Our Dumb Blog

(date unknown)

Nathan’s grandfather has a M1 Garand (he’s sitting here telling me how to spell it). His dad wants to buy it back from him. Nathan’s been cleaning his grandfather’s handguns and rifles and in return gets to shoot them. He’s been cleaning an Ithaca .45 auto that’s also a WWII veteran. He says it shoots a tad bit to the left. His dad has finally started reloading all those 9 mm shells he’s been making us collect. Nathan says: “they shoot much better than some made by rookies at the police academy (they would just scoop the powder out, brush the top off, and insert the lead:) ). Needless to say, there were quite a few uncontained explosions at the range. My dad laughed a great deal when telling us that story.”

About a week ago, we went to play Q-Zar, “the world’s favorite laser game,” according to its advertisements. Nathan, Stephanie, and I met some other people down there and waited while watching Nathan play graphically violent arcade games until they called us into the briefing chamber. There we divided into two teams, red (actually orange) and green. The ref (or employee, whatever) came in and picked me, since it was my first time, as an example of how to put on the vests. They’re kind of a breast plate and back piece connected with straps and shoulder pad things on top with a gun attached by a telephone cord type wire. After the briefing, we entered the vest place, where everyone else put on vests, and then on to the battle room. It was a maze-like room, foggy, and with loud music playing. We all went to our appropriate energizing stations, and then the game began. It was great, sneaking around corners, blasting away at the enemy. You could see the lasers as they shot through the fog. That helped with aiming. When you get shot, a thing on the breast plate (mine was more on my tummy) vibrates. I was running here and there for the first minute or so until I remembered the first rule — NO RUNNING.

Whenever you get shot (or tagged, as they benignly call it), the gun talks to you, saying, “Defense shield active… active… warning… warning…” and you have to wait for six seconds before you can fire again. I shot the green headquarters twice.

During a lull in the game, the ref that had given us the briefing came up and told me he thought I was doing pretty well fo:r my first time and gave me some pointers. “Protect your back. And don’t tell anyone I told you this, but if you unsling you gun, you’ll have a better range of motion.”

After 15 minutes, though it seemed like a lot longer, it was all over and we returned to our energizing stations, as per the instructions our guns gave us, for our points to be recorded. Mine didn’t work right, so the ref came over to try to help. Finally, we went out, and I got my score sheet from the desk. The ref came over to where we were comparing cards. “What’d you do?” he asked. “Not bad for your first time.”

As we were leaving, he came over again and handed me a couple of coupons for 2 dollars off my next game.
“Come back,” he said.

On the way home, Nathan and Stephanie started teasing me. “He likes you,” Nathan taunted. “You probably could have got in free if you gave him your phone number.”

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It was a beautiful day today, so Stephanie, Nathan, and I went outside. After playing with the dogs, crowding into the hammock, and climbing trees, we walked around the lake in our backyard. Evidence of our newly resident beavers was everywhere, from chewed stumps to gnawed twigs. We explored the area where the spring feeds our lake, thinking they might live in that vicinity, but we found nothing.

“What do they do with all the wood?” asked Stephanie. There were only a few logs and sticks lying around compared with all the trunks of small trees and bushes pointing from abnormally short heighths into the air.
We split up, looking in different directions, Nathan breaking his way through the thick undergrowth and vines in his way. Then Stephanie called us over to where she was stooping near the shore. A worn path in the grass led from the water. The dogs were digging at some roots.

“Look,” Stephanie said pointing at a small hole in the ground, “Beaver sticks.”

We examined them and then continued on around the lake where another path led up to a place under the trees where the ground had been trampled.

By now the dogs were digging furiously, so we went back to see what they had accomplished. The hole where some of the sticks were seemed to go down further than when we looked before. Nathan started scooping out the twigs covered with rotting leaves. It smelled like like earthy musk. We mused that this might be the beavers winter cache of food. As Nathan pulled out the last stick, we looked in astonishment at the cavernous hole that was before us. The opening was actually much wider than we had previously thought, but it had been covered with leaves. We peered into the darkness of the hole that was perhaps two feet in diameter at the opening. Stephanie cautiously stuck her head near the opening.

