The Couch Can Be Very Comfortable...

.... Further, affiant sayeth not.

 

Tough Day

Today has been a tough day emotionally. One of the hospice nurses stopped by the house today for a regular visit. I was busy with work and did not get to sit in like I do when I can. I was stuck on yet another monotonous conference call about how our business unit can support the larger corporate goals for 2020....blah, blah, blah. How about we try focusing on fundamentals for starters and quite trying to "innovate". Seems like every time some wet behind the ears manager gets a wild hair, we have to sit through unproductive training as they roll out another useless tool that robs our efficiency and distracts us from our core jobs. If they would quite screwing with us and just make the tools we have actually work as they are intended, it'd be a nice start. But, nnooOOOOooo, we have to innovate and play with shiny new toys because someone had a light bulb moment instead of asking whether we really needed another new turnip twaddler.

I digress.

The Queen reported the findings from the nurse visit: Oma is starting to show signs that her body is shutting down. Of course, they cannot say how long she has left; however, based on what's happening, we are looking at days to weeks as opposed to weeks to months. The Queen, understandably, has been taking it very hard.

M&M is handling things surprisingly well for an 8 year old. We've been extra attentive towards her and listening more. We also have plans in place for when things appear imminent. So, we've been thinking ahead on that front.

I've given my boss a heads up that bereavement leave is probably in the near future. She appreciated that.

Opa, while also taking things very hard, has finally moved out of denial mode. I don't think he is fully at acceptance yet, but he's making progress. So, that's healthy. I was able to have a good heart to heart with him this evening about arrangements for Oma which he has been avoiding for months now. It went better than I expected, but I had prayed for wisdom before approaching him too. So, maybe a small answered prayer went a long way too.

One small insight that came to me during the discussion with Opa was something I really don't think many people consider when they get married. Opa and Oma have been together for over 56 years now. Opa has said a couple of  times now, "What am I going to do without her?" I told him, "Genesis says the two shall become one flesh. That's more than just a physical bonding. It's emotional, mental and spiritual as well." Opa has relied on Oma for so long, I'm really not sure what's going to happen with him when she is gone.

Sorry for the Monday evening downer post. It's just helpful to write about it. Gives me a way to process what's happening so that I can focus on The Queen's and Opa's needs.

Miscellaneous, Randomness and Other Stuff

In no particular order, I thought I would open the tap a little bit and relieve some pressure in the blog material accumulator before things get too jumbled up.

In the Frankensteinian "Fire Bad!" category, Number One Follower had an unfortunate incident in his home shop a while back. To add insult to misfortune, it was were the bulk of his firearms and associated accessories were stored. Neither NOF nor his wife were home at the time. Fortunately, a neighbor called NOF and the fire department before things got too out of control. That also triggered calls from NOF to the FD that there was ammunition and such in the shop. I also got a call to come assist with removing items as necessary. The fire department investigator said the fire was accidental. Based on the area of origin, the most likely culprit is faulty/damaged wiring. The good news is that NOF has pretty good insurance and should come out of the deal in pretty good shape overall. 

Formerly a plastic shelving unit full of ammunition. 

Ruger Precision Rifle with heat damaged barrel

The Queen and I decided it was high time for some one on one quality time not too long ago. We love our daughter, M&M dearly and will and have taken her pretty much everywhere with us. So, it was not much of a surprise to either of us that it had been more than 7 years since the two of us had taken  solo getaway. Plans were hatched, and we hoped in The Queen's chariot for a long weekend jaunt down to Corpus Christi. I should make a brief side note here. Anytime The Queen is in the car, her eyes are invariably drawn to animals in distress. This trip was no different. I was in the passenger seat, head down, working (being able to work from literally anywhere there is a half way decent cellular data connection has huge advantages for me) when I hear a gasp from the driver's seat.

I asked what the function was, and The Queen informed me that she saw a cat in the center median of the highway. Said highway being 1-35 in Kyle, TX just south of Austin which is six lanes of NAFTA's main thoroughfare in the US. So, I told The Queen to flip a U-turn at the next exit and go back in search of the feline. The Queen was conflicted for a moment between her concern for the cat and her desire not to ruin our trip. I reminded her that, if we did not make efforts to resolve the mystery of said feline's fate, The Queen would spend the rest of the trip worrying about it.

After a failed first attempt to relocate the fur ball, we were able reacquire the ungrateful fur turd cat on The Queen's pet radar with the second north/south U-turn circuit. Not wanting to spook the cat into running into the highway and also being fairly certain that the center median was not wide enough for the chariot, I had The Queen Park in the outside shoulder. After assessing the chances of making it across and back more or less in one piece, I found a narrow window in traffic through which I could reasonably shamble across three lanes of interstate without getting flattened by a semi or causing a soccer mom to panic stop a mini van.

Then, I began the process of trying to convince Kitty McDeathwish that I was a really nice guy who was not with the government but "here to help.(TM)" After a couple of tentative crouching duck walks and sidling shuffles, I was able to get within sniffing distance of the cat. He/she/it? (we were never on first gender basis with each other) gave me a cursory sniff before allowing me to touch its head briefly before retreating back out of arms length. After several more tense moments of getting back into arm's length and watching traffic (you'd be surprised at how many people can't stay between the lines [I'm looking at you white Ford SUV...you're lucky I didn't slash your tires]), I spotted a window in the traffic that offered a reasonable chance of success, grabbed a double handful of fur, and commenced to hoofing it back across the highway. The cat was pissed off thoroughly unamused and expressed its displeasure by trying to eviscerate my arm. Fortunately,  my wind breaker took most of the  abuse. Once we reached the grassy shoulder, I engaged the catapult and released it in the tall grass of the shoulder fully realizing we weren't done with the rescue yet.

Your Truly, trying to garner the trust of a feral cat and questioning my life choices.

