposed to make my case to keep all my team members intact. Based on the time I spent on it, the Excel file I had been preparing for the last weeks had become my best friend, and once I thought we were meant for each other– when I had nailed all my numbers and prepared my case to take it to the administration– my laptop had decided to crash and burn, bringing with it all my work. That had happened three days before, and now I only have one day to recover the file, create a new one, or look for another job. One day.

 

The IT person on the other side of the world, Sanjith, had assured me that my file should be somewhere in the cloud and that, despite being new, he should be able to find someone to help him locate it before my meeting at 5 pm the next day. If I wanted, he told me, the local IT department could loan me another laptop because before giving me a new one, they had to check if it was really “fried” or if there was a cure for whatever it had. He said that way, I could summarize the file I had lost. He was lucky, poor Sanjith, because if he had been before me, I would have punched him. “Summarize,” he said. The file had so many lines and formulas, macros, and graphs that the thought of a summary could have transformed me into a She-Hulk. But he was on the other side of the world, and I was surrounded by managers, peers, and employees, and having a meltdown in front of such an exquisite bunch of people did not seem appropriate. So, I thanked him and told him I would speak with him the next day. Then, I smiled at those around me, I said, “IT,” and someone gave me an inspired thumbs up.

 

That had happened by the end of the day, so I gave myself a break, put all my hopes in Sanjith, and after leaving my laptop in the local IT office for it to be analyzed, I went home with no energy or patience for whatever was waiting for me there.

 

I heard the screams as soon as I parked the car. I was still inside the vehicle and could recognize my daughter’s voice, so I rushed out of the car and inside the house to discover my three kids arguing because of a Mario Kart race. I should have said something, but I was tired. My husband was preparing dinner and looked at me as if I had abandoned him in the middle of the desert with three hyenas.

“Good day?” I asked him when I kissed his cheek.

“Awesome,” he replied, stirring the food in the pot.

“I need to lay down a bit; I might not have dinner,” I told him, and that’s the last thing I remember before having to pee at five in the morning.

 

I put my trousers on and realized I had not changed into my pajamas the night before. I was wearing jeans. I opened my eyes and looked at those trousers, which I recognized but did not remember. I had not worn those for many years. How the hell had I squeezed myself…? I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Had I lost weight? And my hair was longer and messier. I had a red tank top, and I looked terrific. How much time had I been sleeping? Was I dreaming? I pinched myself, and it hurt. No dreaming, I thought, and when I was about to leave the bathroom, it hit me: that was not my home!

 

I opened the door and ran into a corridor I immediately recognized. Then, I entered a big room where many people were sleeping—all but one, who was “swimming” on the floor.

I’ve been here before, I thought.

I left the swimmer and entered another room. It had a bed, a side table, and a wardrobe. Poems were written on the walls, and post-its were everywhere. There was a little window on top, opening to the living room. That was my room.

I ran back to talk to the guy on the floor, who frenetically moved his legs and arms. “I’m late, I’m late,” he repeated.

I knew him; I had seen this scene before.

“Francesco, you are okay. Tell me, what day is today?”

“I’m late for my sister’s birthday!”

“Your sister is in Italy. You will catch a plane in one week. Where are we?”

“In Portugal, that’s why I’m swimming…”

“You are swimming because you are tripping, and this is…” I had to breathe before saying it because I realized that maybe the one tripping was me. “This is my living room!”

Francesco opened his eyes and sat on the floor. He cleaned his glasses and looked around. Then, he looked at me.

“At what time finished the party?” he asked.

“Francesco, I don’t remember. Can you tell me when we are?”

“You mean where? This is your house.”

‘Not where. I know where I am. When. What year are we in?”

He laughed and yelled: “The best year of our lives because we are Erasmus! Yeh!”

Right there, my knees failed, and I fell to the floor, making Francesco laugh even harder. Some people around us started to wake up. I had not seen any of them for more than twenty-five years.

“This makes no sense; I have to work; I have to get out of here,” I said.

“You have to go to Spain for your final, right?” said Francesco.

“My what? No, not that, I already did that… not that, please…”

“You can stay here if you want,” he replied immediately, but he soon realized that was not the answer I sought.

My heart was racing, and my head was about to explode. I closed my eyes and tried to make sense of what was happening. I was in the same apartment where I had lived in 2021. I was surrounded by people I knew in my Erasmus year. I was talking to Francesco on the same day that changed my life so many years before… I looked at my watch; it was seven-thirty. How much time had I spent in the bathroom?

