quite possibly the best range day EVER

Look at how I spent my Sunday afternoon...

All this shooty goodness was for a very special occasion. My friend and #1 fanboy* Mad Saint Jack (nom de blog, of course) was in town with his family and we thought a range trip was definitely in order. Mike and I met Jack and his (absolutely charming) father at our range and brought them in as our guests. They presented me with a little gift of .380 auto snapcaps for my Bersa (which I promise I will use for that dryfiring practice I've been neglecting) and a smörgåsbord of firearms for me to try.

I actually had to make a list of all the things I shot yesterday, so I wouldn't forget.

- Smith & Wesson 625, a .45 revolver
- Springfield Armory .45 caliber 1911
- Glock 17L
- Glock 26
- Walther P22
- Smith & Wesson Chief Special .45
- Ruger 10/22 with a red dot scope
- Winchester 69 bolt action .22 caliber rifle
- Bersa Thunder .380 (mine)
- Ruger SP101 (Mike's)

There were other firearms we brought to the range but just didn't have time to shoot. Besides, I had found and surpassed gunny nirvana somewhere in the middle of all that and was reaching the critical "OMG, I'm so blissed out I need a nap" stage. Ranges are filled with happy, relaxed people of every race, gender and creed- recoil therapy really is good for what ails you.

Jack and his father both took turns with my .380, saying they wanted to shoot "the famous Bersa" and since Jack loves those plastic fantastic semiautos I told him that sure, I'd shoot his guns. I'm not a Glockist, you know. I really do believe in equal rights for all pistols despite the fact I spent quite a bit of time discussing the superior beauty and function of the 1911 with Jack's father, who owns the Springfield Armory you can see in the first photo. So here's proof - I will shoot a Glock. Not well, not with that JMB joy, but yes, I'll shoot it.


My love for .45 was reafffirmed with this beautiful Smith & Wesson revolver. I shot it double action because I couldn't pull hammer back with my thumb without completely ruining my grip - it was big - but it was really fun to shoot.


I shot both rifles that Jack brought, and enjoyed a little bolt action.


Following our time at the range, we went out for a late lunch. There was bacon and good conversation - a perfect afternoon - and I really can't thank my new friends enough.

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*I kid you not, he truly deserves that title - he was quoting my blog posts to me.

p.s. at one point, there were 4 of my blogreaders at the range yesterday. 4! Makes a girl feel kinda special.Thanks guys!

Proud, but not out

When Mike and I met Clint K and his family for dinner at the brewery a couple of weeks ago, they were nice enough to bring us some swag from their recent VCDL event, including the badge I'm wearing in the photo above. (I'm going to put this on my range bag, next to my Unorganized Militia Propaganda Corps patch.) I noticed that Clint had a bumpersticker on his car and I told him that I'd love one for mine.

Then I realized that I'd have to drive that car to work and park it right near the library director's office window. I'm kind of surprised that I'm not already getting frisked when I go to work, so I hardly want to push the issue.

See how I just adore this man?

Soon you will too. Trust me on this one.

road trip pt.2

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

We had found the brewpub and were now looking for a parking space. Mike looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind.

"I know, I know - it's too late now. We're already here...and, besides, it'll be great. Yep, great." I was babbling. Nervous.

I shouldn't have worried.

It really was great.

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Our drive was lovely and uneventful. We ate snacks (I am a master picnic packer), listened to bad music on the radio and admired the scenery - lots of flat open space, wide skies, red barns, distant horizons, and corn fields. I informed Mike that if we ever won the lottery we'd be buying a big piece of land. "I'd like to just go out and stand in the middle of it and shout, 'Mine! Mine!'...and then we would raise some goats."

"Goats, huh?" Mike said, humoring me as usual.

"Yeah. For goat cheese and you know, baby goats...because they're cute."

(Of course, the longer the road got, the sillier the conversations became...

"Hey, look at that sign!" I pointed out the window. "It says D&D RV!"

"I'll take a +5 camper, please.")

Anyway, for someone used to the urban/suburban sprawl of the Cleveland area, Indianapolis seemed to appear out of nowhere. And people live there. You say "city" to us and we immediately think of a place people commute to and then vacate as quickly as possible at 5PM. But Indianapolis is full of beautiful homes and thriving neighborhoods - definite signs of a nice place to live.