After assuring myself that I was not bleeding to death and retrieving a bottle of water and a wet wipe from the car to wash the cat spit off my arm and out of the puncture wounds, I returned to my efforts to complete the rescue of the bag full of razor blades just in time to receive the assistance of one of Kyle PD's finest. We had to herd the cat (literally) to a spot where we could grab it. I got a grip on it just before it tried to imitate a speed bump in the highway again. This time, the cat got up under the sleeve of my jacket and did it's level best to chew my arm off. I handed the ugly, pointy thing off to the officer who, wisely, was wearing mechanics gloves and a bullet proof vest. He escorted the cat across the service road into the woods on the other side where it was released into the relative safety of the country side.

No good deed goes unpunished.

After thanking the officer and stopping the bleeding (again), we made tracks to the nearest Starbucks for a more thorough clean up with hot water in the restroom. I'll be darned if those puncture wounds didn't bleed most of the rest of the day. They were pretty tender for the next several days too. As of this writing a couple of weeks post rescue, I still have one puncture that is still scabbed over and serving as a reminder to wear armor and bring tazers when dealing with stray cats.

M&M continues to grow like a weed. She just finished the second grade, she got a gold medal at her piano theory test, auditioned for the national piano guild and is generally continuing to be her amazing self.

Tinkle and Taco keeping a watchful eye on the pups. 

The puppies are also growing like weeds. They are inseparable. Literally. Take one away, and they both whine and cry like they've been beaten. This, of course, creates cute and humorous moments.

Dawww...the cute version of spooning

The funny version of  spooning

Oma's Alzheimer's continues its inevitable march down the drain. While generally happy when she is riding in the car or watching TV with Opa, she has developed a stubborn and belligerent streak when asked/told to do something she does not want to do...which is pretty much anything other than ride in a car or watch TV. She has also rediscovered cursing; and, while not ideal, we are thankful she latched on to "Sh*t!" instead of the universal adjective.

Lastly, we were sad to learn this past week of the passing of a long term church acquaintance of ours. I have known/been acquainted with this family for over 20 years now, and my wife has known them even longer. The family is no one special in terms of wealth or fame. They are just good people. When The Queen was going through her mystery illness and I was stuck commuting between Dallas and Houston because of work, I would call the husband semi-regularly just to have someone to talk to on the long drive. They had six kids who are all grown now.  We found out a while back that the wife had been diagnosed with cancer; and, more recently, we found out that she was bedridden and on hospice care. We took a "day off" from work to drive out to their place to visit (they live a couple hours east of us), catch up and generally give encouragement in whatever way we could.

During our visit, the wife said something that really struck me as profound. She was talking about how her bedridden state has left her totally at the mercy of others for her care most of which falls to her husband. The thing that struck me was when she said this was not what she had in mind when they said their marriage vows. She said this was not what she wanted for her husband to have to care for her and clean her and watch her in that state.

That got me to thinking. Most people say their marriage vows without ever really thinking about what they are promising or giving even a moment's thought about what the future may hold. I know I didn't really comprehend it at the time either. Everyone focuses on the "to have and to hold" and forgets about the "in sickness and in health" or "for richer or for poorer" parts of the vows. She told us that she had to learn the hard way what those vows really meant. The Queen and I understood what she meant.

She passed away peacefully surrounded by her family. I know her husband would trade anything to have her back with him and healthy, but they fulfilled their marriage vows in every sense of the word. That's increasingly rare these days. I count myself blessed to have my Queen by my side as we continue fulfilling our vows.

Rumor Has It...

...that I surprised The Queen with a ski trip for our 11TH wedding anniversary.

The drive from the DFW area to Santa Fe, NM was a fun filled, icy adventure punctuated by one moment of almost terror as we watched an 18 wheeler lose control on black ice, head straight for the median and jack knife to a stop just before careering into our lane at the exact moment we were skating by while trying to get the ABS brakes to do something besides take a nap on the ice.

Here's some photos from the trip for your enjoyment.

Just as an FYI, allergies, high altitude, and a sedentary lifestyle do not mix well. An hour and a half of attempting to teach M&M was enough to have her and I both worn out and ready for a nap. The Queen was sent to enjoy the slopes without us.

Just as a PS to the FYI, planning a ski trip for New Years when everyone and their dog are off work makes for a very crowded ski area.

The Purge Has Begun

Let me preface this post by stating, for the record, I love my inlaws. I really do. I could have done a LOT worse in the inlaw department. They are very kind, faithful people who are easy to get along with.

They are also hoarders.

Now, let me back up the story a bit to give you the full effect.

Around about the end of 2003 when I was preparing to propose to The Queen, The Queen Mum's Mum (who was in her 80s at the time) was living by herself in a modest apartment in California. She was also beginning to have some health problems which was impacting her ability to care for herself. We received calls from the people in her church who were concerned and weren't sure the family was aware.

We weren't.

Discussions were had, and a plot was hatched to kidnap Grandma. She had already been planning to come to Texas to visit the family for Thanksgiving. Little did she know, she would not be going back to California. I proposed to The Queen (making her The Queen To Be at the time) shortly after Thanksgiving, and The Queen To Be made it clear she wanted her Grandma at the wedding.

Okay. Can do.

A wedding was planned in under 4 weeks. I use the term "planned" in loosest sense of the word. Most of our planning consisted of telling our friends "Handle it."

They did. Did I mention we have awesome friends?

Meanwhile, back in California, the church folks were coordinating with my inlaws the packing and loading of Grandma's worldly possessions (all of them) for moving to Texas. Grandma had been "convinced" to stay with us in Texas after the wedding. And by "convinced", I mean my inlaws told her she was in no shape to go home and was staying and that was that. Other people in the family have other ideas about what happened. They would be misinformed. So, shhhh...no talking.

As you might expect, things that should have been disposed of in California were instead boxed up and loaded along with everything else. The vast majority of those items are still in the same boxes they were packed in to this day.