“Francesco, I have to leave,” I said, although I am sure he did not hear me because he was already lying on the floor and probably passed out. I did not mind because I knew he would be okay. I still remembered how funny his trip to Italy was—the trip he had taken so many years before, the one he would take in a few days. What was happening to me?

 

I entered my bedroom and opened the wardrobe to change my clothes, which were two sizes smaller than I was used to but fit properly. I had a nice body then, now… Aaargh!

I changed into a different pair of trousers and a white shirt and looked for my phone, which turned out to be a tiny white Alcatel, and my wallet, twice the size despite having nothing valuable in it. I did not even have a coffee, and when I was walking down the stairs, I remembered I had never had coffee in that house because we had no coffee maker that year.

It was chilly outside, and the humidity was so high that it seemed you were chewing a cloud. I had once heard this, but it had never made sense until I walked across the bridge over the Ria—a salty body of water connected to the ocean—on my way to the university. There was something I had to do, something I had done many years before and changed my life.

I knocked on the office door. I read the plaque: internship coordinator. No one replied.

I knocked again but still got no answer.

That’s not how it happened, I thought while I walked to the department secretary. Once there, I asked the only woman working in front of a computer when the coordinator would arrive.

“She’s not here today, dear. He’s on holiday.”

“No, cannot be; I’m supposed to talk to him.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

I didn’t. I hadn’t.

“No, but it is important. I need to speak with him about an internship.”

“I understand, but there is nothing I can do, sorry. He’ll be back next week, though. You can try then.”

She returned to her job, and I stayed there, unable to move. One week? I had no week to give, a laptop to find, a presentation to give, a job to keep… and a time-space question challenging to solve. I was lost in my thoughts when someone bumped into me.

“Sorry,” he said while he walked towards the secretary.

Then, I overheard: “Will you give this to the internship coordinator? It’s an urgent request. It’s difficult to find students this time of the year…”

I turned. I recognized that voice. That was my first manager.

I walked towards him and touched his shoulder.

“Can I apply?” I said.

“Sorry?” Do I know you?

I had to bite my tongue. I couldn’t tell him I knew about his ambitions, my job, his career… I couldn’t tell him anything because, then, he would not hire me as his intern, and I would not get a contract later or become what I had become… what I had become?

“Hello?” I heard. The man was talking to me, and the secretary had some papers in her hands—probably the internship description I had read so many years before. Then I saw him looking at his watch.

“Sorry, I know you might be busy. I overheard, and it’s not polite, but I am looking for an internship myself.” I said.

“Are you a student here?”

“Yes, on Erasmus.”

“Engineering?”

“Yes, electronics.”

He looked at the secretary and smiled at me. I knew what that meant. He was curious.

“Is there a coffee machine around here?” he asked.

“There is a terrible one.”

“That should do. Want to have one?”

“Sure,” I said, knowing he did not drink coffee.

As we moved away from the secretary, I thought about how the Universe was about to put the puzzle pieces together. I would do what I had to do no matter what. I was about to find my way back home.

We were walking, and he was explaining to me what he needed from a student when I saw someone running in our direction. I was about to open the glass door for him to pass when he just continued, bumped into the door, and hit me. Then I fell, and everything went dark.

 

“Mrs? Mrs? Are you there?”

I held my iPhone in my hand, looked around, and saw no one. I was at my desk. It was dark outside, and the screen on my laptop flashed lime green.

“I’ve found it. I’m sending you a copy via email. You can also open it on your phone.”

It was the IT guy.

I stood up and looked at my shoes, dress, and hair. I was “me,” the “now-future-me.” I rushed to open my mailbox and saw my glorious Excel file—all the lines, all the formulas, and every macro working.

“Thanks a lot, Sanjith.”

“You’ll still need a new laptop. That one is fried.”

“Sure, thanks; I have to go now.”

I left the office as fast as I could. I arrived home and kissed my children and my husband as soon as I entered the house. I did not care about the kids’ screams or the dinner. I was home.

“Why don’t you take your shoes off?” my husband asked. It will help you relax.”

 

I sat on the stairs, as I always did, and took out my high heels. I touched my feet, and something hurt. There was a little hole in my pantyhose and a bit of blood in my shoe.

“What the…” I turned the shoe, and something fell—a tiny, tiny, shining piece of the past saying hello to me again.