UPDATED : 'Quack You. You Forgot Something.'

Some of you will recognize these. I finally got around to putting them together.

You Want My Weapons? 

Start with this one.

"This is an account of a dream I had some time back; I’m only just now getting around to putting it down, but it’s one of those memorable ones, and kind of funny in a sad sort of way. 

Anyway, in the dream I’m basically my own self, a little old gramma lady. 

I’m just getting home from somewhere and ready to turn my key in the lock when a couple of official-looking men in suits step into my front porch behind me.

I look around, smile and say hello, ask if I can help them with anything.

They don’t smile back. 

They ask me who I am, so I tell them.  They ask me if I live here and of course, as I’m in the middle of unlocking my front door, I say yes, a little confused but what the heck, may as well be polite.

‘Ma’am, according to our records you own a weapon.  As you know, all weapons have been required to be seized by our agency.  We would like you to turn your weapon over to us.’

Now I get it.  I understand who and what they are and what they want.  I admit it gets on my nerves a little. 

‘I’ll hand it over as soon as I’m done using it, okay?’

Now they’re the ones who are a little confused. 

I finish turning my key in the lock, then turn quickly to the one closest to me and have that key snugged up just under one of his ears alongside of his neck before he can react. 

Putting a little pressure on, just because I want to, I say, ‘Okay, you can have this one, for starters.’

The poor guy is still too startled to resist when I smile and put the key into his hand. 

‘Come on in.  I hope you aren’t in a hurry, because I have a lot of weapons in my home.’

They follow me inside, not saying anything. 

‘Now, let’s see … where should I start?’ 

I head back to my antique kitchen and start gathering up all my cast iron skillets.  When I’ve got as much as I can carry I tote them on out and set them beside the curb at the street.

Then I go back for my collection of rolling pins. 

Opening the cupboard doors I start pulling out all the canned goods. 

‘Ma’am, what are you doing?’

‘I’m giving you guys all my weapons, what does it look like I’m doing?’

Handing each of them a bunch of cans, as they may as well be making themselves useful, I tell them to carry them out to the curb. 

I imagine they’re still too shocked to refuse.

When we pass each other, one manages to find his voice and protests, ‘Ma’am, these aren’t weapons.’

I give him a big grin and say, ‘Wanna bet?’

Then I throw one of the cans I’m carrying as hard as I can against the wall across the room, where it duly makes a big old dent and loosens the plaster so it falls on the floor and leaves a hole in the wall. 

I think that gets their attention. 

Because most everything in either of my kitchens can be used as a weapon, we cleaned them out. 

Then I made them help me get the appliances out, both the antique cookstove and the modern electric one (from the new kitchen) because, well, you know hot things can really cause some serious burns and all that, and freezers and refrigerators can give a person frostbite if they should happen to get locked in there. 

Then out go all the dressers in the house because, gee whiz, a person could slam someone’s fingers in them and disable that someone, right? 

Bedding and clothes, because how easy would it be to smother or strangle someone with them? 

Mattresses and box springs go out by the curb as well, because they have dangerous things in them like metal coils. 

Bed frames are a no-brainer because you could take those metal rails, and/or the headboards and footboards, to brain somebody. 

I notice one of them on his phone and tell him, ‘Yeah, backup is a good idea – better tell them to bring a couple of big trucks; that pile of weapons out there is getting pretty big and the neighbors might complain if we don’t get it all out of here right quick.’

They’re thoroughly bemused and completely confused by now but I’m relentless. 

When we get to my studio, everything in there goes out to the curb too, because everything is a potential weapon. 

When we get down to the bare walls, I go out to the curb and rummage around until I find a pry bar and a hammer, go back into the house and begin whopping at the walls, pulling off plaster and yanking out lath and 2x4, turning on them as though I’m going to whop them or poke them with those pieces of wood with all those nails poking out of them. 

They kind of fall back and let me alone. 