Now, at the time of the Royal Wedding, the then proto Daddy Hawk was living in a modest 1200 square foot house with a two car garage. One side of the garage held a 1973 Datsun 240Z project that never got off the ground. The other side held a motorcycle and other stuff bachelors accumulate. To this disorganized mess was added a significant portion of Grandma's possessions the remainder of which were stored elsewhere. These possessions made the move with The Queen and I when we purchased the Castle in July 2004.

This state of affairs continued until October 2004. That was when the inlaws including Grandma moved in with us. This was necessitated by the sale of The Queen's pre-marital bacherlotte pad (a nice one bedroom condo) which was taken over by the inlaws after the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.

Now, picture for a moment, the Castle in all its glory. 2230 square feet of living space and the EPIC 1600 square foot man cave/workshop not including the "chicken coop" which is another 300 to 400 square feet of storage (in the "there's a roof...sort of" kind of way). It was a spacious palace to The Queen and I with more room than our respective pre-marriage abodes combined.

Now, picture for a moment, not one, not two, not even three, but four (FOUR!!!...mine, The Queen's, The Inlaws' and Grandma's) households worth of stuff being crammed into every nook and cranny available.

My shop, where I had great plans of building things (especially an airplane), was full. Not just full mind you but "stuffed to the gills with somewhat passable paths through the stacks" full. To make matters worse (from my perspective at least), no thought was given by those responsible nor input sought from me as to how things should be stored.

As you might imagine, this has been a sore spot for me for a long time now.

As a result, I have largely stayed out of the shop since. The rats; however, have made themselves right at home. Which, inevitably, led to the vast majority of the items in the shops being destroyed in one manner or another.

So, the sale of the house has finally led to necessity becoming the mother of disposal. Acquiescence was obtained, and this was the initial result:

That's roughly 20 to 25 feet in length, 4 to 5 feet high at the tallest and 5 to 6 feet wide at the widest. Most of it is covered in rat excretions.

Apparently, that was NOT acceptable to the trash service. They allowed as how all debris has to be in bags not to exceed 50 pounds and all boxes have to be broken down for recycling. So, guess what I did last night for three hours. That became this:

The cardboard boxes are being held down by boxes full of recyclables lest we pollinate the neighborhood with cardboard descecrated by rodents. It was interesting, however, to see some of the things that were boxed up. The empty glass juice jars were a little odd. The potato peeler in the middle of a box of sweaters (that were long out of style when they were boxed) was definitely note worthy. Phone books. Old junk mail. Electronics that were obsolete when they were boxed up. Broken glass. The meat clever in the box with the spices was a nice touch.

We did find a box full of old baseball cards. Maybe there's a Mickey Mantle or Babe Ruth rookie card in there, and I won't have to work anymore.

I will say this though...it was very cathartic to dispose of all this despite the risk of vermin borne disease (yes, mask and gloves were used; and, yes, I took a long, hot shower after I was done). The scary part is that there is still stuff in the shop and the house to be dealt with.

Oddities: Lingerie

I present this without further comment:

The Queen, however, mentioned something about Pez dispensers.

Congratulations

I'd like to take a moment to offer (again) my sincerest congratulations to my best male friend, known here as Number One Follower, and his new bride on their recent marriage. I have known NOF almost 24 years now (over half my life...yes, we are getting old), and I have known his lovely bride, henceforth known as K3 (her initials are KKK now and K3 sounds better than The Klanswoman), for more than half of that time.

NOF and I have known each other through at least a dozen moves (usually involving pouring rain or 100+ degree heat and including the time his ex-girlfriend/live-in brandished a gun at him and "his thug friends" while we moved his crap out of the house). We were friends through his first marriage to the raging alcoholic who I affectionately call his practice wife that both his dad and I warned him not to marry (though he claims differently). He was the best man at my wedding to The Queen. He was the one trying to tell me a little time with M&M was better than no time with her (something I REALLY didn't want to hear at the time) during some of the darkest times when it looked as if we weren't going to be allowed to keep her. We've been there for each other through family joys and losses. Needless to say, we know each other like brothers.

K3 is a sweet lady who has patiently waited for NOF to get his head screwed on straight enough to figure out that they were good for each other, and I was only too happy to stand up for them at the wedding and give the toast at the reception.

They called their wedding "The Inevitable". As I said during the toast, I wish them "The Expected": Long Life Together, Much Love and Lots of Laughter.

Congratulations my friends.

A Little Slice of Married Life

The Queen and I are reclining in bed enjoying a movie after a lovely repast of homemade burrito bowls. 

The Queen looks over at me and says, "Did you know you can exercise your butt while watching a movie in bed?" She says this while looking at me earnestly as her pelvis moves up and down thanks to the flexing of her derrière. 

I look over at my lovely bride and reply, "But I don't want to exercise my butt."

Who says love is dead?

I Must Have Been a Good Boy

I tried updating the previous post to add this, but Blogger for iPad and going through the Google app to the web version of Blogger were no bueno either. So, I will just have to blow my 400TH post on showing off The Queen's absolutely awesome anniversary gifts to me.

OOoooo, what have we here? The Dave & Busters gift card is obvious, but it's intended purpose is stress relief. It will get good use. But, what about the rest???

MMMmmmm, a bag of M&Ms. The edible kid, not the Cutest Little Girl in the World (TM) kind. We have a history of M&Ms in this family. When I was slogging the commute back and forth between Dallas and Houston, The Queen sent me off with care packages of M&Ms and stuffed animals (there is still to this day a stuffed frog [aka Froggie the copilot) in the rear window of the Maxima. 

[drool, slobber, smack, ommmnommmnnommm] Ah, a veritable smorgasboard of chocolate (or "chockit" as M&M calls it). The 60% dark is just about as Dark as I like a chocolate to go. I will eat as high as 72%. Anything beyond that and it's too bitter for my taste. The white chocolate is self explanatory. Let's take a closer look at the rest...

Now, at first glance, I laughed when I saw these. I can, however, happily report that they are quite tasty. Sadly, the beef jerky doesn't taste too much like beef jerky and is more like regular milk chocolate with tiny bits of jerky in it. It's still good though. The BBQ tater chip flavor is very good. 

