Guns vs. a head of lettuce …

Now you know how I feel about guns of the non-hunting variety. I’m fine with hunting, not slaughter.


February 17, 2015

Ellen/Reid: There’s a skiff of snow on top of some black ice this morning which makes tooling around here relatively treacherous. The weather is only going to deteriorate throughout the week with the lows in the single digits. That’s pretty numbing in these parts when the average high is supposed to be in the mid 50s. On the way back from Charleston last night it was pretty daunting on I-26 once we got to about 60 miles from Charlotte. The temps dropped into mid 20s. All those years of driving in the Midwest paid off. Tom and I made it back while folks with no clue how to drive or take their sweet time were spinning out or moving like snails behind salt trucks. We went steadily along at about about 25-30 MPH the final 20 or so miles and got through in one piece.

The only thing caught on this fishing trip was this photo of my friend Tom. We got skunked, pure and simple. But he wants to go back once the weather thaws.

The only thing caught on this fishing trip was this photo of my friend Tom. We got skunked, pure and simple. But he wants to go back once the weather thaws.

I’m done kayak fishing until the water warms up in late March or April. Tom and I paid a guide yesterday and none of us got a bite, not even at The Barge. The water temperature was only 37F and the fish were in a stupor. Not even our good guide, Captain Tripp, caught anything. The wind was whipping and the air temps barely reached the upper 30s. Our anchors wouldn’t hold which made things that much more frustrating. We bagged it with an hour to go (at my suggestion since I was frozen) and drove home. Tom was a sport about it and we’ll go again, but I was so disappointed he didn’t catch anything because he worked hard at it. We knew the reds might be lethargic, so it wasn’t entirely a surprise.

The arm came through it just fine. I wrapped it tight as a precaution but there were no issues with paddling. We’ll never know what a big fish might have done to it. The stitches came out so quickly and so simply – the nurse practitioner pulled them out with tweezers – I asked her why they just couldn’t have walked me through the process over the phone. That was joke of course, but literally it wasn’t 1-2 minutes from start to finish. I hit a couple of easy iron shots on Saturday when I walked nine holes with my friends and it felt good. The green light on full activity is March 1.

The feeder at the kitchen window this morning was empty and no birds could be seen. The wind blows out all the hulls. But no sooner had I filled it with black oil sunflower and shut the window than the first cardinals paid a visit. The sound of the window must be like a dinner bell to the birds because they instantly come for their share of the bounty. With this bitter cold they need the nourishment so it will be kept full throughout the day.

We had a terrible shooting of three civic-minded Muslim students in Chapel Hill last week. The alleged shooter/whack job had something like 15 guns in his apartment. The poor kids didn’t stand a chance. I don’t know why we have this morbid preoccupation with guns. Our death rate by firearms remains 20 times higher than that of the next developed nation. 20 times. I just don’t get it. There was an op-ed in the Observer the other week by some nutcase who objects to our local grocery store, Harris Teeter, considering a ban on his open carry in their stores. He’s all concerned about readiness. Readiness for what? Someone’s going to hurl a head of iceberg lettuce at him in the produce aisle? Now that’s a shooting offense. (I suggest morons like him be ever more vigilant about what’s going on over in the wine/beer aisle. Rumor has it some of the gray hairs over there get pretty out of hand during tastings.) The incident over at UNC had anti-Muslim overtones and we don’t do a very good job of differentiating between Muslims and radicals like ISIS. We paint them, as they do Americans, with the same broad brush. It’s not a very sensible way for either side to live.

Love, Dad

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Filed under Writing to adult children

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