We found the hotel (I ♥ you, Google Maps), got cleaned up and headed for the Indy Blog Meet. Broad Ripple Village is exactly what a quirky eclectic neighborhood should be - lots of foot traffic, public artwork, restaurants...Mike and I only wish we had more time to explore.

The brewpub was filled with bloggers and blog readers, all smiling and talking and laughing, all at once and oh, it was just amazing. I laugh like a moron when I'm nervous and it took me about an hour to get settled down enough to where I was just grinning like a moron instead but, come on! I totally had good reason. I was sitting directly across the table from the sweet Mark Alger and SWMBO, handsome Turk Turon was to my right, future POTUS Caleb from Call Me Ahab and I talked about Battlestar Galactica, I got hugged by two other bloggers who shall remain nameless (and linkless), I was introduced to Old Grouch (who doesn't really live up to that name), and I finally met the amazing Tam (cooler than her own blog, if such a thing is possible) and the delightful RobertaX (cute on a stick and scary smart) who were kind enough to gift me with the Cthulhu Hat of Doom which I promptly put on my head.

I managed to keep the squee to a minimum but I had a moment where I looked across the table and said (yes, out loud), "Holy crap! it's Tam! in real life!" and then Roberta and I looked at each other and she said, "This is so kewl!" and I grinned and said, "I know!"

Mike had his own little starstruck moment when all the bloggers took turns standing up and introducing themselves. When a gentleman in a broad rimmed hat, way down at the other end of the room, stood up and said that he was James from Hell in Handbasket, I heard Mike exclaim, "Oh my gosh! I read him every single morning!" I was delighted to find them deep in conversation later in the evening.

(Mike, of course, is the one who should be blogging, not me. He is tremendously likeable, incredibly smart and outrageously funny. More than once I heard, "What happened to Mike-istan? Too bad you're not writing anymore." Maybe this will be the incentive he needs...he already called home today to ask if I remembered his Blogger password.)

Dinner and drinks at the brewpub, a walk by the river with shaved ice - the evening was wonderful and over too soon. I apologize to all who were there that I never really got a chance to talk to....we'll be back, hoping to meet you.

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We got back to the motel and fell into that big bed, happy and exhausted. I don't even remember closing my eyes.

On the way home, I decided that we had to stop at Warm Glow because they have a giant candle attached to their building and long string of billboards along the highway. They've put so much work into their advertising, it would be kind of rude not to stop. I bought a candle for my mom to thank her for taking care of her grandcats and posed in the parking lot like a tourist. The place must be famous or something - they had parking for buses.


We stopped for a late lunch near a mall somewhere in Columbus. As we were getting out of the car Mike said, "I wonder if they serve alcohol?" He started taking off his pistol and putting it in the glovebox.

Yep, we were definitely back in Ohio.

home again, home again (jiggedy jig)

The Indy Blog Meet was awesome. And, hey, look! I met Tam and RobertaX!

You can click the photo to see the entire thing - but I think this cropped version is hysterical...mostly because I'm overtired.

And still a bit overwhelmed...imagine being in a room full of really smart, extremely witty people with interests very similar to yours and each of those people is carrying on 5 different conversations at the same time and all you can do is hope you aren't grinning too much or sounding like too much of an idiot. Then throw in some beer. It was like that - and really, really wonderful. Yeah.

More tomorrow. Sentences will be easier to form when I'm not propping up my eyelids.

Blood may be thicker than water...

...but water is not nearly as messy.

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To say that many of my familial relationships are difficult would be putting it mildly. Whether it's due to geographical distance, neglect, or long standing family grudges that I don't have the patience for, most of them, in fact, are nonexistent. I hate drama, am a bit anti-social, and tend to avoid people once they've hurt me. I may always love them, and will help them when they need me, but that doesn't mean I have to let them walk all over me. And over the years, I've learned that you can't force people care about you as much as you care about them - sometimes you just have to stop trying before you get your heart broken.

The reason for this personal confession is because I keep thinking of part of a comment I left at Squeaky's blog:

"...love the family you have and make family out of the friends you love."

The people who are in my life now bring me joy, and I think it's because we consciously chose each other. All of us seem to have a similar feeling of: "Life is so short" and treat each other with care and consideration. I have created my own happiness...nothing forced, nothing obligatory - and all of it true.



...and since we are each other's biggest fans, I finally told my mom about my blog.

It's kind of cool when your own personal hero is proud of you.

nice surprise

The other day Mike and I were talking about a m1911 they had for sale at the range. Mike has been drooling over it for a while now and wanted to know if I had objections to him buying it. I must have given him one of those exasperated looks because he suggested that he could sell one of our other guns.