When I have a big enough opening, I start pulling out the wiring. 

‘You can’t do that, ma’am; it’s dangerous.  That wiring could kill you.’

‘Yep.  It’s a weapon, ain’t it?’

When I’ve pulled out a bunch of wiring, enough to make them really nervous, I start on the plumbing. 

When I break a piece of PVC pipe loose, it’s got sharp points and I aim it at one of them like I’m going to skewer him.  He kind of cringes back some and I laugh. 

I lug it all out to the curb, then sit and rest for a minute on my front steps. 

I’m eyeballing them like they’re snakes and tell them, ‘I’ve made a good beginning, but if you want me to surrender all of my weapons, you’re going to have to get some help.  You’ll need some heavy equipment to get this all done, so you’d best be making your phone calls and getting to it.  I’ll surrender all my weapons but, you know, I’m just a little old gramma lady and I’m old and fragile while you two are young and agile, so I’m gonna just sit here and supervise while you confiscate all the weapons on my property.

When you get the house and cellar and fence all carted away, you’re gonna have to cut down all these trees, because if you don’t take them away from here I’m liable to make myself some bows and arrows and spears and such out of them.  Those ash branches make awesome shillelaghs, you know.  Better take the roots too because those suckers are tough and if I took it into my head to bean you with one of them you might not wake up until next week some time.’

And then I woke up laughing.

Remembering the dream, I stopped laughing and started getting a little mad.

I’m INFJ, remember?

Obviously what had been on my mind was all the brouhaha about the second amendment and how in some places people were taking in weapons to voluntarily surrender them, because they’re convinced it’s the right thing to do, and how in other places people are outraged at the very idea of such a thing happening in this country. 

One section of my mind circles around and around that old saying ‘Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile’.

I picture that little old gramma lady in my dream, standing buck nekkid on the barren earth of her home, because even the holes had been filled in (someone might fall in them and hurt themselves).

I remember researching the history of the Ukraine.  I remember researching the history of the Germans from Russia. I remember learning about WWII.

My mind is an entertaining place to visit, absolutely true. 

Everything in there bops around seemingly at random, pops up in strange and unexpected places, and flits about until it finds a place to fit.

Then when it finds that place to light, it sends out tentacles or some such in search of other bits and pieces that might also fit and make the picture of this weird puzzle a little more interesting. 

All on its own, mind you – it’s not like I’m in there actively orchestrating the whole thing. 

Are you nuts?  I couldn’t do it if my life depended on it, not on purpose, that’s for sure!

It’s just the way the thoughts zing around in there even when I’m technically focusing on something totally different that demands my attention and concentration.

You just never know what’s going to pop to the surface at any given time.

See, this is how come INFJs get labeled weird/crazy/odd/out there somewhere/etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum ad nauseum.

That’s why you don’t want to be asking us what’s on our mind just randomly out of the blue; you never know what you’re going to get.

That thing on Facebook, where it DOES ask you what’s on your mind – pretty darned risky question should we ever decide to actually go with what might be on our mind at any given time. 

Well, that was a little detour off the point, wasn’t it?

At any rate, another section of my mind is circling around yet another bit of data – namely the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

Because that’s what I do, that’s how my mind functions, the thoughts and ideas circle and circle and pick up other bits of thoughts and ideas along the way. 

And one of the thoughts it picks up along the way is that thing about giving them an inch. 

I have an abiding fear that we have given up that inch and are in dire danger of looking the other way while the mile is getting eaten up. 

Sigh.

Having such an imaginative mind can be daunting. 

Sometimes it’s really not a lot of fun.

Sometimes I have really weird dreams, too."

Epilogue

The little old lady stands stark naked on the smooth dirt beneath her feet where her home stood not so very long ago. She stares up at a little white puff of a cloud in the blue blue sky and smiles.

