A Living, Breathing Contradiction...that's me!

I’m a pretty darn good shot.  It’s not something I spent time practicing, just a natural talent I discovered in young adulthood.  My husband and my father were sitting on the entry stairs of my parents’ farmhouse.  Dad had tied a balloon to a log between two outbuildings about two hundred feet from the house.  Seems there was a pesky groundhog ravaging the garden, and Dad was determined to rid himself of the beast.  The critter was often seen between the two buildings, so the balloon was serving as a slightly bobbing and weaving practice target.

Jim and Dad took turns attempting to shoot the balloon.  They went back and forth numerous times, and the noise of the shots was beginning to grate on my nerves.  I walked out the door and asked what they were doing.  When they told me, I asked if I could take a turn.  They laughed at me, but I insisted.  They handed me the rifle.  I raised it to my shoulder, sited down the barrel, pulled the trigger, and killed the bobbing balloon with one shot.  I handed it back and re-entered the house, leaving the men folk a bit speechless.

That was my first taste of the shooting experience.  I have to admit, I really loved it.  Many years later in 2001, I went to Las Vegas for a seminar on the accurate depiction of weaponry in fiction.  As part of the seminar, a group called TCATT (Tallgrass Center for Advanced Tactical Training), arrived with an SUV loaded with every conceivable firearm.  On the last day of the event, we went to a shooting range and were allowed to try any or all of the weapons in the mobile arsenal.  I shot everything from a snub-nosed 22, to a Colt 45 (huge kick), to two different sizes of Glock, to automatic and semiautomatic rifles.  My favorite weapon was a bolt-action Remington 700 sniper rifle that had the most amazing scope.  I set it on a tripod and began to shoot.  I’m not sure of the exact model of 700, but it had a detachable magazine that I believe held 10 rounds, and I managed to put every one of them directly into center target at 200 yards.  I would still like to own one of those beauties!

So where does the contradiction come into play?  Regardless of how much I love to shoot, I firmly believe that all guns should be registered.  All owners should have to show evidence of training and pass a test for licensing.  And a criminal record or psychological issues should preclude ownership of guns.  This isn’t bleeding-heart liberal blather.  I have to take driver’s education and pass a driving test with a member of the highway patrol in order to get a driver’s license.  In almost every profession, proof of education and subsequent testing are required for licensure.  This is true for doctors, dentists, lawyers and numerous other professionals that we trust with our lives.  If they are found to be criminally negligent, they lose that licensing.  You can’t even get married without a license.  So what sane person would want untrained, untested, criminal, or psychologically deficient people to buy or own guns?

I have to register my car annually and get license plates.  The government is not taking away my car because it is registered.  The argument that the government will come “confiscate” your personal firearms is nothing but an ultra-conservative NRA scare tactic.  It’s time everyone realized those ridiculous statements aren’t worth the breath on which they are uttered.  

And attacking former congresswoman Gabby Giffords with death threats and classless and derogatory remarks, such as “might have to shoot her again” or “too bad the bullet didn’t end her” or “someone needs to take her out” or “my rights trump her getting shot. She’s a piece of shit” is completely out of line.  Then there are the ones that mock her speech, or question her mental capacity, such as “has anyone even heard her talk?  I question if she’s even able to complete a thought or a sentence.”  Or this lovely one “Yes she can speak but …iiitt iiiiiisss soooo haarrrd…weeee mmmust hhaaavve gggun cccontrol…is what it sounds like.  Not just a puppet, a sock puppet.  A political prop for gun control.”  HELLO!  Gabby Giffords is a gun owner, too.  She isn’t promoting a government take-back.  She’s working for responsible ownership.

   

I find these comments incredibly offensive, and I’m not easily offended.  I wonder if those people mock a friend or relative or returning soldier who suffers from a severe brain trauma after being shot in the head.  Gabby Giffords fought her way back from the brink of death.  She has every bit of mental power she had before, but the brain injury prevents her from smoothly articulating the words.  She went from unable to walk, to driving a car.  This woman has more guts and courage than any of those vicious, judgmental souls who seem to think they are better than anyone else and need to place blame and hate on everyone that doesn’t share their political views or religious beliefs. 

I will continue to be a contradiction…loving guns, but promoting firearm registration and abhorring those who foster hate and try to brainwash the public with their scare tactics.  It's time to ignore the 10% of extreme radicals on the right and the 10% of extreme radicals on the left.  It's time for the remaining 80% to find common ground for the good of the nation and the good of the people.  It's time to only vote people into office that will work with each other for their constituents and not sell out to big oil or big banking or the 1% that control all the wealth.  

Making lemonade...sometimes easier said than done.

You’ve all heard that platitude “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  It sounds rather simple and rather practical, with the proviso that you actually have a need for lemonade.  Things get a little tougher if you don’t have sugar or water to mix with the lemon juice in order to concoct this saving grace that is “the lemonade.”  Of course, attempting to solve the problem of what to substitute for the other ingredients will serve to temporarily distract you from the original issue…what to do with all the lemons.

Finding ourselves with too many lemons happens far too often in our lives.  I remember one time when it was peanut butter.  We were young and struggling with two kids and little income.  A work friend of my husband’s offered him a box of government peanut butter, and he took it without question.  He proudly hauled the 50-pound box into the kitchen and announced that we wouldn’t have to buy peanut butter for a long, long time.  I was thrilled…until I opened the box to find that the entire 50 pounds of peanut butter was encased in one, single, heavy plastic bag.

My heart dropped.  There was no way that I could store a 50-pound bag of peanut butter in my tiny pantry cupboard.  There was no way that we would ever use that much peanut butter, once opened, before it turned rancid.  The thought of attempting to even scoop peanut butter out of such an awkward package, without having it on every conceivable kitchen surface, was daunting.

 

Brainstorming began in earnest.  How could I preserve the tasty goo?  It was a real prize, because my husband took PBJ sandwiches for lunch almost every day, and it was a “go to” lunch for the kids on Saturdays.  It would save us a lot of money if I could figure out how to keep it.  We had purchased a chest freezer before the arrival of kids, and it housed dozens of loaves of Wonder Bread that I would buy at a discount at the Hostess outlet in a town nearby.  I also used it for freezing veggies we grew in the garden each year and to buy things ahead if they were on sale.  I had never heard of anyone freezing peanut butter, but I decided that the risk was worth the try.

We scrounged every plastic container we could find and every quart freezer bag we had left in the drawer.  Jim lifted the bag of peanut butter out of the box and laid it on the counter.  I gathered all the containers within reach, then took a pair of scissors and snipped off the tip of one corner of the bag.  Together we filled the containers as though we were milking a cow, slowly squeezing the peanut butter through the opening to fill each container and holding the cut end closed when switching from one container to the next.

 

It took most of the evening to accomplish the task.  I put multiple containers in the refrigerator, hoping it would stay somewhat fresh, and we made a space in the chest freezer for the rest.  I’m happy to say that the idea worked like a charm.  We had peanut butter as needed for about 18 months.  For some unknown reason, that peanut butter made the best cookies we ever had.

 

Life is like that.  Sometimes you just have to brainstorm for an answer and try it, even if you have no idea whether or not it will work.  Then have faith that it will.  You might be surprised at the positive outcome.