If the BBQ tater chip flavor is very good, the firecracker is awesome sauce in your mouth. It starts off with a little sparkly, then goes slightly salty, then the pop rocks really kick in and finishes with a little spiciness from the smoky chipotle. I never would have guessed that it would be as good as it is. I will be getting more of this. 

I will be reporting on the last of the Anniversary gifts after it is completed on Monday. 

10 Years Ago Today...

...The Queen and I said "I do."

Looking back, I amazed at what we have been through. We married right at the end of 2003. 2004 was pretty quiet all things considered. In 2005, The Queen lost her job taking 40% of our income with it. Just a few months later, we moved to Houston because of a better job opportunity for me which brought about half of that lost income back. At Thanksgiving that year, I came down with pneumonia, spiked a 105 degree fever, and The Queen thought I was dying (might have been for all I know...I really didn't care at that point).

2006 brought us the onset of The Queen's "mystery illness" that resulted in her moving back to Dallas without me so that her parents could help take care of her while I tried to find work back in Dallas. It took me almost two years to the day before I was able to get back to Dallas full time (that is one reason among many that my car has 345,000 miles on it). Two years of living in a friend's spare bedroom to save money. Two years of getting up at 4:00 AM Monday morning to drive to Houston and leaving Houston at 4:00 PM Friday. Two years of not knowing when the next panicked phone call would come from The Queen regarding her health and dropping everything to break every speed limit between Houston and Dallas to get home (three and half hours door to door is my best time from I-45 and Beltway 8 in Houston to I-20 and 408 in Duncanville if you ever want to give it a try).

It was no fun at all.

2008 to 2011 saw The Queen's parents and grandmother living with us. A 2200 square foot house gets to feeling a tad cramped with five adults, three dogs and two cats. Especially when one of the five is over 90 years old and in need of assistance for every need. More so when one of the other four works from home. We made it work some how.

2010 saw improvement in The Queen's health. It also saw the heart wrenching decision not to continue trying for kids of our own. No need to cry over that though because...

2011 opened with the passing of The Queen's 94 year old grandmother after a long, slow decline. It was as much a relief as anything, and she passed peacefully in her sleep. Following that, The Queen's parents took their leave of Castle Erickson and moved out to a house on my brother in law's property that they renovated while The Queen and I jumped head first into the world of foster parenting (and a brief dalliance with law school for me). Our very first placement was the little girl who would become Princess M&M. The end of the year saw me recruited in record time for what I consider to be the best job there is in my field. I ended my 9+ year (split up by an interlude at a company whose name I will not speak...[hock, spit]) relationship with my former employer on our 8TH wedding anniversary so that I could start...

...2012 with a fresh beginning at the new company. 2012 was a rocky year of ups and downs with the foster care system and the saga of M&M; however, by the end of the year, it was clear that we would be adopting her which brings us to...

2013. We started the year off right with the adoption hearing for M&M in January which still seems like it was just yesterday. The rest of this past year has been a blur. The Queen's health has taken a bit of dip again. Some of it is from the stress released after we adopted M&M and bailed out of the foster care system for good. Some of it is allergies. Some of it is a yearning for freedom from all the baggage (physical and mental) that we have accumulated over the years.

Looking ahead into 2014, I am working feverishly to declutter us from our excess physical junk while trying to get the house ready to sell. Our hope is to sell our house and downsize to a small rental for a time while we get our bearings on where we want to be and how we want to be there.

So, if you know anyone interested in a nice, 2 bed, 2 bath, 2 car garage, 2 living area, 1 sunroom/office/extra bedroom, 2269 sq. ft. house on one acre with a 1600 sq. ft. workshop conveniently located to Dallas and Fort Worth, drop me a line. I'll make you a fair deal.

Truthfully, despite all we have been through, I feel blessed. Blessed to have a wonderful woman who puts up with me and my imperfections. Blessed to have had a lot of good times interspersed among the trials too. Blessed to now be a father and a husband. Blessed to be here at all to enjoy it.

So far, we've lived 10 years of our vows: for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.... We haven't gotten to "until death do you part" yet; and, God willing, that will be a long time coming (although there have been times I thought I spotted The Queen searching the backyard for a good spot to bury me). I won't say marriage is easy because it does take both people working together to keep it going, but I will say that ours has been less difficult that most simply because we spent a lot of time (six and a half years in fact) dating, getting to know each other and making sure we were on the same page.

I am scheduling this post to publish at the time we have reservations to sit down for dinner at the "scene of the crime" so to speak. We will be dining at the restaurant where we had our first date, and where I proposed to her.

Reata is in downtown Fort Worth, and it is easily in my top three favorite restaurants ever. If you ever find yourself in Fort Worth, I highly recommend it.

I Am a Blessed Man

My father in law has been married to my mother in law for over 45 years now. In that time, he has probably had two or three professional massages all of which were given to him by my wife (when she was a practicing massage therapist). You see, my mother in law refuses to allow him to have hands laid upon him by any woman who is not related to him, and my father in law, being the typical man that he is, has absolutely no desire to have a man lay hands upon his body (I can't say I blame him either).

I told you that to tell you this.

My wife, The Queen, however, is cut from a whole nother other sheet of cloth.

Our normal, daily (work day that is) custom these days is for The Queen to text me when she is up and moving which usually happens between 9:00 and 10:00 in the morning. Tuesday's exchange went something like this (well, just like this actually since I'm transcribing things for you because I'm too lazy to screen shot things and edit out personal stuff).

The Queen: Morning

Me: Morning. How did u sleep? How u feeling today?

The Queen: Slept well believe it or not :). Started feeling good and then allergies hit again ugh. How did u sleep?

Me: Not too good. Stayed up too late. Had trouble getting to sleep. Woke up too early to try and beat traffic and still got stuck in it. Have a huge knot in my neck/shoulder. Blah.

