say hello to my little friend

Open carry in DTW.

OC report

I'd like to be able to say that nothing at all happened on the 1st Annual OC Nonevent but something did. But even then, that really wasn't much of a big deal, either.

I went to Walmart and was told, by a woman I assume is an employee, that I needed to cover my gun. She told me that the store has a "no open weapons" sign on the door and I needed to pull my shirt over my gun. So, not wanting to cause a fuss on Nonevent Day, I complied. I then proceeded to walk through the store with a big gun-shaped lump under my tank top.

But really - who could blame her, right? This is how scary I looked:

Tiny woman in a skirt! With a gun! And a ponytail! (the bigger deal here was the skirt, trust me)

Anyway, the five remaining minutes Mike and I were in the store were spent asking each other,"Is there a sign? I've never seen a sign. Did you see a sign?"

We checked on the way out. No sign. And besides, a "cover up your gun" sign doesn't technically exist in Ohio. She could have asked me to leave if the building had it been posted with a "gun free zone" sign, but there wasn't one of those either.

So I guess I'll be writing a letter to Walmart corporation, asking them to remind the store manager of their open carry policy, which is to follow state laws.

After Walmart, I went inside a gas station to buy some diet coke and chips then we went for a walk in the park. We saw gigantic tadpoles and I think I might have gotten about eleventy million freckles but nothing else happened. Then we bought iced teas at the coffeehouse and walked around downtown Willoughby.

I then went home and ate some blueberry birthday pie, still a bit miffed that I had to hide my pretty new Dragon Leatherworks holster.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

local bumblebee

Around 3:30 in the afternoon, Monday through Friday, this girl walks home alone from school and passes in front of my house. Kind of chubby, hair in braids and carrying a backpack, she'd be completely unremarkable - except for her voice. She sings her way down the sidewalk, sometimes pausing to try a few tentative dance steps, completely lost in her own world.

I think she's awesome.

And bacon, too.

- Posted from my iPhone

idiot

As if an ex-con playing with guns while high wasn't bad enough, but wasting all that .380!
He should be ashamed of himself.

meatspace

Last night at the library, a gentleman approached my desk and said, "Are you Breda?"

My hackles raised a bit. "Yes..."

"I'm William the Coroner!"

"Oh, thank God," I thought. I hate working in an unarmed victim zone.

Anyway, William is very cool and lives surprisingly nearby. We talked about a potential little blogmeet at the Willoughby Brewing Company sometime this summer. Would anyone be up to joining us?

stripping

When we began house hunting, Mike and I had a list of things that we wanted: hardwood floors, a fireplace, two stories, a dining room, near downtown Willoughby. We loved the neighborhoods here - walking distance from a library, shops, restaurants (and, of course, a brewery) and full of older homes that all have their own unique charm. We also both agreed that a place with a few fixer-upper type projects would be good for us. I like painting and Mike can be a decent handyman when he sets his mind to it.

It was love at first sight when we found this house and according to the listing, it had everything we wanted. The first viewing revealed gorgeous floors, solid plaster walls, a large dining room with a bay window looking out over the yard and a little kitchen...

...that was apparently decorated by an overzealous, acid tripping Carmen Miranda. There was wallpaper with fruit baskets, a matching fruit basket border and those cabinets. I suppose the previous owners were trying to be clever and paint the cabinets a red to match the apples in the fruit baskets but what they got was a dark pinkish coral, not red. Red I might have liked. Red I could have worked with. (Maybe.)

But when I walked into that kitchen for the first time, I swear I felt my heart stop in horror. The owners had every light on and the color fairly glowed with menace. And despite the realization that I'd be up to my elbows in chemicals just trying to be rid of that not-red red, we bought the house anyway.

And so here we are.

The wallpaper is all gone, the cabinets will soon be painted white, and I am looking forward to the serenity of neutrals.

road trip!

Mike and I are getting ready to hit the road to go to the Indy Midsummer's Blogmeet, but we thought you might like to see what's happening in our hometown today...


