A Spanish Supper
When old cowboys had to go without food for a couple days, they tightened their belts and called it a Spanish Supper. Well, I think we’re in for a heap of Spanish Suppers.
Unless you’ve been on a sabbatical in a mountain monastery where there’s no electricity, then you’re well aware of the economic problems building around us.
Now, I’m one of those optimistic guys that tries to see the glass as half full while at the same time attempting to make sure I don’t lose touch with the reality of the situation.
And the reality of our situation ain’t nothing to brag about. We’ve got problems.
Those my age and older remember the days when a dollar’s worth of gas kept you going for week. I’ll never forget how upset I was when back in the seventies gasoline hit forty-five cents.
Boy, wouldn’t that be nice today?
But, that’ll never happen.
When was the last time you saw the average retail price go down? I hope I’m wrong, but I doubt the price of gasoline will ever drop sharply under four dollars a gallon in the next twenty years—if ever.
Consequently, everything else will rise accordingly.
But, someone says, what about the oil fields we hear about on TV and in written media?
They are out there.
My dad was an oil and gas broker, and back in the fifties, he told me about all of the oil reserves in the U.S. He pointed out the vast reserves in shale and coal. The problem, he said, was it was too expensive to bring out, but when the price was high enough, companies would go after it.
That’s about where we are.
There’s no problem America cannot handle. One way or another we always solve, adjust, or change an intolerable situation into one with which we can live.
We can do that again, but first we have to go after oil. Oil translates into fuel. If you can’t see that, you’re dumber than me, and that’s something.
Forget the argument that it takes too long to get it. That isn’t even the point any longer. We’re in a mess we stirred up ourselves, and it will take years to get through it.
Just remember Dear Abby’s response to a letter stating ‘I want to be a doctor, but I’m thirty, and it’ll take me ten years.” In effect, her reply was, “Regardless of what you do, in ten years, you will be forty.” If we’d drilled in ANWR twelve years back, we’d be getting oil today. And maybe it wouldn’t be four dollars.
Personally, I’d like to see us produce so much oil that the Middle East would choke on theirs.
Alternative fuels, great. But let’s don’t bet the bank on them.
To tell the truth, what I see ten, twenty years ahead won’t be easy, but we can handle it.
Call me unfeeling, but personally, I can live knowing that the spotted tree toad became extinct so gasoline wouldn’t hit eight dollars a gallon. And I’m not going to cry knowing that Central Asia’s wild apricot is on the road to extinction or that some specie of shark is endangered if that will help preserve some buying power for those on fixed incomes.
I care about my family and keeping them safe and secure. If you don’t like that, tough.
Environmentalists are always running scared. They feed so much malarkey to the media that no one knows what to believe.
At least the Supreme Court had enough sense to rule against the environmentalists who did not want the border fence built because it would interfere with the mating habits of wildcats.
I’m all for the preservation of history and species, but all that preservation needs to be taken with a big dose of common sense and reality.
We need to get our priorities straight.
We need to insist our representatives in Congress do the same. They are not doing it. The Democrats said they would end the war and lower gas prices when they took over Congress almost two years ago. Nothing has changed. If anything, it’s worse. Republicans, Democrats-they’re all the same.
We need to put someone in who will look out for us.
Jack Brooks and Carl Parker, where are you when we need you? A Spanish Supper will last just so long.