The Queen: Go get a massage by what's her name (ed. - my "regular"...like once a year...massage therapist) or find a massage school and get one cheaper. You would b helping a student get their credit hours ;)

Now, it's almost impossible for me to get in to see my "regular" therapist for a couple of reasons. First, she takes a lot of clients from a chiropractor's office for injury therapy. Second, she keeps normal people office hours meaning she's usually working when I am at work which means that I have to schedule a partial day off to get in to see her. So, no last minute massages with her. She also does not like to do "outcalls" at people's homes (mainly because she has a family to take care of and likes her set office hours and leaving her stuff at her office). I do like her though because she is very good and doesn't charge a fortune.

Here is where The Queen distinguished herself from her mother and made me The Most Blessed Man In The World (TM). The Queen, on her own initiative, Google Fu-ed and called a couple of different massage schools and found me an appointment for after work not too far from the office for an 80 minute massage given by a student for the grand total of $42.50. How cool is that?

When I told her that the therapist was a little Asian girl with strong fingers, her comment was "Glad u enjoyed it."

My wife loves me, and I am blessed to have a woman who trusts me to be alone in a dimly lit room with another woman while I am lying flat on my back wearing nothing but my underwear (which The Queen assures me is the universal signal for men to give to female therapists that you are not a perv looking for a happy ending) and a sheet.

Now, if I can just get her to surprise me with new guns when I walk in the door from work....

"Thingie" and Google Fu

Way back around post number two, I wrote about my gift with the female language, “Thingie”. It was that post that won me my first blogger writing award and secured the following and friendship of some of my long time blogger friends such as GunDiva. Well, my lovely wife (All hail The Queen! Long live The Queen!), over the course of our almost 10 years of marriage has taken “Thingie” to a whole new level. Please allow me to present the evidence.

First, The Queen has a horrible memory for movies and actors. Here is a fairly typical example:

The Setting - Imagine a husband busy at some task of daily living minding his own business when, from out of left field, this curve ball makes a u-turn and falls in his lap…

The Queen: Do you remember who that person was who was in the one a while back?

Me: Which person in one what when?

The Queen: I don’t remember.

Me: I need a hint here. Male/female? Animal, vegetable, mineral? Movie, TV, commercial? Anything? Bueller?

The Queen: She’s the one who plays a stupid woman all the time…

And so it goes until finally, I say “Aha! You mean Dustin Hoffman in ‘Tootsie’”

Nine times out of ten, I can guess the right answer in under twenty questions and five minutes. It is a stimulating exercise if you’ve never tried it.

But, my Queen is not content with that. She has now stepped up her game from Expert Thingie speaker to Grand Master Thingie Speaker. To wit, I submit the following example:

The Setting – settling into bed at midnight after a long day and needing to get up early the next day to get on the road.

The Queen: I need your help finding a song I heard on the radio a couple of weeks ago.

Me: Okay. Who’s it by?

The Queen: I don’t know.

Me: How does it go?

The Queen: I don’t remember. It was slow, with a lot of bass. I think it was sung by a black guy.”

Me: Lenny Kravitz?

The Queen: No.

Me: Can you give me anything else to work with?

The Queen: I took a picture.

[The Queen shows me a very blurry photo of our car stereo display which shows the radio station ID and, ironically, Puddle of Mudd – Blurry. Also, there is a word at the top that is either “ination” or “iration” or something like that.]

I pull up Puddle of Mudd – Blurry on iTunes for a sample.

The Queen: That’s not it.

Me: Are you sure? That’s what the radio is showing.

The Queen: I’m sure that’s not it.

Me: Okay. Let me see what else I can do.

At this point, I am forced to unleash my Google Fu. The first thing I come up with is the radio station’s play list. They only keep the list for the current day and the previous day up on their website, but I give it a look any way.

A song jumps off the list as being in heavy rotation, and I pull it up on iTunes for another sample.

The Queen: That’s it. What’s the name?

Me: Sail by Awolnation.

The Queen: How did you find that?

As near as I can tell, The Queen took her photo just as the station was moving to the next song. The radio moves the last song to a ticker tape at the top under the station ID, and she caught it just as Awolnation was marching across the screen. What I mistook for “ination” was “lnation” and that was what caught my eye on the play list. Sail is on heavy rotation (five to six times a day), and is the only band with “nation” in its name.

Score major bonus points for Daddy Hawk and his Google Fu.

Communication

So, The Queen and M&M have a play date today on the other side of the world from Castle Erickson. Daddy Hawk's office just happens to be on the way from point A to point B. Add to that the fact that The Queen and I are going to be playing volleyball (okay, The Queen is playing...I am doing my retarded labrador retriever imitation) with folks from work tonight, and it just made sense to carpool today.

Daddy Hawk and M&M have a pretty good morning routine going. I get up at 5:30ish (depending on how late I was stupid enough to got to bed) and go take care of immediate needs while trying to prevent certain bodily noises from waking up the entire house. After Daddy Hawk's morning inspection of the porcelain throne, M&M is usually stirring. So, after she gets a clean diaper, she and I head off to the kitchen for her morning cereal bottle (3 parts formula to 1 part rice cereal). After that, I head for the shower and M&M finishes her bottle following which she decides that the back of her eyelids are much more visually stimulating than the pre dawn darkness. Sometime between 7:00 and 8:00, I leave the house to brave traffic.

Adding The Queen to this routine.....changes things....a bit.

We did manage to leave the house (the first time) at around 7:00 this morning which is a pretty good accomplishment in and of itself given that The Queen is not a morning person. However, as The Queen's chariot was warming up we have the following conversation:

The Queen: It's cold [ed. it was 39 degrees with light wind gusts]. Would you go get my gloves?

Me: Where are they?

The Queen: In the closet.

Me: Where in the closet? [ed. it's a fairly large closet mostly stuffed with The Queen's attire]

The Queen: Left side as you walk in the door on the right side.

Me: Up, down, middle?

The Queen: Middle.