...the annual Willoughby cruise-in, featuring a half mile of shiny hotrods and pristine antique cars!


Happy Father's Day to all of my readers, motorhead or not.

Many fathers are the unsung heroes of the everyday - going to work each morning, waking up for a crying child at night, doing the chores that no one else wants - but it all makes a difference in the end. Thank you.

shy wildlife

When we bought our house about 5 years ago the previous owners warned us about Cookie, a neighborhood squirrel. She was easily recognizable because she had a stumpy tail and was almost tame. (They had been feeding her for a couple of years and she had clearly become accustomed to it.) She'd be waiting by the back door when we went outside, keep me company while gardening and would follow us around the yard with an expectant look in her eye. She even knew the sound of Mike's car and would meet him in the driveway after he came home from work.

Mike, of course, bought her bags of unsalted peanuts and quickly earned himself the nickname of "The Squirrel Whisperer." Cookie quickly learned to come when we called her name, to take a peanut from our hand and, in exchange, let us watch her closely as she ate - our clever little outside pet.

The last time we saw Cookie two years ago, it was winter and she was heavily pregnant. She sat on our back steps, ate a few nuts and then was gone. We never saw her again but we suspect at least one of her litter survived...

Meet Stewey.

Update & a little PSH

Since yesterday's fire, I've been checking the local news for updates on my neighbors* and details have been trickling in...

Bill was walking Bonnie the dog and came home to find the house on fire. He and ran in pulled his sick wife out of the fire and rushed her to the local hospital. They both suffered burns - he was treated and released and she is in critical condition after being flown by helicopter to a larger hospital in Cleveland.

The house is a total loss and is going to be condemned.

And...

Five different fire departments were called in to assist. Initially, firefighters were told to leave the home because it was hazardous; ammunition and oxygen were inside the home.**

Wait, what?

Okay, the danger of oxygen tanks I can understand- in fact, I'm certain I heard an ominous "whoomp!"-type explodey sound before I noticed the fire - but the ammunition? I know I'm no expert, but from what I've heard (& correct me if I'm wrong) ammunition is less dangerous in a fire than a simple can of aerosol hairspray and it's certainly not reason enough to delay search and rescue. But in case of fire, it seems we gunnies might just be on our own.

Anyway, there were also two small bits of good news amidst the heartbreak - Bonnie the dog is fine and I live on a street with other gunowners. (yay! on both counts)

__________________________

*they don't live next door to us, so they are not next door neighbors..but seeing how we live in the same neighborhood and the golden rule is "love thy..." it seems a fitting term.

** I got this from a local news story. I'm not going to link it because it gives a few too many details of where I live. I suppose if you're determined, anything can be found on google...but remember, stalking a librarian who is a very good shot is a really stupid thing to do. Just sayin'.

bad day

I watched my neighbor's house burn today.

I smelled smoke and ran outside, phone in hand, ready to dial 911 but the sound of sirens reached me a moment later.

I thought of those that live in that old stone house - we see Bill everyday, walking around the neighborhood with his little dog, carrying a cup of coffee and chatting with neighbors. There's Bill and Bonnie, we'd say, making sure to wave as he passed by. Bonnie would run after a squirrel and Bill would wait patiently, continuing on only after he was certain the chase was over. Bill is said to be married, but we've never seen his wife. We hear she's very ill.

Oh no, I thought, are they in there? Do I run up to the house and pound on the door? If I did, would they hear me? No, I couldn't. Shouldn't. There was just too much smoke. I felt helpless. Nothing to do except shiver in the rain, stunned and shaken as thick black smoke billowed out of the house, further darkening an already gloomy day. All the prayer I could manage as the fire trucks arrived was a whispered, "Oh God."

As the hoses filled with water and the firemen began breaking windows, flames engulfed the roof. A home, a life, destroyed - I couldn't watch anymore.

