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 shilelaghs,
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.
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.