Me: Okay.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the master closet and locate a pair of black, women's gloves in the middle of the shelves on the right side of the left wall as you enter the closet. Turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.

Me: Here you go sweetie.

The Queen: Those aren't the right gloves.

Me: Your kidding.

The Queen: No. I wanted the brown gloves. There were three pair sitting there.

Me: You didn't say anything about which pair you wanted? You asked for gloves. I brought you gloves. Me man...one pair gloves.

The Queen: I don't want those.

Me: So, you want me to go back and get you the brown pair, right?

The Queen: Yes, please.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the master closet and locate a pair of white mittens with some black design knitted into them and a pair of light tan gloves, not brown mind you...tan, in the middle of the shelves on the right side of the left wall as you enter the closet just under where I found the black gloves. I see no brown gloves. She asked for brown gloves. There's NO brown. I decide that she clearly does not want white with black for she said brown and grab the tan pair in the hopes that they are in fact the right pair (given that they are my only remaining option). Turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


Me: Are these the one's you want?

The Queen: No.

Me: [brow furrowing, dark clouds gathering]

The Queen: I'm just kidding. Yes, those are the ones.

Me: Those are not brown. Those are tan. Barely a shade darker than white.

The Queen: [pointing to a small...tiny really...tag sewn into the glove at the wrist] See, there's some brown.

Me: [putting tan gloves next to brown purse] This is brown...that is tan. You need to use a little more specificity in your communication [ed. there is some delicious irony in this statement...trust me.].

So, anygloves, the drama of the hand warmers is settled, and we merrily trundle off to Starbucks for our poisons of choice (iced tea for me {yes, I know I am weird for drinking iced tea when it is 39 degrees out. I blame my mother} and decaf coffee for her). I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, go into Starbucks, get our drinks, go back outside, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.

The Queen: Where's M&M's coat?

Me: [holding up a pink winter coat] Right here.

The Queen: No, the red one with the pink stripe.

Me: Back at the house. Do we need to go get it?

The Queen: Will the pink one be warm enough?

Me: I think so.

The Queen: Well, I don't want to make you late for work.

Me: [suppressing a chuckle] It's okay.

Start the car, head in the general direction of home and work (Starbucks was a mile away from the direct path to work, but there is no Starbucks convenient to my commute until you get almost to the office).

Me: Did you remember to get the foccasia bread [ed. for the play date lunch]?

The Queen: Uhhh...no. I have mommy brain really bad.

We get back to the house. I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the kitchen, get the foccasia bread and the red coat with the pink stripe, turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


The Queen: Did you get M&M's sippy cup with juice?

Me: No. I thought you said the diaper bag was ready.

The Queen: It just dawned on me.

Me: Where is the sippy cup?

The Queen: In the dishwasher [ed. which happens to be dirty because it was not full and I didn't run it last night.].

Me: What kind of juice do you want for her?

The Queen: Apple juice.

Me: Should I warm it up?

The Queen: Yes, please.

[ed. bear in mind that we both have the giggles at this point with The Queen adding sheepishness to her voice and me adding my best droll, long suffering husband voice for effect.]

Me: Anything else?

The Queen: No.

Me: You sure?

The Queen: yes.

Me: [holding up the house keys] It's your turn.

The Queen: I don't want to.

Me: Uh uh. I'm going to sit here and relax and enjoy my tea.

The Queen: I hurt [ed. The Queen has not been feeling well of late dealing with a chronic infection that is resisting our efforts to kill it.].

Me: Okay.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the kitchen, warm up some apple juice, turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


Believe it or not, I made it to work more or less on time.

I Love My Wife

A brief text exchange between myself and The Queen as she went out for an after dark exercise walk.

Me: Be careful

The Queen: It is well lit and there are people on the playground area.

Me: Okay. Good. God protects. But it always helps to be aware.

The Queen: Naw. I don't think I will be aware.

Me: And you wonder why I want long range rifles...so I can protect you from afar.

The Queen: LOL, You are so heroic.

Me: Nothing says "stay away from my wife" like a .308 in the ear.

The Queen: LOL. Awww so protective.

Me: That's my job. Is what I vowed on our wedding day. Well, not the .308 in the ear exactly, but the general concept of get off my wife.;)

Training Review: Two Hour Handgun 101

This post was originally posted on The Gundivas earlier today under the same title.

If you have read my bio, you know that I claim no formal firearms training as part of my background. As my involvement in the shooting sports has increased, my desire to change that circumstance has increased as well. Towards the end of August, I was perusing my daily Groupon email when I noticed a deal for a two hour handgun 101 class. One hour of classroom followed by one hour of range time with range fee, gun rental and ammo included for two people for the obscenely low price of $39.

Cha-Ching! Where do we sign up?

Yes, I said we. In my excitement at getting such a deal and my desire to share my hobby with my long suffering wife, The Queen, I signed us both up for this educational experience. Then, I told her I had a surprise for her. The Queen is no stranger to firearms, but she is not obsessed with them like I am. Once upon a time, I took her on a date during which go karts were raced and a select fire 9mm H&K MP5 was rented and fired. The Queen claimed she had a great time at said date. So, this surprise date was going to be well received too. Right?

Yeah, not so much. More on that later. Maybe.

Word of advise to husbands reading this: don't bill a date involving your hobby as a surprise to your wife who is stressed from caring for three children under the age of five and dealing your sorry hide day in and day out.

Word of advise to wives reading this: when you present your husband with the receipts from your massage/spa day/shopping spree/shooting spree, gently remind him that you didn't kill him for getting your hopes up for something romantic.

Any fail, back to our story.

Notice I am not naming names here. There are two reasons for this: 1) there is no need to publicly shame this business across the Internet for those located somewhere other than the Dallas/Fort Worth area (those in DFW can email me for names if you so desire), and 2) I don't want to discourage other businesses from offering similar opportunities via Groupon.

The Groupon portion of the experience was awesome. Paid online. Scheduled online. Printed voucher. Done. No fuss.

