Thursday, April 8, 2010

God and a Gun

As I mentioned in the Family Pictures post, hubby is gone a lot. He’s gone right now, as a matter of fact. This time apart is an easier one than normal since he gets to come home on the weekends (Except this one, boohoo).

When I’m home alone, the time I miss hubby most is bed time, I just don’t sleep well alone in our big bed, it feels too weird and makes me miss him like crazy. I fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, counting the nights I have left before he comes home, or if I’m lucky, I drift off with the TV on. I rarely sleep in our bed, and if I do, I’m on his side. Besides being entirely too sappy and dependant, I’m also terrified to be left home alone.

Before we got married, I lived in a cozy, charming house in Denver, Colorado. I loved my pale yellow bedroom and lying in a hammock on the front porch. What I didn’t love was the location. Things were never boring during my 2 years in the Sherman house. Once the police searched my yard for a gun they thought was dropped there as a shooter fled the area. Another time news crews covered a shooting that happened at a child’s birthday party only a block away. Then there was the neighbor across the street, involved in drug deals and murder – she shot and killed her lover’s girlfriend on the side. My personal favorite was my neighbor on the left, one house separated him and I; on two occasions (maybe more, that’s all I actually witnessed) he locked himself in his attic and shot at vehicles and pedestrians on our street. The SWAT team responded both times; the man wouldn’t come out and once made me late for work since the entire street was shut down. I finally drove through the bushes in my yard to get out, since he clearly wasn’t going to settle anything any time soon.

Another time, things hit too close to home when my house was robbed. Not once, but twice, in the same day.

I can count on one hand the times I’ve been really drunk, or stayed out all night. One of those times, I came home in the morning and my front door was open, my house was a wreck and most of my stuff was gone. Cops came and went, a report was filed and questions were asked about the dog (“No, Sir, I’m sure she wouldn’t do anything. See how she’s lying on the couch right now while you’re here? I’m sure that’s what she did for the robbers, too”). Considering that most everything I owned had been dug through and taken, I handled things pretty well. I pulled myself together, closed the house up and left for Home Depot to get new locks and pick up some pizza for lunch. Despite it being daylight, and that the cops had only just left, someone was stupid enough, or brave enough, to go right back in! With little left to take, they stole my new coffee pot, found my diamond earrings, and were interrupted by my return so the attempt to get away with my microwave was not successful (I found it unplugged, pulled off of the counter).

You can see why I might be a little leery of staying home alone.

I’m happy to say that now, hubby and I live in a nice neighborhood and the only time we’ve had to deal with 911 is when I accidently caught the stove on fire (I’ll save that story for another day), however, the assertive attitude and readiness to protect my home has stuck with me.

Something woke me up around a quarter to four this morning; it upset the dogs, too, who started barking. My old response would have been to hide deep under the covers and hope the dogs would do their job. Even though I don’t have the utmost confidence in their abilities as watch dogs, both are more likely to do something than the dog who was there for the burglaries! But do you know what I did? I retrieved the pistol from its top-secret hiding place and I went downstairs. I checked the whole house, ready to shoot at anyone I came across. I kept my cool, stayed calm brave. I checked rooms carefully, and I made sure I cleared areas before I turned my back.

I never did find out what woke me up, or what upset the dogs, but I remembered my ability to protect my home and take control of the situation, to not let myself be a victim, and I remembered how to handle the gun. (I’m a good shot at the range, and now I know what I can do under pressure, too)

So guess what? Our home is protected by God and a gun; you’ll meet them both if you mess with me tonight.


  1. This house is protected by God and a gun; you can meet them both if you enter unwanted son.

  2. Yikes. I would not like it one bit if hubby were gone that much. Thankfully, he has a nice, boring, 9-5 job where he's home nights and weekends. He did travel a couple times a few years ago. Once, he had to go to Germany for a week. I was miserable. And every little noise bothered me. I locked my bedroom door. But now I have a gun, too, and know how to shoot it.


Do I need to be liked? Absolutely not. I like to be liked. I enjoy being liked. I have to be liked. But it's not like this, compulsive, need, to be liked. Like my need to be praised. - Michael Scott, "The Office"

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