Suddenly, I felt very protective. "What? How could you choose one? I like them all. And you're not selling my .38." (Technically, it is his .38 - but I consider it part of his dowry. Besides, I shoot it more than he does.)

"Well, I could sell that rifle that's over at my brothers' house. And I'm pretty sure I've got a 9mm floating around somewhere."

I stared at him for a moment, completely incredulous. "Wait a second. You have guns I didn't know about? A rifle? And a 9mm?"

Mike was puttering around in the kitchen, making a snack, so I wasn't getting much in the way of response. "Yeah, well," he said. "When we first got married, you didn't like guns. So I asked other people to hold onto them for me."

"But I like them now, so can we get them back? Where is the 9mm?" I asked, hoping for more shooty goodness.

Mike thought for a minute. "I think Ed has it." Ed has been Mike's best friend since they were 14.

"You think? How can you not know?" This is what I get for marrying the most easygoing man on earth. "Call him, and your brother about the rifle, right now."

But Mike was not going to be distracted from his snack. "I'll call them later, I'll see them both at the game soon anyway."

Oh, the suspense, the sheer torture of waiting! I pestered him for an entire week. ("did you call? didja, didja, huh?")

But in the end, the guys came through. Mike came home Sunday evening with the two missing firearms. An unremarkable 9mm that neither of us are interested in shooting and neither of us will carry so up for sale it goes. But the rifle is a .22! (Marlin model 60) Ed had bought this rifle at Woolworth's as a birthday gift for Mike, when Mike turned 18. We're keeping this one.

While looking at the rifle, I noticed this:
"Hey!" I said. "Look! It has a cute little squirrel on it! Awww...I love it!"

"Um, Breda? I think it has a squirrel on it because that's what you're supposed to shoot with it."

Oh.
Still, we won't be shooting any of our fuzzy backyard friends despite the cats' enthusiasm about the idea.

prediction

I don't have much to write about aside from buying a pistol and painting the THIRD COAT on my bathroom walls and the Democratic primary. I could write about my cats but because I am kind, I'll just force a cat photo on you instead.

(Tighe says, "Huh?")

Anyway, about the primary. I haven't written about it because between Obama's problem pastor, his crabby wife, his unrepentant domestic terrorist buddies, his tendency to let things like the arugula comment and the bitter remark slip and his refusal to talk about anything he deems "distracting" (like all of the aforementioned)...well, I'm not worried. Not at all. (remember John Kerry & the swiftboaters? Just wait.) Here's why:

• Obama will get the nomination because at this point they can't not nominate him. If they don't, they'll lose the black vote, even though this isn't technically about race. No, not at all. Really. It's not. (but seriously...the left must be either off their nut or stupid or both. I mean, do they really think he can win?)
• Hillary will do something. (it won't matter)
• Obama will then have to speak to not only his looney tunes base but to all of us. (will he have time to memorize the new script?)
• The rest of the country, unlike liberals, will be shown to be too smart to fall for empty "HopeChange" rhetoric. (you dare question the Obamamessiah?)
• Obama will continuously"misspeak", saying he didn't mean to say what he said. (The media, of course, will happily let us all know what he really meant.)
• The country will say,"Holy crap! I already pay how much in taxes and this silk suit socialist wants even more? For government programs?" (It's all about the money, folks.)
• People will look at John McCain and decide, "Hey, he's not so bad after all." (and a war hero!)
• John McCain will be the next president of the United States. (but sadly, he's not Fred Thompson.)
• The country will forever have to hear how we are all "Raaaaaaaaaaacist!!" even though they say Obama's candidacy wasn't about race. (but so what? I get called a racist now - usually for things like asking patrons of color to pay for the ream of Myspace garbage they just printed at the library.)
• Life will go on. (It always does.)

ask and you shall receive

So here's photos of me wearing my ballcap. My hair is frightful, holy crap. I need a haircut something awful.

(click to enlarge, blah, blah, blah)

& click here for one without a cat (although, seriously, what would be the point? Just look at the cuteness of little Ronan!)

I made Mike take these kneeling down because I am so, um...petite. When he's standing and looking down at me, serious foreshortening occurs and it makes me look like a squatty little toad person.

I got nothin', so here's a photo.

Maybe I'll blog tonight, while I'm at work. But right now, I'm going to visit my friend Nicole (who loves the Ruger MK II!). Catsitting for her brother, she's lonely for human conversation...and, honestly, so am I.

