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I haven’t written in awhile. I’m in a transitional place in my world, and wouldn’t know how to begin to write about it yet. Instead, I will write about happenings in life of late, rather than the feelings floating around me, because I haven’t quite sorted those out yet.
It’s Friday, so I am at work. There is nothing in my In Basket but a ball of dust with a paper clip stuck to it, and an old half eaten Milky Way, so since my outlook for work today is bleak, I decided to use my free time constructively and write to you all. Some days here are pedal to the medal. Others, like the one I anticipate today, tend to move forward at a snail’s pace. I prefer to be busy, truth be known. I’d rather have ten projects with deadlines, and all phones ringing madly off the hook, than be sitting at my desk for eight hours watching the petals drop off the perpetual array of floral arrangements they spread around our lobby. Ah well, I do love to write, so here I am at it once again.
Richard and I returned yesterday afternoon from a brief business/pleasure trip to Reno. The object of this trip on the business side, was to unload (pardon the pun) three firearms for his previous sister-in-law who’s husband recently passed away. Like me, his sister-in-law has no knowledge of weapons. Her husband, however, was an avid collector of both cars and guns, so Richard stepped up to help her out at least with getting rid of the guns. I am not comfortable with guns, quite possibly because I have no single idea how to use them. Richard, an excellent marksman, has offered on several occasions to take me to the gun range for a few lessons. I have not signed up for his program as yet. I did have lunch with a friend several weeks ago, who I discussed this with. Surprisingly, she told me she had been terrified of guns as well, up until a few years ago when her husband talked her into taking a few shooting lessons. Now, she not only can safely handle a handgun, but likes to do target practice, and is a better shot than her husband is. Interesting.
Knowing my way around a hand gun wouldn’t be a bad idea I don’t suppose. It is an unsafe world at best these days. On the news last night, they were airing a story about two men in downtown Sacramento who stabbed each other during an argument over cup of coffee. Whoa. They were expected to live, but still. Now I do love my coffee, but for me whether I have a cup is certainly not going turn into a life or death situation. I guess it’s always been an unsafe world, only we have more minute to minute access to the details nowadays.
This reminds me of a story about my maternal grandmother, who lived alone up until her late eighties. Though she weighed in at a scant 100 pounds soaking wet, she was a feisty little being. As far as I know, though she grew up on a farm. she never handled a firearm. One morning she woke up as usual, and after performing her morning routine, she headed down the hall to get the teapot going on the stove. A large full length mirror was hung on the wall facing her at the end of the hall, which gave her a clear view of the entryway where the front door was located. Standing in the shadows by the corner of the door, was a young man she had never seen before. Instead of locking herself in the bathroom, which I probably would have done, she proceeded on down the hall. Confronting him, she whipped my grandfather’s heavy wooden cane out of the umbrella stand as she turned the corner, and proceeded to plummet this kid about the head until he opened the door and ran down the hall. From what I understand, he was apprehended in the lobby of her building and surrendered without any problems. Go Gam.
Rick used to say I didn’t have to worry about defending myself if someone broke in. When I am startled, I do one of three behaviors, I might dance, throw my hands up in air like I’m surrendering, or bang my feet up and down on the floor like I am marching in place. Rick’s theory was, on seeing any one of these three up close and personal, the intruder would just assume I was crazy, and leave before things escalated to a dark place. He may have had a point.
At any rate, as I was saying previously, Reno was on our radar day before yesterday. It was a gorgeous day for a drive through the Sierra Nevada mountains, I have to tell you. Bright azure skies, snow covered mountain peaks, and perfect spring weather with temperatures hovering around 78 degrees. Reno was, as usual, the scruffy little town it is known to be. It always seems disjointed to me, a mishmash of tall imposing casinos, tossed in willy nilly with a bunch of rough and ready little neighborhoods, with not much cohesion or thought put into it. Reservations had been made by Richard for a room at the El Dorado. The El Dorado is the cream filling squeezed in between two cookies, Circus Circus on one side, and the Silver Legacy on the other. The hotel/casino is quite lovely inside with all the usual bells and whistles one expects of a resort city casino.
A parking structure across the street has been erected for the convenience of guests staying at any of the three hotels, or for those just visiting for the day primed to lose their money in the myriad of machines available more than happy to gobble it up. I myself, donated sixty dollars to the voracious bill slots, my lavish budget for the day. Have to say those machines were really tight. I noticed there were a lot of stressed out people sitting around the various rooms, puffing away on smokes like it was their last cigarette, and chanting mystic incantations over animated screens. I can play or not play, which makes it fun, but would definitely hate to be that into it that I had to resort to chanting.