Humming a fragment of a song even more ancient than she is, she straightens her back, tilts her head a little as though listening, lifts her chin, and strides across the dirt, leaving the prints of her small feet in her wake.

To the northwest corner of what had been her yard she strides.

Once there, still humming, she kneels and pokes a slender forefinger into the dirt.

Smiling at the little hole it makes, the naked little old lady pokes another hole in the dirt, and then another and another.

A pattern emerges and she steps back to gaze on it for a moment before continuing with her solitary task.

Along the property line she makes her way, creating her pattern as she goes.

After several passes she stops again and stands gazing at what she has wrought.

Standing as still as still can be she looks and looks at the design she has made in the smooth bare dirt of what was her yard.

The humming becomes louder as tears fill her eyes, course her face, and drop to the smooth bare dirt at her feet.

As she stands weeping, her right hand moves to rest over her heart and she feels the pulsing there beneath her slim fingers.

Alone and still motionless she begins to Sing.

As the Song progresses her Voice becomes stronger, louder, until her very heart is racing beneath her fingers.

'Oh say can you see by the dawn's early light what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?'

As she sinks to the earth with the last notes of the Song on her lips, she murmurs, 'Quack you. You forgot something.'

And the Stars and Stripes that she has created in the bare dirt of what had been her home waver a little, as though touched by a breeze, through her tears.

'You forgot to take my Voice, and my Spirit.'

And the little old lady, naked, kneels where she is and prays.

2015  10  01  0245

A couple of decades ago I owned a rifle. It wasn't a fancy rifle but it fit me well and suited me just fine. Then I gave it away to someone who needed it more than I did. Years after that and years before now I bought a pellet rifle, mainly because it looks enough like a 'real' one from a distance to make people think it was real. Never used it even once. 

I haven't been real big on having an actual 'weapon' for myself. I'm still not, truth be told. While choosing to remain unarmed myself, I've never had a problem with the many (many) friends and relatives who own and use firearms. We live with hunting and fishing. Owning a rifle or shotgun is about like owning a fishing pole. (Yes, I do own a fishing pole. Bought it two or three years ago and it's still in its package.) Handguns, that's a little different but I still have never had a problem with those who want them. Target shooting isn't uncommon - and with things being the way they're becoming, I'm glad and more than a little relieved to know there are so many people around who carry. I just never really wanted to arm myself, knives excluded. I appreciate a good knife. You can use them to cut up fruits and vegetables and such, and they don't take up much space no matter where I happen to keep them.

However, not too long ago a situation developed that had the potential to turn into something lethal. I learned a long time ago that if somebody says something about shooting someone you don't want to laugh it off and assume they're joking. Maybe they are, but maybe they aren't. Better to err on the side of safety, sez I. At any rate, the situation got de-fused without any shooting.

It did, however, reveal several different reactions to the threat.

Some people really did laugh it off.

Some people said, 'Well, nothing's happened yet, we don't know if they even have a gun,' and blew it off.

Some people went out and bought themselves guns.

Me, I wrote a statement for the police and so did several others. I have good cause to believe in the effectiveness of good officers, I do. They've saved my life literally, and had my back frequently.

I figure an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure.

Now, I wasn't there when the potential shooter was confronted with news of the statements of some of us (and possibly that guns had been acquired by others) and I can't really actually read the minds of other people, but the fact is that nobody got shot. 

Whether as a result of an exceptional police officer doing his job extremely well, the probability of prosecution for making such threats, or the fact that somebody might actually shoot back ... nobody got shot. A tragedy averted makes no dead bodies. 

What all was going through the mind of our potential shooter I can't say for sure. What I am sure of is that if you tell someone that 1) it's not okay to make threats to shoot somebody, and 2) the police are going to look for you and find you if you do, and 3) if by chance you really do try to shoot somebody you're likely to be summarily shot your own self ... that someone is liable to shut up and sit down (or better yet just go away) and not shoot anybody.

An ounce of prevention.

Extrapolate.