The classroom portion of the event was not bad. It was not great either. The classroom was long and narrow with the tables setup facing the centerline of the room instead of the front of the room. This made watching the video portions of the instruction difficult. There were about 22 to 25 people in the class with 1 instructor. Remember these numbers, they will come back to haunt us soon.

Now, here is a little pet peeve. A training class advertised to start at 7:00 should...you know...start at 7:00. Not 6:50. When we walked into the classroom at 6:55, the instructor had already started a power point presentation and was showing a video clip of Clint Smith talking about something or other, I honestly can't remember at this point.

Before moving on, let me describe our instructor for the evening. Short, overweight and wearing a Springfield XD 9mm in a Miami classic shoulder holster rig. I found it amusing that he continually muzzled the whole class with his loaded XD every time he turned around while demonstrating "proper" muzzle discipline with a revolver and a semi auto.

Back to the classroom material. I don't have a problem with an instructor inserting video clips to enhance a presentation. I've done that myself professionally. However, over reliance on video clips from others more qualified than you just highlights your own lack of qualification. Also, I don't really feel the need to pay good money to watch clips of Clint Smith or Todd Jarrett that I can see (and have seen in some cases) on YouTube for free.

The instructor did do a good job of demonstrating a solid two handed grip as well as the rationale for same. He demonstrated the Isosceles stance. I would have liked to have seen other stances covered as well, but that would have meant cutting out one of the Clint Smith video clips.

Positive take aways from the classroom portion: 1) Mag Out / Round Out for proper clearing of semi autos so that you do not inadvertently reload the chamber from the magazine, 2) you use the pad of your index finger to engage the trigger as using the first joint causes the meat of the finger to interfere with proper operation of the trigger, and 3) Todd Jarrett / Clint Smith are worth whatever money they are getting paid since our instructor felt the need to use their material instead of his own.

Now, on to the range portion. The range where the class was held is a relatively new facility with 7 pistol bays. Remember the number of students in class? Do you see where this train is about to crash? To add insult to stupidity, the range was not closed to outside shooters for the class. Those 7 bays were thus reduced to a mere 5 bays available for the shooting portion of the class. So, 1 instructor is going to run 25 students, some of whom have never touched s firearm, through a minimum of 20 rounds of ammo on 5 pistol bays in under an hour. Oh, and give quality one on one coaching in the process.

Yeah, not so much.

To add a additional level of stupid, one of the lanes rented to a non-class member was a guy trying to impress not one but two girls by shooting his .40 gangsta style. I really wanted a few quiet moments with that bonehead, but such was not to be. For what it's worth, one of the girls was a better shot than he was.

Heck, The Queen is a better shot than he was. But I digress.

The rental guns were supposed to be Smith & Wesson M&P .22s. I was really kinda interested in shooting them to see what all the hubbub with the triggers is about. Alas, when I got my chance to shoot, the lane I landed on had a Sig Mosquito for use. Apparently, one of the M&Ps was taken down by a squib round that left a bullet lodged in the barrel that need to be hammered out, and the Mosquito was pulled in as a substitute.

A word or two about the Sig: I don't like the long DA/SA trigger. I've never liked the DA/SA trigger system. Didn't like it on the Beretta. Didn't like it on the S&W 4506 that my brother in law had. Didn't like it on the Mosquito.  Personal preference. Your mileage may vary. The sights were way high. Point of impact at five yards was about three inches low. Once I figured that out, I turned the number 8 on a standard Texas DPS silhouette target into one ragged hole which is what I expect of myself at that distance.

Watching some of the others in the class, there were clearly some newbies. One guy in front of me had the shakes so bad, I thought he was going to drop the gun. He really needed some one on one attention. Unfortunately, he didn't get it that I saw.

Range commands, though discussed in class, were non-existent on the range. I didn't notice any glaring safety issues, but that could have just been luck given the experience level in the class.

So, bottom line: when it comes to Groupon firearms events, buyer beware.

In hindsight, I should have called the provider and asked some basic questions. My self assessed experience level is higher than a basic, intro class. I wanted to take the class for the sole purpose of starting with the basics to make sure I was not reinforcing ay bad habits left over from my grandfather and also to give The Queen and I a good basis for future firearms activities. A mentioned above, I did get something's out of the class. However, I was left feeling like I should have gotten more out of it.

For the price, I can't complain too much more than I already have.

No Greater Love...

Editor's Note: This post was originally published on The GunDivas.

Since Friday when in first heard about the tragedy in Aurora, CO, I have probably started this post four or five times in my head, on the iPad and the laptop. It’s a serious topic, involving real people, suffering real pain inflicted by a mad man for reasons as yet fully unknown. Obviously, I want to avoid being my normal, snarky, smart alecky self.

At first, I started out thinking that I wanted to talk about the need to examine your core beliefs and establish a personal “rules of engagement” if you will for situations like this. That idea arose from a discussion I had with a friend from church Friday afternoon. He asked the question of what I would have done. Heck, I don’t know. I wasn’t there, and I’ve never been in a situation like that before. I would like to think that I would have the faith and strength of character to put myself between the shooter and those around me and use every tool at my disposal to protect them and get them to safety. Some who were there did just that while others did not. I don’t write that as praise or condemnation. It is merely a statement of fact based on reports I’ve heard so far.

I would like to think that I am ready and willing to die trying in the process. No less a person than Jesus Christ Himself said “Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.” (John 15:13) That’s not exactly Plan A, of course. My preference would be to make the other person die trying, but that’s a discussion for another time.

I thought about getting into a discussion of gun rights versus gun control; but, honestly, that horse has been run over by the cart after dropping dead from a thorough flogging. I am a member of the gun community. I believe in the right to own and bear arms. Not much is going to change that view. Others believe differently and have little interest in what I have to say on the subject. Though, for the record, I think that gun control advocates are kinda like Ray from Ghostbusters trying to choose the form of Gozer the Destructor. Ask Rahm Emanuel and Michael Bloomberg how well they have succeeded at controlling the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

And here I was trying to avoid snark…I apologize.