“Dig marks,” she pointed out. On the side of the hole were claw marks in the clayish dirt.

Nathan stuck his head in. “Joanna!” he exclaimed, “It goes right under you!”

We couldn’t see much in the gloom, so Nathan told Stephanie to go get a flashlight. She agreed but only if she could look in first.

Nathan teased, “I get to.”

We ended up all going up to the house, leaving the dogs to dig furiously at the ground farther up from the lake before coming to join us.

We came back, Stephanie holding her Maglight, Nathan a shovel, and me an ax. Shep, our Australian shepherd (we think) and Buller, our neighbor’s bulldog, were with us, but Buster, our mutt, was nowhere to be seen.

“Is he in the hole?” Nathan asked. Stephanie and I said we thought that he had run off behind us, but he didn’t come when we called him. As we approached the opening, Shep and Buller started sniffing around again. Then Shep yelped and backed away from the cavity. We gathered around, and Stephanie prepared to look in. Suddenly, a brown head popped out. Stephanie yelled as we all jumped. Then Buster brought the rest of his body out of the hole and shook himself as we collapsed into laughter.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t have the flashlight,” Nathan said. “I would have hit him!”

Buster reentered the cavern, and disappeared down a tunnel. Stephanie looked in after him, but couldn’t see him. She did see two tunnels running the short way down to where water lay. In the other direction, the mine continued up underneath where the dogs had been digging, but shallower. Buster crawled back in sight, but stayed in the hole. He seemed to like it in there.

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It’s amazing to me how much Stephanie is talking Southern these days. She was the most resistant to change when we’ moved here. She didn’t like the weather, she guarded against developing an accent (and required the rest of us to do so too), and she was ready at a moment’s notice to leave home and spend as much time in Colorado as she could. Suddenly, I find her stretching one syllable words into two, she’s not real anxious to leave for foreign parts anymore, and she’s under the impression that where we live is the most beautiful spot on earth. It’s amazing what meeting the right person will do to you.

Classes seem to be going alright. I finally got a question in chemistry right today. That makes me 1 and 2. Our instructor starts at one end of the classroom and asks everyone questions, working his way down the rows. Unfortunately, I got assigned to the second row. Blasted alphabetical order. It’s a very effective way of teaching, however. If you don’t know your stuff, you’re gonna look like a fool. To
day we did dimensional analysis or some junk like that. And I thought I was through with math. We even have to have a scientific calculator for the course. I’m borrowing Stephanie’s. I had the dickens of a time finding out how to do exponents today. All those symbols all over the place. I couldn’t even find the key with the big EXP on it. He had to show me.

We had a visitor this weekend. On Friday night Dad brought home a basset hound he said had been wondering around at work. Finally, it ran in front of a truck nearly getting itself killed, so he lured it into the car and drove home. Dad’s got a real soft spot. He’s always wanted a Bassett hound. This one fit the bill. Everything about him was elongated. His body, his tail, his HUGE ears, his tongue hanging out of his long snout. The only thing that was short were his stocky legs. He was the sweetest thing, jumping up on me whenever I came in the kitchen. He was also a slobber machine, getting drool on whatever his extra long schnozz came in contact with. Mom and I got out a couple of recorders and started fluting away at some ghastly “tune.” Pretty soon the dog had joined in, making an O out of his scrunched up lips, and with eyes wide and head tilted back he let out a hoarse yet deep howl. The room would resonate with the sound until we were laughing too hard to keep playing, and the spell would break as he wagged his tail and waddled from person to person, seeking affirmation. Stephanie called him Fred after Fred Bassett in the comics. Dad made some signs and put them up on the streets surrounding his office, but he warned everyone who answered the phone not to give away any information about the dog’s appearance. It was clear he was intent on keeping the dog. Fred even got along well with our other dogs, once we finally let him outside. He thought it was great fun to play with them and afterward to collapse into sleep inside. Then on Sunday afternoon, the telephone rang. They lived near the office, and it only took a few minutes to get here. The dog’s name was actually Sam and belonged to a 13 year old boy, who was very relieved to see him. We waved goodbye as Sam looked past his huge nose out the window at us, wagging his tail.