Here we are in warmer, sunnier times, getting ready to go to a masquerade.


We made our own masks. She was Day and I was Night.

Appropriate, no?

post St. Pat's post (with pictures)

( all photos can be clicked for a better view)

I had a full day yesterday. My mother picked me up and we went to a special St. Patrick's Day Mass, hosted every year by the local Irish-American club. I haven't been to church in a long time for a number of reasons but sometimes I find myself missing the ritual. Kneeling, reciting the prayers, breathing in the smell of incense; it's very comforting. Mostly, though, I feel like a voyeur, a tourist. Sometimes I envy others' faith - their God is so simple. (come to think of it, God probably is simple. I am the one who is complicated.)


Normally, there would be bagpipes and a fife and drum corps for St. Patrick's Day Mass but since it was Monday of Holy Week, we got guilt instead. The service was solemn and the priest spoke of penance and fasting in the homily. Few know guilt, penance, and fasting better than the Irish. We don't need a lecture.

Daniel Patrick Moynihan once said that to be Irish is to know that in the end, the world will break your heart. He forgot to add that in the end, it's probably all your own fault anyway.

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After Mass, we met my brother and my nephew for brunch. I had a cheeseburger with pickles and my nephew had a large glass of chocolate milk, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and a side of bacon. He gave it his best shot, but the pancakes won. My sister-in-law was already on her way downtown with my 4 year old niece, the star of the parade. (I might be exaggerating, as aunties tend to do.)

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(view from the roof)

After we got downtown, we parked on the roof of garage across from the Justice Center. We had to take the stairs to get to the ground level. As we entered the cold, dank stairwell I noticed a familiar sign - no concealed carry allowed. I pointed out the sign to my mother and said, "Isn't this exactly the type of place you might need a gun?" I'm trying to get her used to the idea of me carrying a weapon.

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Determined to find a sunny spot, we headed to the parade route. But before we turned the corner onto Superior Avenue, I noticed quite a few police cars - federal police cars. They read "Department of Homeland Security" on the side. Officers in what appeared to be riot gear were patrolling nearby.

(looking up)

"Uh-oh...is something happening?" I wondered. I realized then that we were outside of the U.S. Court House, right next to my first cousin. In a crowd of thousands, I found myself standing next to family. I was the flowergirl at his wedding and now he's as white haired as my father used to be...we laughed, both surprised at seeing the other. We both said "eejit" as we watched a man get ticketed by the Feds for drinking Guinness on the street. Nature or nurture, who can say?

Then the parade started. There were bagpipes.


And marching bands - and fire trucks - and giant Irish wolfhounds - and floats - and Irish dancers. And, most importantly, the best, the cutest, the most talented little pom-pom girl EVER. As you can see, she took her job very seriously.

(Maeve in the middle)

The sun soon disappeared and left us shivering in the cold wind coming off the lake, but we stayed till the end. Home then to corned beef and Guinness of my own. It took two before I was properly warmed up.

the river runs

(click to enlarge the photo)

Two blocks from our house there is a bluff overlooking the Chagrin River. It was all of 7.7 °F as we hurried through the snow and the icy gusts of wind to capture this photo - bleak, gray, desolate and still so very beautiful.

whitewash.

Our magnolia tree -
tucked in for a long winter's nap beneath a blanket of snow.
Winter has arrived in Willoughby, and just in time.

wish list

Bitter of The Bitch Girls has wondered what gun we'd ask Santa to put in our stocking this year. And since I am in the midst of shopping for my very own (& my first!) little boomstick, it's got me thinking of the features I want in a handgun. I kind of know what I want, what I feel comfortable shooting, but don't know what brands or models to look at specifically. So here is my letter to Santa. And, please, feel free to offer suggestions, especially you girls. I'd like to know what other women are carrying.

Dear Santa, I'd like:

1. a 9mm semi-auto
2. Safe. I'd like a safety plus a double action first shot, with single action subsequent shots.
3. Compact, easily concealable. This is me, wearing a .38 snubby and it seems huge and chunky. No likey.
4. Single stack magazine, to fit securely in my hand
5. Nonpolymer. I don't like the plastic feel of it, I don't like the weight of it. I'd prefer something a bit heavier, anyway, to absorb recoil.

