Letter to the MSM Girl

Dear Chubby Girl in the Plaid Uniform Skirt:

OK, skort, whatever. You still shouldn't sit that way in public. That is all I have to say about that.

Sincerely,
Fellow Library Patron

Welcome to F*&#ing 2013

This has been one of those weeks where both nothing and some of everything has happened. As early as Monday I knew the week would probably be a bust because my boss's dad passed away and she was going to be quite distracted. Then we had FHE, which went slightly better than last week. We talked about working together and how, when everyone does their part, everyone receives the reward/blessing. Plans for a garden continue, and the brownies were good. Then Tuesday, the weather got dicey, so I left work at 11:15 after only two hours. I made it home ahead of most of the traffic and before the ice and snow accumulated too much. School started at 10:00 on Wednesday, so I got to work later then usual. Thursday, I was off to take B to the orthodontist. He got his bottom braces put on and was not a happy camper about it. Then last night, we saw some real action.

Wednesday night, I saw a rat run through the house, but I couldn't figure out where it went, and the dog didn't seem too concerned. Then Thursday morning, he appeared to have it cornered. I left him to it, but the rat managed to escape. I bought traps and set them out, but didn't have a chance to tell anyone. So last night B, already more touchy than usual, headed to bed when I heard a ridiculous scream. I went in his room to find him almost in tears, and the rat peeking out from the top of the curtain. I got the broom and the dog, positioned B to direct the rat, told D, who was awake by now to hide his eyes, then whacked the curtain. All hell broke loose as the rat made for the door. The dog got him, and it was over fairly quickly. The limp rat got disposed of, and the dog got a treat to replace the one he had earned. I always look for signs of mice when the weather gets cold, when I get out Christmas decorations, etc. and I have not seen signs of mice or rodents, so I think it maybe got inside and couldn't figure out how to get away. Anyways, pretty sure it was a once-in-a-while kind of deal, but we'll all be a little creeped out for a few days. Nice to know the dog knows what is expected of him though :)

Then today, I noticed my van making a weird noise. It drove fine, so I headed to work. I was almost there when the transmission went out. So today, I left work early, again, to deal with that. It took all afternoon, but I have a rental car and permission to leave the car where it sits until Monday if needed. And I actually had plans for tomorrow that may or may not work out. It sort of depends on how/when the van can be retrieved. Then of course the decision about whether it can be fixed or if I will be in the market for a new car. I was hoping for one, but not until later in the spring, so we'll see how that goes. Not how my weekend, or my week for that matter was supposed to go at all.

Way of the Gun, Part 2

In part 1, I wrote about how my family lived and worked around guns. In fact, I grew up in a community where many people owned guns, presumably for hunting or sport shooting. I can only recall one time I know of where someone took it up a notch.

My dad sold a horse to a guy. The guy called to tell my dad the horse wasn't any good, and he wasn't going to pay my dad the agreed-upon price. My dad told my mom he was going to the guy's house. He would either come back with the horse or the money. Instead, he came back with this story:

My dad had let Cliff take the horse without paying because the asking price was pretty steep, and because he was tired of pasturing him. When my dad got to Cliff's house, Cliff told him the horse wasn't worth $800, but he would pay $500. My dad said Cliff shouldn't have agreed to pay it if he wasn't interested and that he would like his horse back. Cliff said the horse wasn't there and he could not easily return him. At this point my dad had neither the money nor the horse, and was understandably pissed. He admits he hauled off and hit Cliff first. Cliff told the other two guys that were there to hold my dad. My dad figured he was about to get the crap beat out of him, so he took off towards his car (Yes, a car. Not sure how that would have worked for bringing home a horse!).

Before he got to the car, he heard the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked. Instead of getting in the car, which was a piece of crap, he jumped in the bushes beside the driveway. Cliff shot the car up pretty good, and then must have realized what he had done and disappeared back into the house. My dad drove the car home, where he took pictures and called the sheriff. My dad got his horse back, but the story doesn't end there.

The next day, Cliff showed up at the ER with heart attack symptoms. He filed a lawsuit against my dad for his medical expenses and for his distress. My dad filed a counter suit for the car. The case actually went to court, where it was revealed that Cliff had a history of heart trouble and that nothing had been wrong with him on the day in the suit. The judge dismissed his case. He did find Cliff liable for my dad's car as well his legal expenses. Cliff tried to appeal that the amount was too much of a burden, even though it was not much more than what he had agreed to spend on a horse. My dad said that he was happy with the ruling, and would accept a payment plan.

For three years, my dad received a check for thirty-some odd dollars every month. I asked him once what he did with it. He said he cracked up at the thought that Cliff had to think about it every time he wrote the check, then he took my mom out to dinner.

Way of the Gun

I grew up around guns. My dad has always owned numerous guns, including hand guns, antique guns, and guns of questionable ownership. My brother and I were allowed to play with toys guns of all sorts, with one unbreakable rule: you never, ever, on penalty of an ass-whipping, pointed the gun at a living thing and pretended to shoot it.

Sometimes, my dad made his living thanks to guns. My dad operated a guide and outfitting business. Every fall, people from around the country paid my dad big amounts of money to camp in a tent and hunt deer and elk. He finally quit doing this because the combination of regulation on federal land and the dwindling access to private land made the business cost-prohibitive. He did not quit this business when any of the following occurred:

A hunter failed repeatedly to use the safety feature on his gun. While leaning back to ride under a low-hanging branch, the man's gun went off. It spooked his horse, who took off. The man, being about as good at horseback riding as he was at responsible gun use, slipped off the horse and got dragged for a ways down the trail. He stood up and threatened to sue my dad for negligence in keeping a dangerous animal. My dad pointed at where the shot had taken a chunk out of poor Bonnie's butt, and informed the man that there would be two horses asses in court if that was the case. The man shut up, and did not come hunting with that group again.

Another hunter drank too much one night in camp, and decided to play William Tell. He managed to fire off one shot at the coffee cup his friend was holding up at the other end of the cabin before he was ordered to pack his gear. My dad brought him out that night and dropped him off at the airport.

That was the most serious offense. There were also many other stories over the years, plus a semiannual event that didn't even involve guns. With every group, my dad would warn the clients about building too big of a fire at night, or getting their gear too close to the stoves. About every other year, one of them would either forget or not pay attention and manage to light up their ammo. This is sort of entertaining in a controlled environment, but as you can see, deer camp is sometimes hard to control.

The point is, I was raised to have a lot of respect for guns. I also learned the importance of avoiding people and situations who do not have that same respect. Mostly I learned that people with enough disposable income to pay to hunt with my dad also tended to be assholes.