My grandmother is improving every time I see her. It won’t be long before they’ll be discharging her from the hospital, and then we’re not really sure what we’re going to do. She’ll probably come here with us and live in Benjamin’s room. We don’t know if she’ll want to stay in Mobile or go back to Richmond, VA. Right now she still can’t talk, so we can’t ask her. We’ve had to divide up tasks for when each person is available. Between that, visiting her at the hospital, and homework, I’m not going to have a heck of a lot of free time. We’ll have to see what happens. Prayers are definitely appreciated.

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Katie is doing great. She’s a very good horse, and Stephanie sees a lot of potential in her. We went on a trailride yesterday. I was on Shelly, and my sister was on Katie (her real name is Pink Center. Dumb, huh?). It was a LOT of fun. It’s great to have two horses so we can ride together. Katie is taller than Shelly, but she has to jog to catch up. Shelly likes to walk in front.

Nathan and Stephanie went out on a ride today across the street in a square mile of woods laced with trails. They found a great place without any holes to run. At the dinner table Nathan showed off his calf which had all his hair on the inside pulled out. He says he’d rather shave than wear riding breeches, however.

Stephanie made cookies, and I made fudge, and we decorated our tree tonight. It’s kind of leaning forward. I think that’s because the weight of all the ornaments on the front pulling it down. Since Nathan was here, we talked about all the different special ornaments and where they came from. We also got to listen to Mom and Dad tell about some of their first Christmases together. Then we practiced singing Christmas carols in harmony. I’m just getting the alto part right. We talked Nathan into singing bass. Snicker.

One day last week, the Campus Activity Board sponsered a old time photographer to come in so students could get their pictures for free. I went over there in my free hour and stood in line for about the whole time. Finally, it was my turn. I already knew what I wanted to wear. I picked up a canvas colored, floor-length (on me, at least) duster from the rack of period clothes and put it on. Next, while the photographer was developing the pictures before mine, I went over to the prop table and tied a bandana around my neck. Then I selected a gun belt and slipped it around my waist. By this time the photographer had turned his attention to me. He rearrainged the bandana and then said he wanted to put the gun belt on the outside of the duster so that it would show up better in the picture. I would have none of it. That wouldn’t be authentic, I pointed out. They always wore gun belts INSIDE their coats, not outside. When he saw that I wouldn’t budge in my convictions, he let me keep it where it was and picked out a hat for me to wear, a big, brown ten gallon hat. He set it just so on my head. Then he gave me an old carbine to hold and slipped a bandoleer over my right shoulder which was facing the camera. No, I told him, they would have worn it over their left shoulders. Yes, he answered impatiently, but then no one would be able to see it in the picture. I gave in and left it there. Put your finger on the trigger and your thumb on the hammer, he instructed me. Then he had me tilt the gun till the breech glinted. Finally, he snapped a picture of me with a condescending, not-quite-smile on my face peering out from underneath my huge hat. He had me hold the pose for a second while he made sure the picture was okay, and I cocked the gun and pulled the trigger as I aimed out the window along the crooked with age sights. Then I undressed, collected my photograph, and hurried on to English class, glancing with satisfaction down at my picture every few steps.

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Whew.

Am I ever glad this week is over. Something due in every subject but one, two finals, and one test (which I found out about as I walked into class) added up to late nights, little rest, a lot of stress, little free time, and a heap of hard work. But you know what it’s like. Right now I’m just happy (very happy) that it’s all over with. I have one final every day next week except Tuesday and two on Friday. Nothing to worry about. I’ll take a test over a paper any day. Although papers generally are more interesting. Hmm… I’ll have to think about that. Think. That’s something I haven’t had time to do recently. I’ve been on the go since Thanksgiving break. Let’s see if I can rehash some of the events that have been so effectively consuming my time the last two weeks.

Last week was filled with Boar’s Head Festival rehearsals and performances. Along with being Stage Manager of the Second Shepherd’s Play, I was also a page, which meant that I had to wear tights and a rather short (to my liking) tunic. My duties included organizing the set change before the play. During one of the dress rehearsals, I was reaching up to pull some curtains down when a voice behind me called my name urgently.