We're still waiting for news.

if you ever need to reach me...

I have a new address! I moved in just today and can tell already that decorating is going to be an enormous hassle - I'm on the top level and I have no idea how I'll fit all my stuff into such a small space. The neighborhood is a little noisy; people are going in and out at all hours, jangling keys and slamming their tiny little doors...but it'll be nice to have a secure space all to myself. The rent is really cheap, though, only about $30 every six months so I really shouldn't complain.

I've added the address to my sidebar - right underneath the picture of the girl with the pink gun.

UPDATE: Just to clarify - & because my husband insists. He fears a legion of men showing up at my new address with boxes of chocolates (Ahem. Vosges. Just sayin') and bouquets of flowers, only to find themselves sorely disappointed - I got a new p.o. box for blog-related snailmail and everything is fine in Fallacyland. So fear not...I just really like snailmail, that's all.

tough sell

Local forecasters are predicting record snowfall for 2009. They think it might rival 1978, the year of the most legendary Cleveland winter storm known as the "White Hurricane."

(click to enlarge)

I think the global warming hoax might not have much of a future here in the Cleveland area.

local laugh

I've never been in the G-Whiz Bar & Grill (mostly because places like that have sticky floors and think Bud Lite Lime is a microbrew.) but I have to admit I find January 17th's live entertainment a bit...intriguing.

(embiggen)

lake effect.

Snow.

So this librarian walks into a bar...

Nicole and I sit at a table in a far corner of the brewery. We like to talk and have a couple of pints while surveying our domain. With our backs to the wall, we watch everyone coming and going, have a highly amusing view of the dance floor and are usually left alone except for the waitress who kindly keeps bringing us our free beer.

But last night we were joined by Nate.

We had seen him a few tables away, dancing and singing along with the music. His friends seemed to tolerate his unfunny class clown antics in the same way you'd be patient with someone less fortunate than you in the I.Q. department. And oh, poor Nate...when he looked up and noticed us in the corner, we were laughing at him. Not with him. He came over and sat at our table anyway, intent on chatting us up because he said we were "cute."

In hardly any time at all, Nate discovered that I was married and, gasp! 34! ( he did initially think I was 28, though. He gets points for that.) "Well, where is your husband? Why isn't he here, protecting you?"

I smiled benignly. "Because he knows I can take care of myself."

Nate scoffed. (Oh, Nate, you silly boy.)

A little while later, I was showing Nicole the Buckeye Firearms CCW reminder card I had in my purse. "What is that?" Nate asked. "Your AARP card?" (Nate apparently still thought that my advanced age was a great source of amusement.)

I leveled my best stare at him, smirking slightly as I handed him the card. He leaned over, close to a candle to read it. "Huh," he said, clearly not understanding. To help him make sense of it, I took my CCW license out of my wallet and let him see it. That's when Nate's lightbulb went on.

"HOLY $%&@! Do you have it on you NOW?!?!" Nate's eyes were huge.

I was kind of afraid that if I made any sudden moves or loud noises, there would be a puddle under Nate's chair. "No. It's not legal to carry in bars in Ohio," I said gently.

At this point, Nicole decided to get in on the fun. In her most cheerful, enthusiastic tone she said,"That's why she always carries a knife!" She was grinning from ear to ear. (Nicole has a very twisted sense of humor, one of the reasons I love her so.)

Nate was stammering, "Wait, what? And a gun? Really? You? A gun? For real? And a knife? But...? I'm afraid now!"

I smiled and touched his arm. "What? Afraid of little ol' me?" I explained a little about what it takes to get a CCW - the laws, the test, the fingerprinting...

Welcome to a brand new world, Nate. The one where the smallest person in the room just might be the most dangerous. Stay safe.

close to home

There was a school shooting in Willoughby yesterday, one mile from my house.

A boy entered the school distraught, heartbroken, and intent on suicide. He fired two shots, put the gun to his head and was quickly talked down by school administrators. Just a very dramatic and dangerous cry for help and thankfully, no one was injured.

