Squirrel!

I have found myself a little distracted from blogging lately. The first problem was that my mother's house, where I spent Thanksgiving, is an internet-free zone. Not because she doesn't have internet, but because she doesn't know the password to her wireless and is too passive to call the cable company and ask what it is. So no access for those of us visiting.

Then there is the problem of my failing laptop. When I boot it up, the screen blinks on and off. Eventually it settles into staying on, but each time the flickering gets longer.

Finally, I came home to a million things to do. The end of the year is a crazy time in my business. There's something about the holidays that just ratchets up the demand. Plus all the end of year accounting, and preparing for the arbitrary changes insurance companies make every calendar year. So I'll be busy but around, even if a little less frequently for a while.

"Only got twenty dollars in my pocket."

In honor of Black Friday, a day on which I do NOT go shopping, my new favorite video. My younger son showed it to me and I love the rapper's subversive, anti-consumerism message.
"I wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible, 
I'm in this big ass coat from that thrift shop down the road." (Macklemore)

The brief life of a pumpkin.

As I was leaving the dam after a walk, I saw this little pumpkin lying abandoned in the grass. I pulled over, put it on the passenger seat and brought it home to live on my dining room table. But eventually, in the way of all gourds, it began to decompose. My younger son asked if he could use it for target practice and suggested I try it as well.

After briefing me on safety, my son demonstrated and then handed me the gun. (This is not the Airsoft AK-47, but a BB rifle he'd purchased earlier). To my surprise, I hit the pumpkin on my first shot.

My son explained how the gun worked, showed me the CO2 canisters and let me try with both round BBs and lead pellets. He cautioned me not to touch my mouth if I did come in contact with the lead and told me to engage the safety before I walked over to the pumpkin. As much as anything, I was pleased to see how very careful he is.

My shots! We'd turn the pumpkin a little each time and check between each round. I was, I will admit, absurdly proud of myself for hitting it.

We moved in a little closer to try the BB pistol (a replica of a Smith and Wesson, he told me). I was able to hit the pumpkin with that gun, too. After checking my shots and celebrating my victory, my son said, "No dancing with the gun, Mom." Like that's going to stop me.

Finally, it was time to put the pumpkin out of its misery and toss it to the woods to provide some food for the animals there. Another one bites the dust.

I never can give in to winter gracefully.

It's going. A week ago, I worked with gorgeous fall color reflected on my computer screen from the window behind me.

Now, the leaves are mostly down in a more quietly-hued carpet.

From inside my house, I watch the inmates sent by the city vacuum up leaves I've raked to the street.

And I see the world around me slowly giving way to the browns and ambers of late autumn.

There are still signs of life, rebellious little weeds who refuse to go down without a fight.

But the sunflowers know, and so do I.

You prepare for the zombie apocalypse your way, I'll prepare mine.

My old neighborhood package store is still the one where I buy my wine.  I like the atmosphere and they are a helpful lot. They had Beaujolais Nouveau available starting yesterday, so I picked some up, with plans to keep some and take a few bottles when I visit my family for Thanksgiving. I asked which they recommended and they suggested this one - Domaine Pral. I looked it up when I got home: "The Domaine Pral is a 50 acre, family owned estate, that has been organic for several generations. It is located in the heart of the “Pierres Dorees” country, 10 miles from Villefranche, which is the capital of the Beaujolais. The Domaine Pral vineyard is planted on granite soils with a South East exposure. Utilizing only sustainable farming techniques, the current winemaker is Pascal Chatelus."

My younger son told me that all his friends think I'm an alcoholic. Because of the small wine rack in my kitchen which holds a dozen bottles. And...

the bigger wine rack in the basement which holds 48 bottles. The former owners left it when they moved out and the cool temperature is perfect for storing wine. Around here, there is a pervasive belief that you are either an abstainer or a drunk. It's a Southern Baptist thing. I actually had someone explain to me that when Jesus turned water into wine during the wedding at Cana, it was unfermented wine. Unfermented. Wine. Just let that sink in for a moment. Pretty sure the guests would have considered producing grape juice for a party to be a sorry excuse for a miracle. And...

okay, probably this, too. I don't keep more than a dozen bottles of beer in my kitchen refrigerator but there is a smaller fridge in the basement, where I also store sodas and beer.

But it's not just wine and beer - I also keep the pantry and the fridge and the freezer full of food. And when I have company, I consistently cook way too much.  I don't know why, but I have always been a stockpiler of food. I don't like to run out of things. Which is a little ironic since I'm actually not a big eater or drinker. But it's there if I need it. Bring on the zombies, I'll be okay for a while.

Some things I see on my walks at the dam defy explanation.

What, you don't have an AK-47 on your woodstove?

This Quaker parent never thought she'd have a son who was so intrigued by knives and guns. It's the woodsman in him. He does a little blacksmithing in a forge he built himself, and has made some of his own knives. He also has several machetes, a kukri he bought from a company in Tibet, and a old bayonet. He is at his happiest working at the anvil, using the angle grinder to edge a sword, or chopping his way through the woods. Recently, he presented a well-considered argument for purchasing an Airsoft pellet rifle, assuring me that he would be shooting only at targets and never at animals. I don't worry about that, actually. When I  discovered last week that a mouse had found its way inside, I set a trap and heard it go off that evening. The conversation:
Me: "Uh oh, I think I just caught the mouse.  But I can't check because it might not be dead yet."
Son: "Mom, you have to check because it might not be dead yet."
Me: "I know, but I just can't." He got up and pulled out the trap, and studied the mouse for a moment.
Son: "Aw, sad face."  And then asked if he could put the little body in the woods rather than the trash.

In the meantime, I am caused to marvel at how you might teach your children your values, but ultimately they must walk their own path. He's a sensitive kid and opposed to violence, and even generally sticks to a vegetarian diet even when away from home. But he likes building the skills he thinks he would need to be self-sufficient. He likes being competent with knives and guns. In this way, he and my friend are two peas in a pod. He is interested in my son's knives and even bought him the angle grinder. When he was over not long ago, I asked if he wanted to see my son's Airsoft rifle.  He picked it up and said, "It's an AK-47!  Jesus!" And then proceeded to explain the features of the gun to me and why it was an extremely realistic copy, and even shot some pellets into the ottoman. How did this pacifist end up with two weapon-enthusiasts in her life?