Granny get your gun



Maybe it’s just me, but I find it a little disturbing to think of Grandma packing a hand gun.  Can you picture your grandmother with a gun?  I’ve asked many of my friends lately, “Do you own a handgun?”  The overwhelming response has been “yes,” followed by impassioned explanations of self-protection and the fear of an upcoming revocation of the sacred constitutional right to do so.  Is it because I live in the south? the bible belt? a red state?  Trust me when I say that I get it.  I understand the need to bear arms.  Please don’t interpret my sly grin and my nodding head as a sign of disapproval.  It’s more like a sign of disbelief.

I’m a grandma myself and I try to imagine the scenario.  It’s Monday and I can’t find my cell phone, I forgot that I left my flat-iron on and I didn’t write down that the pest control guy was coming at 10.   I am getting out of the shower when I hear a noise, it’s a burglar.  I quickly wrap a towel around me, run to the kitchen, grab a step stool, run to the closet where I keep my gun high on the shelf away from the children, find the box of ammo (in the drawer by my bed-away from the gun-to avoid an accident),  find my reading glasses because I can’t see a thing without them,  load the gun, aim it with a steady arm, fire and shoot the guy standing at the front door while holding up the towel with my chin.  Don’t worry about the poor pest control guy, I missed him by a mile.

My husband took me to a shooting range once.  You had to put on earphones because the sound was unbelievably loud.  My first shot was pretty darn good, but when the instructor kept cautioning me to keep my thumb wrapped around the handle, or I might cut it off when the casing shoots out the back, my aim got worse and worse.  I don’t do too well when I’m scared.  So at least (in my made up scenario), I still have my thumb, though I’m quite deaf and the would-be robber got away.

I joke, when I’m sad and I’m saddened by the times.  I wonder what is real and what is perception driven by fear and manipulation.  Admittedly, I don’t know, but it seems like we’re back to those wild west days pictured in old movies.  And, like a scene from another old movie, my stomach tightens slightly when I think of my gentle, kind, loving, girlfriends with guns in their hands.  I feel like the mother in Christmas Story when Ralphie begs for a BB gun and I think,

Go ahead Granny, get your gun.  “But don’t shoot your eye out.”

Or mine.



“Do you like my Instagram?”

photo-26I do, I like it, Sam I am.

And……you like my instagram photo because:

1.  You always hit the like button on everyone you follow.

2.  If you like mine,  perhaps, I’ll like yours back.

3.  It’s really the most fantastic picture you’ve ever seen.

3.  You really hate it but I’ve “liked” yours so many times you feel obligated.

4.  You think the picture is simply awful but don’t want to hurt my feelings.

5.  You don’t remember liking it and have no earthly idea why you did it.

6.  You accidentally hit the like button.

7.  You want my life (secretly you wish there was an “enough already” button).

Your blog: Dreads, Wedge, or Tipped

You are your hair, correct me if I’m wrong.  Everyone knows this if they were a child of the 60’s and 70’s.  What do you see when you think  John Lennon, Bob Marley, Jimmy Hendrix, Tiny Tim, or Dorothy Hamill?  Hair, am I right?

I sometimes feel sorry for hairdressers. You take a  picture of your desired do into a salon and expect to come out looking just like the model.  Think of all the Farrah Fawcett wannabes.  One day, you just have admit the obvious, the face has something to do with it.

I’ve always wanted to be a barbie-doll fake red-head.  I haven’t worked up the nerve.  There’s that fine line between looking cool and looking ridiculous, like whoever that new judge is on American Idol.  There is also the age appropriate thing.  Some women just refuse to go au naturel, as if blonde hair reverses the signs of aging.  I like the purple and blue tipped ends on really stylish people.  That could be fun, if I were about 40 years younger.

10 Ways Your Blog is like Your Hair-do

  1. It’s the first thing people see, the last thing they remember.
  2. It hints at your personality.
  3. You really don’t know what you look like to others.
  4. People can’t help but judge you for it.
  5. It makes a statement.
  6. You want to stand out, but not too much.
  7. You want it to reflect who you are on the inside.
  8. You want it to be unique, but you probably copied someone else’s.
  9. If it’s great, someone will copy yours.
  10. It won’t cover for your content, but it can help.

Thanks to the challenge issued by Michael Pick, I’ve begun to wonder.  Maybe I need a makeover, maybe I’m stuck.  I’ll have to think it over, I can be flexible.  There are so many  choices, so little time.  Change is hard, sometimes it takes a little convincing.

She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, she cut your hair.