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I thought it was unusual when my brother John texted me about bringing my camera to Michele's house for Christmas dinner. Then again, I thought that maybe they didn't have one since everybody takes pics with their cellphones nowadays. Still, he never had made such a request in the past.
So, M and I packed the camera along with the Christmas wine I had bought and the salad that she had made and over the river and through the woods to the Village of Wellington we went.
After everyone had eaten, about 6:30 or so, John called everybody into the living room, ostensibly to pass out gifts. He instead reached into his pocket and produced a box. In it contained two wedding rings. About that time other family members and friends started coming through the front door behind him.
"Well," he announced. "Since everybody is gathered together and since we have two preachers here-referring to Cousin Bruce and M-Michele and I are going to get married on Christmas." Actually, we have 3, the third being Bruce's wife Carolyn. But who's counting?
He turned to the bride-to-be.
"Go get your dress on and let's do this."
Obviously, Bruce-a minister in the Disciples of Christ or Christian Church (think TCU)-was in on this from the get-go. But that was probably about it apart from Michele's sister. I'm not sure that Clarke or Kole knew. As I got the camera ready Bruce told me they decided that the time was right and that this is how they wanted to do it.
"Besides," he said. "We really are lousy with clergy in this family nowadays."
Could be worse I suppose. Some families are lousy with lawyers.
Presently, Michele made her way down the stairs escorted by Kole. Bruce gathered the wedding party to order. The bride was radiant. The groom was gallant.
And there in the living room, John and Michele were married on Christmas night. All was calm. All was bright.
After champagne went around, M and I went back over the river and through woods back to the People's Republic of Hillcrest to exchange gifts. We had just gotten settled in when my buddy Dale texted me from over above the river just east of here.
"You missed one hell of a good time over here," he wrote.
"I bet I did," I wrote back. "But John got married tonight. And I had to take pictures."
His response was intemperate and shall not be repeated in this space.
"Huh?"
"You're next," he then wrote. " Don't dare do it without telling us."
Dale hates surprises even worse than I do. The big sissy left town on his 50th birthday for fear that we would throw him a surprise party. Really he did.
" I promise you," I replied. "If I ever decide to give up my celibate lifestyle you will be the first to know."
"You monk you."
"Good night."
I don't know if I would want to get married at Christmas. Or Valentine's Day either. Things are stressful enough on those occasions. Further, I know a couple of people who have birthdays around Christmas. They say it still sucks as much now as it did when they were kids.
Then again, I ran into my buddy Jim on Saturday morning. Jim was the friend that was not drunk texting me on Christmas night. He said his brother got married on the 4th of July just so he would always remember his anniversary. So there is that.
Still it is exciting to officially add to this family that is lousy with clergy. Michele is a great gal. John over-married. Even he would admit it. Kole is a good kid.
They have a great future ahead of them.
All is calm. All is bright.
I got too much stuff going on. The literary world will just have to do without me again today.
It will live. Most likely it will prosper.
Talk amongst yourselves.
I have been struck down again by bronchitis, this time pretty bad. It's hard to blog when you got pleurisy.
The good news is that the horse pills seem to be kicking in. I should be well JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS!
Talk amongst yourselves.
I'm thinking about getting a gun.
I would buy it from a licensed dealer. I would go through training. I would get a concealed carry permit. All of that.
I wouldn't pack it in church. Or at the doctor's office. Or at a high school ball game. Or at a nice restaurant.
At least I don't think I would. I haven't really thought it through.
I guess most people that know me would be surprised by this notion. After all, I don't hunt, although I have no problem with it. I'm not paranoid. Indeed, I think that I am fairly well adjusted and socialized. Lord knows I'm not insecure. I'm extremely comfortable in my own skin and have no particular need to exert dominion over others.
But I have this feeling that I am outnumbered.
Let's face it. Gun control has failed. There are more guns floating around out there than could ever be confiscated without a house-to-house search by the Marines.
Which, contrary to the het up delusions of what used to be the fringe, will never happen.
And here's something else. The other day Congress voted down a bill which would have, in part, prevented folks on the Federal terrorist watch list from buying guns. President Obama rightfully referred to this as "insane." I refer to it as failing to "provide for the common defense" which according to the Constitution of the United States of America is one of the jobs of the government.
OK. So I have established that I am neither crazy nor paranoid. OK so I'm not paranoid. I think my public record is one of civic duty and adherence to the rule of law. I vote. I pay my taxes along with my personal obligations as they come due.
So what am I scared of?
Home invaders? Not really. While there's always that chance, I am fortunate to live in a safe neighborhood where that sort of thing is pretty much unheard of. Mass shooters? A little. But that's nothing that won't be ameliorated by my not attending the opening of Star Wars or staying out of a Planned Parenthood clinic. That and I don't work in an office anymore.
But I live in a country in which the 2nd Amendment to the Constitution is evidently sacrosanct and entitled to greater deference to the obligation of the government to provide for the common defense.
Which means that pretty much any idiot with a driver's license and a Certificate of Live Birth and no felonies can buy an assault rifle at Bass Pro Shop. Which means that you never know when some white punk whose boss yelled at him or whose wife cut him off won't try to man up and show the movie theatre who's boss. Like the guy in Mississippi who plugged the server at the Waffle House for telling him to put out his cigarette.
Think about it. You can't smoke in most restaurants or other public buildings because smoking is considered a risk to public health. But packing a gun is not.
Off the top of my head, I can't think of a better metaphor for the insanity of the gun culture.
Do not misunderstand me. I know many law abiding and responsible gun owners. I would shoot craps over the phone with Chris and Jim Mark.
But neither one of these gentlemen, as far as I know, have a felt need to openly carry an AR-15 on a trip to the hardware store.
The ones that do are the ones that scare me.
And so I'm thinking about getting a gun.
Because I KNOW I'm not crazy.