“Joanna,” a girl was trying to get my attention, “you might not want to reach your arms over you head. Your shirt goes up.”

As I climbed off the stage another girl got my attention more discreetly. “We could see your butt.”

As pages, another fellow and I were to bring the yule log to the fire place, the boar’s head to the table, and the figgy pudding to the stage during the appropriate songs sung by the choir. The pudding was the best because we got to douse a pile of sugar cubes with lemon extract (80% alcohol) and toss in a lit match before parading around the room with it.

I could have used last weekend to catch up on schoolwork except that I spent all my time talking to a visitor from Germany staying with us. Harald is currently in Houston at the University of Texas (I think. It’s the one with the bell tower that the guy climbed up and started shooting at people from the top several years ago. I have a friend who often remarks that he thinks he’ll start doing the same thing at the University of Mobile till I point out that we don’t have a bell tower. “But you could always climb up on top of the fountain,” I say.) Dad met Harald in Sioux City, South Dakota at Mount Rushmore three years ago and invited this friendly German to visit us someday. He finally took us up on the offer on his second trip to the U.S.

He was quite entertaining. He showed a stack of about a hundred pictures of his trip across this country, staying with different people. They were of mainly simple things like mailboxes, something they don’t really have in his country. His commentary on the photos was the best part. One picture was of a sign obviously outside a health food store reading,

FAT FREE SUGAR FREE ICE CREAM.

“In my country that is all ice cream is,” he said, “fat and sugar. Why would you want to eat this? Here everything is low fat, but in Germany no one says their food is fat free. If someone wants to loose weight than he will eat less.”

He also told us about a convenience store sign he had seen on his way to our house. “It said Kountry K
orner spelled with K’s instead of C’s. In my country we are learn when we are 5 or 6 how to spell correctly. If someone had put up a sign like that where I live, people would think that he wasn’t educated. Look at that, they’d say, He doesn’t know how to spell!”

Harald also had a picture of a sign on the door of a store that said, “Help Wanted. Friendly, Happy People.”
And then under that, “We’re glad you’re here!”

“You would never see anything like this where I live,” said Harald. “How can you tell is someone is going to be happy all the time? Everyone is sad sometimes. And look at this,” he added pointing to the bottom part. “The only reason people say they’re glad you’re here is because they want your money.”

Talking to Harald was very interesting. His English is good, but I still had to make sure I used simple words or be ready to define things when he asked me to explain. He is a thinker. He talked about some of the cultural differences between our two countries.

“Your movies make the U.S. seem more liberal than it actually is. People aren’t as open about sex here than they are in Germany. But your movies are very violent; I have to cover my eyes. People get shot and die. Movies in my country are more about love and sex. Nice things. We don’t have as big a problem of violence as you do here.

He was very satisfied with his country’s health care system. “One day I chipped my tooth, so I just went to a nearby dentist I had never been to before, but I just told them my name, and they got all my information on computer, and fifteen minutes later I was in the dentist’s chair.”

Harald went to church with us that Sunday. “I’ve been to church more in the last few months since I’ve been in the U.S. than I did in the last 15 years in Germany!” And, of course, he took pictures of it. Afterward, we had a family over who’s mother was out of town. The father, one of my professors at the University of Mobile, and Harald and I spent four hours talking around the dining room table after lunch. Harald said that Americans seem to have a hard time having long conversations.

“Short attention spans,” I told him, and then I had to explain what that meant.

We got our Christmas tree today. It’s a live Lealand cypress like all the other ones we’ve had since we moved here. We’ll find a place to plant it outside after Christmas.

Mom and Stephanie just left to go buy a horse. We have one, Shelly, a probably 15 hand Arabian mare. This new horse looks a lot like Shelly except taller and thinner. Her name is Katie, and she’s a thoroughbred, about 16 hands, and really sweet, and though energetic, she’s well trained. Stephanie and I hope to go on a trail ride this afternoon.

So that’s about it here. I’m glad I finally got a chance to write a decent letter.