Oh, and Santa? I know I talk about pink guns a lot, but I don't really mean it. However... if you really insist on getting me something pretty, something like this will do very nicely (and how!)

love, Breda

p.s. I've been a very good girl this year. Honest.

pix

I parted my hair on the opposite side today to take advantage of Mother Nature's silvery highlights. I have a white stripe and I daresay it gives me a bit of panache, an air of mystery. I took some pictures (okay, a lot of pictures) and only liked one. It is phixred within a nanometer of still recognizably being me...but there's the dark eyes, the dimples, the greying hair and the nose that reminds the husband of a bird of prey. Close enough to get the general idea.

new profile photo?

seen in the garden

It seems I'm not the only one enjoying the last color of the season. I found this spider guarding the blossoms on my pineapple sage.

(click 2x to view larger)

Time to gather and dry herbs, to try and save some flavor to season the winter months. The garden is mostly done although I expect some plants to be fine through the winter. It wouldn't be the first time I've dug through snow to find the chives.

Other garden writing here...

MD means Maryland

I promised photos and trip details...

Day 1: The drive was...long. We got a little lost and ended up taking a very twisty-turny detour through PA. The trees were gorgeous against the dark sky and all was going well until we turned a corner and there was a the biggest widest wide load you could imagine. We got trapped in the silo parade. Seriously. In every town, there were people standing on their porches watching our snail's pace progress.

By the time we reached MD, it was dark and starting to rain. Hard. With thunder and lightning. It was a relief when we got to the hotel. (a big thanks to Wendy, who did an incredible job of getting us there & back, in one piece) We decided we needed a drink or three so headed to the nearby restaurant where we got awesome crab dip, horrible service, and a non-English speaking waiter who brought us mystery drinks because he didn't know what a screwdriver was. A drunken giggly phone call was made to my husband to let him know we'd arrived.

Day 2: The Faire!!! With my two favorite wenches!

Nicole thoughtfully planned this whole trip so that I'd be surprised to find out that one of my most favorite singing groups, The Mediaeval Baebes, would be performing. (more on my musical tastes here) I was a little overwhelmed, to say the least. They sound just as lovely live as they do on their albums and are just about the prettiest things ever:


The faire was a lot bigger and more crowded than we'd expected. The shops were great, the music fantastic, and the food was really good. I even had an oyster shooter (raw, in hot sauce, chased by a wee beer)...I figured since I was so close to the ocean I might as well give it a try. It wasn't nearly as slimy as I'd imagined. Here's me post-oyster, trying on a very expensive leather skirt, that I want very much:

And another of me learning to play a bodhran, a traditional Irish war drum:

The faire ended far too quickly. We're planning on going back next year and getting a two day pass. We had so much fun, a wonderful girls weekend. I'm so lucky to have such great women in my life.

Day 3: The drive home. My vision saturated with color...a clear cerulean sky, 200 miles of trees all decked out in their riotous glory. Tori Amos loud on the stereo. Perfect.

new haircut.

photo phiddling phrom phixr.

seen.

A window to nowhere, downtown Willoughby.

gastronomic exploits.

We stay home on vacation because we really love our little town...and our house, and the cats, and each other. We're just happy being together. A short half mile walk down our street brings us to this:
...
the quaintest little place, full of shops, coffeehouses, restaurants, and a brewery (more on that later). Monday morning, we had breakfast in the sunshine outside the coffeehouse and watched everyone else go to work. We walked down to the river, watched red and gold leaves fall like confetti into the water, and got close enough to a turkey vulture to be able to gasp in awe at its wingspan as it took flight.

But if our vacation had a title, I'm sure it would be called "The Fallacys' Adventures in Food & Beer". All we've really done so far is explore various gourmet food shops, eat out, and sample beer. And to top it all off, our neighbor Ruth went out to Amish country and brought us back a pumpkin pie (my favorite breakfast food).

Some people spend their vacation money on trips to tropical places, we like to stay home and sate our appetites. Sometimes you simply must have that tiny expensive wedge of cheese and the fresh ground honey roasted peanut butter. We don't eat so much as graze. A nibble here, a taste there and always the thought, "What beer should I try next?" (I have a pumpkin spice beer that I'm going to have with the pie... though not for breakfast!)

We went to the brewery last night to try their new IPA,
Hopnotic Double Red.

They've changed the formula from last year, boosting the alcohol to 9% and selling it only in snifter glasses. It's a little sweeter, less bitter, has less of the grapefruit taste that I enjoyed so much last year but is still pretty good. And trust me, you only need one.