Hello my friends. Welcome back to Wandering through Time and Place.
I’ve been hesitant to write these words. Why? Because they mean I have to go back to work. I have been out playing and having adventures for the past couple of months, or so. Don’t get me wrong; I love to write and I’ve missed checking in on your blogs. But I haven’t missed the discipline of knocking out two to three blogs a week and working on my next book. (“I’m supposed to be retired,” he whined.)
But enough on that: What have I been doing? First up, Peggy and I had a major home invasion in Oregon. Our house, our time, and our lives were totally taken over. There were enough weapons around to turn back Attila the Hun. So what if they were all water guns. Can you imagine the devastating impact such weaponry can have in the hands of five, two-to-ten-year-old boys? And these were not the small, wimpy, colored plastic pistols of our youth, no way— they were full-scale WMDs (Weapons of Mass Destruction): water cannons, pump-action rifles, and macho pistols with large, pressurized air chambers to assure a steady stream of water.
Each evening Grandpa was invited out to the patio for his nightly drowning. And each night he would return inside, soaked to the bone. But I want to report, somewhat proudly, that I gave as good as I got. Grandpa is a crafty dude. (I’ve been learning to speak in the third person from The Donald.) I made sure that my weapon shot further and held more water than any of the grandkids. This advantage didn’t help much, however, when our son Tony, former marine captain that he is, entered the fray with three massive water cannons tied together with duct tape. Water is still draining out of my ears.
Peggy started pushing for a family get-together months ago. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could get our kids and their children here all at once for three weeks this summer?” I could only whimper in agreement. Any concerns I raised about the wisdom of having five grandsons and six adults in our 1500 square foot house for three weeks were met with a steely eyed gaze. It was the look. Every husband in the world would recognize it for what it was. And know to keep his mouth shut.
It was a long three weeks, Peggy. (Grin) But, I confess, it was good to see the kids— and I had fun. It was the little things like when five-year-old Chris whispered in my ear, “Grandpa, can I share a secret?” “Sure, Chris, what is it?” “You and I are going to steal a handful of Knox-blocks from the refrigerator.” That is one clever kid. Of course we made the raid and quickly scarfed down the evidence. And then there was seven-year-old Cody and the water fights. “I am on your side, Grandpa Curt,” he declared stoutly at the beginning and stuck with me through thick and thin. Toward the end I told him, “Cody, you have been so loyal, you get a free shot at me.” I lowered my super-duper-pump-action water rifle so he would see I was serious. “Oh, I couldn’t do that Grandpa,” he declared.
Cody is something of a hero of mine. When he was two, he saved me from the bear that lives under our bed. I was down on the floor demonstrating how far one had to stay away from the bed to avoid the bear when I got too close and it grabbed my leg. Did Cody run away screaming? No. As my leg started disappearing under the bed, he grabbed me by my arm and began pulling in the opposite direction with all of his considerable two-year-old might.
“For that little trick,” my son-in-law Clay told me, “I am going to get you out of bed tonight to sit with Cody if he can’t go to sleep.” Apparently, Cody slept well.
Next Post: Home Invasion Part II— A rattlesnake comes to visit.