So, what DO I really want to say about Friday’s events?

Go love someone.

Anyone. Right now. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Carry a gun. Don’t carry a gun. I don’t care, but go find someone you care about or really like a lot and love on them.

Why am I saying this?

Allow me to give a little back story first. Ever since my wife, The Queen, and I got married, I have gotten up, gotten dressed and left the house for work before she even wakes up (most of the time…there are exceptions). I have always made it a point to give her a kiss as she lies there sleeping and tell her I love her before walking out the door. Anger, sad, or happy, argument or no, I did this because I wanted to make sure that, if anything happened to me, the last thing between us was an act of love.

Until recently. I have gotten out of the habit. There are lots of excuses, but the bottom line is that I have gotten away from doing what is in my heart.

And then I came within about 2 seconds of dying on the way home from work today. A fool in a large, black pickup ran a red light right in front of me. I can’t say for sure how fast he was going, but I would guess at least 40 and probably 50 or more. I believe he was accelerating. He would have hit my comparatively small Nissan Maxima square in the driver’s side had I made the intersection just a second or two earlier. Honestly, I can’t say for certain that I would have died, but I have investigated enough car accidents to know that serious injury and a trip to the hospital was the bare minimum that I would have gotten away with had he hit me at that speed.

It has shaken me to my core that I might not have made it home to my wife and foster kids this evening. Fortunately, I did get to hug and kiss The Queen and baby M&M this morning before I left. The Queen woke up early, and we shared a little three way hug before I had to go.

12 people in that theater Friday morning didn’t get to go home to their families, and at least 50 or 60 others came close to sharing their fate. Those 12 will never be able to love or be loved again (except in memory). They are beyond the cares of this world now. If it were possible to resurrect them right now, my bet is that their one wish and desire would be for more time with their loved ones.

When the dust settles, no one cares about how good or bad we are with a pistol or a rifle. No one cares how many or how few training classes we’ve taken. What they care about and remember most are the times we were there for them, when we hugged them when they needed it most, when we listened to them, shared their joy, their pain and their lives.

Go. Love. Someone. Now.

Safe & Sound

As most of you know already, there was some fairly severe weather in the Dallas/Fort Worth area yesterday including several tornadoes and large hail. Rest assured, The Queen, M&M and I are all in one piece. Castle Erickson weathered the storm with nary a dropped tree branch or lifted roof shingle (as far as I could tell when I finally got home late last night).

The Queen and M&M were not home when the storms arrived and were never in danger. I was at the office about 20 or 30 miles as the crow flies from where the tornadoes were touching down. We had a couple of warnings to go to the center of the building which made for a wholly unproductive day; but, to be truthful, the wind and rain never even got worrisome where we were.

It was interesting to watch the weather radar though. Lots and lots of red extending from around Hamilton (a ways southwest of Fort Worth) all the way up through Wichita Falls. At one point, I watched as the radar showed Castle Erickson situated in an oasis of clear skies surrounded by a sea of red severe weather. That was when all the tornadoes were touching down in Arlington and Lancaster along I-20. The Castle sits roughly midway between Lancaster and Arlington just south of I-20 for those who are interested. Needless to say, I had visions of coming home to no home.

You would think we would have learned by now. For the last several years, the I-20 corridor from Fort Worth to southeast Dallas and into the southeastern suburbs and rural towns has been a magnet for tornado activity. In fact, one of yesterday’s tornadoes touched down within a mile of the former Castle Erickson located just south of I-20 on Hwy. 287. Nothing like seeing the old neighborhood narrowly miss obliteration to make you thankful that you moved. I also have a fond memory of driving home from work to the former castle along I-20 one fine, stormy day to see a funnel cloud forming over my exit. Nice.

I think I’ll be taking this as a sign that the Royal Family needs to seek shelter further north.

While I’m thinking about it, yesterday’s events remind me of story.

Once upon a time when The Queen and I were still dating and yet to be betrothed to one another, we were sitting at the former Castle Erickson (which, at the time, was your humble Shepherd’s bachelor pad/den of iniquity…yeah, right…like that ever happened) whereupon The Lady Who Would Become The Queen announced that she desired that we (meaning us) should go jogging for healthful benefits and general getting out of the house activity. I (he who despises jogging and owns firearms for the sole purpose of avoiding the necessity of running for ones life…ever), hoping to sound as if I were the voice of reason, suggested that the weather was not conducive to jogging seeing as how it was, at that particular time, lightening and thundering overhead.

The Queen accused me of not wanting to get wet. I informed her that such was not the case, and that I merely had no desire to be struck by lightning while engaged in my least favorite activity on the planet (I’d rather argue with the IRS than go jogging). After much strident discussion on the subject, I suggested we travel to a nearby park to see just how lovely the conditions were for pounding one’s feet into oblivion on hard concrete. The strident conversation about my desires or lack thereof continued on the drive over to the park. Once parked in the park’s parking lot, the discussion continued a pace for a good 30 minutes or more (did I mention The Queen is a redhead…it’s a warning sign that really should not be ignored) until God Himself decided to settle the subject once and for all.

As we were in the midst of our discussions having not yet exited the vehicle due to the lightning and thunder and torrential downpour, the winds picked up. That, or someone parked a 747 directly behind my truck as a strong breeze lifted the back of my pickup off the ground probably a foot or so before it fell back to earth with a bounce.

I announced that the discussion was over, and that we were returning to the house. The Queen wisely chose not to contest that state of affairs.

Upon returning to the house, we discovered that downtown Fort Worth had been hit hard by a tornado(es) while other twisters had hopscotched their way down the I-20 corridor leaving destruction and mayhem in their wake. Unbeknownst to us, The Queen and I had been sideswiped by the very edge of a tornado.

Thank you Lord for thinking about us. We’re alive and doing fine. [with apologies to the band Tesla for paraphrasing their cover of the song Signs].