The first available parking spot we could locate was on the second floor. We unloaded our luggage and whatever else needed to accompany us. I had a carry on bag on wheels, another with my toiletries, and a bag with my shoes. I know, I’m an old Girl Scout, I like to be prepared. Richard, an engineer at heart, got me all put together so I could drag the carry on with everything else attached to it like a baby clinging to it’s mother’s tagging along. I walk fast, so I was some paces in front of Richard when heading towards the elevators. There was a ramp leading down to the first floor, which I passed, and then I arrived at the elevator themselves. I heard a noise like yelling, but it was muffled in all the traffic noise rising up from the street below. Turning around to check on Richard, he had disappeared. Poof, gone, into the air, no Richard to be seen. Whaaaaa? “Richard”, says I, to the air? Nope. “Okay, come on”, I’m thinking, “this bag is starting to get heavy”. Still no sign of him after a few minutes, I schlepped back up to the car. I believe my right arm was easily one inch longer at this point from dragging the load. Why I did this, I have no clue. I guess I wanted to reassure myself the car was still there. I don’t know what I thought, that Richard dropped me off and drove off menacingly grinning, “at last I’ve gotten rid of her, ha, ha, ha, ha”? Funny how your mind can conger up things when faced with a scenario it does not understand.
Walking back to the elevators, again, I found still no Richard in sight. Next, I called his cell phone, no answer. Now, that’s when a little seed of panic began to take root in my brain. The first irrational conclusion I came to, was the mother ship had come for him, and he had been beamed up with Scotty. Feeling this was probably highly unlikely, I went on to irrational conclusion number two, he had been abducted my terrorists and was being held somewhere in the warehouse district in an unmarked van. Up and down between the ground floor and the second floor I went like a yoyo chasing a string. Anyone watching me would have thought I’d slipped a cog. Finally, I crossed the street and entered doors in the ground floor of the casino. Nothing there but keno games in progress and valets. Hmmmm. Then, my phone vibrated. Sure enough, it was Richard on the line. I hoped it wasn’t a ransom request. I only had $60.00 on me. His first question was, “where are you”? “Me”? “Where am I”? The question of the day is, where are you? Oh, never mind. Anyhow, apparently he had told me to go to the skyway on the third floor while he returned to the car to get his sunglasses. I must have missed that transmission, and he was gone by the time I went back to the car, so from then on it was a comedy of errors. He was waiting for me at the front desk, and I was mighty glad to see his face, mighty glad. Good lord. Way too much excitement on an empty stomach.
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Once we got checked in, the next order of business was to hit the gun shop. Seriously, I would have happily allowed him to conduct that business without me, but I wanted to be supportive, so off we went. Amazing place that. Room after room of every manner of weapon one can imagine. The guy behind the front desk looked like Grizzly Adams. He had enough ink showing where his shirt left off and his skin began, to qualify as a walking billboard for some local tattoo parlor. Richard and I sat across from one another in oversized leather chairs in the massive lobby next to a pair of black bears, stuffed of course, teeth barred and claws pawing at the ceiling. All around on the walls and peeking out of nooks and crannies were various deer, elk, moose, etc., who had met a nasty end thanks to something most likely sold at the front counter. There was so much testosterone in that room, I was sure I would have to shave my legs over again by the time we got back to our room.
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Men came and went at regular intervals while the “estimator” looked at the guns we had brought to sell. Every time a new customer walked in with a weapon case slung over his shoulder, I imagined pictures I’d seen on TV of crazed gunmen and crossed my fingers we wouldn’t be on the five o’clock news that night as the featured story. The estimator, also the owner, was the only female other than myself I saw during that three quarters of an hour or so we were there. She looked every inch a mountain woman dressed in well worn jeans held in place by suspenders, tucked into heavy hiking boots with soles as thick as rashers of bacon. The jeans were topped off by a plaid shirt, tucked in as well, with her long hair captured in a neat braid cascading over one shoulder. On her head, she wore a ball cap that listed all calibers of guns next to a saying reading “All faster than dialing 911”. That’s it, definitely not messing with her. Solid as a rock she was, from stem to stern from what I could see. I decided to wait quietly and mind my business while Richard took care of things. Sitting there in my huge chair with bears on both sides, I felt like Goldilocks lounging in Papa Bear’s chair. When I first sat down, the overstuffed cushion deflated like a poorly baked popover, leaving me with my knees almost at the same level as my chin. It took me five minutes to extract myself from the sinkhole left behind from years of behinds resting in exactly that same spot.
When the woman returned with Richard, I learned a deal had been cut for all three weapons. Yay. I was thankful they were remaining with her. There was something eerie about having them lying on the floor in the back seat on the way up. I kept wondering what would happen if we got pulled over, though they were perfectly legal. Orange is definitely not my color.
Anyhow, the rest of the trip went uneventfully, thank heavens. I ate too much, enjoyed a cocktail or two, played my $60 until it was no more, and all in all had a lovely time. Life is good.
Again, happy Friday to you. Another week in the shredder, where are they disappearing to? Enjoy the beginning of spring if it’s premiering in your neighborhood. In mine everything is blooming and fresh. Love the feeling of renewal.
I have a sense of relief when items I need to get rid of are taken care of without fuss. I hope everyone concerned is satisfied with the arrangement with the firearms.
All went well. They are gone, money in the bank, all good. 🙂