Calls for metal detectors and armed guards have already begun because parents are left terrified by the idea that someone could actually smuggle a gun into the school....it is a gun-free zone and all, you know.

*little rant: How long will it take before people put 2 and 2 together? That the gun-free zone sign means nothing? It is not a magical object, warding off evil. No crazed murderer with a gun, intent on mayhem and bloodshed will be stopped by that sign. It only limits my ability to protect myself. Every day that I go to work I pass through a door with one of those signs on it and I am unarmed because...because...actually I don't know why. Is it because I am dangerous? More dangerous than the policeman who comes in fully armed to the library? I had a full background check, got my fingerprints taken, deemed A-OK by the state. Is it because guns are scary? If that's the case, get over it - I did. I am (so very very) tired of babying people who choose to remain ignorant. I am sorry if guns make you nervous but the thought of being attacked, murdered, or raped because I was stripped of the best tool to defend myself with makes me even more uncomfortable.

as high as an elephant's eye

While going to the Appleseed shoot last week, and earlier this summer to Indianapolis, I had the opportunity to sit back and enjoy the scenery as Mike drove the car. Having lived in suburbia for so long, I love seeing the wide open spaces and vast horizons created by farming. I admire the tidy green rows of crops, wonder about a lone tree left standing in the middle of an empty field, and wave hello to cows as we speed past. We dream together of owning a piece of land of our own...

"But we don't know anything about farming. What would we grow?"

"Cats."

Yeah, probably - but we'd likely be the only ones because as we drove along, all I saw was corn. Miles and miles of it along the highway. Some of that corn might eventually make its way to the weekly farmer's market in downtown Willoughby and then to the dinner table at the Fallacy house. It's lovely grilled of course, with sea salt, fresh rosemary and a bit of garlic but there are few things in this world more delicious than homemade fritters, made with fresh sweet corn and served with maple syrup.

The sun is setting earlier these days and the cicadas are in the trees, whirring their last desperate love songs - summer doesn't last forever. Taste it before its gone.

sleep, interrupted

I listened to the Gun Nuts podcast and stayed up far too late. I can't remember what time I fell asleep but it was certainly this morning and not last night.

At 3 AM I woke up, confused at what I was hearing. Sirens. Not a fire truck, not a police car. The siren. It can be heard for miles, a high wail warning of danger.

I only hear this siren when it is briefly tested every Wednesday at 11 AM; I have never heard it going on and on relentlessly. The sound seemed more alarming because it was cutting through the night.

The wind was whipping through the trees and hail was starting to plink against the windows - both good signs that the nuclear power plant hadn't exploded, the only other time I'd probably ever hear the siren. I ran to close windows and check on the cats. I turned the TV to the one station that we still get with our rabbit ear antenna.

"Mike! There's a tornado! 7 miles north of Euclid!"

Mike was still trying to sleep. "7 miles north of Euclid is in the lake."

Oh.

I crawled back in bed and the storm ended minutes later.

Busytown

I'm going to miss most of the insanity that will be Willoughby today because I have to work. Our street looks like a parking lot. The weekly farmer's market runs till noon, the ArtsFest is 10-5 and this evening is the continuation of the annual Oktoberfest in July festival at the Catholic church, which is about a block from our house. There are games and gambling in the church basement, the world's best onion rings (beer battered and big as a bagel), and rides for the kids.

Each year the church rents a huge inflated slide that looks like a sinking ship. The kids love it, of course, but I find it really creepy. Mike walked up to the church alone last night (the mighty hunter brought sausage sandwiches and onion rings home to his mate) and so I asked him, "Do they have the Titanic up again?"

He shrugged. "I just went for the food, I didn't see the rides."

"It's kind of horrible, don't you think? How morbid - escape from the sinking ship!"

"Oh, I don't know - maybe this year they'll have the firebombing of Dresden. Fun for the whole family!"