abby « Robin Writes

I was out and about yesterday and happened to check Facebook mid-afternoon, when I saw a post about the Oregon college shooting. There wasn’t much online at that point, but stories trickled in over the rest of the day.

Horrific, yes. Very sad, yes. But the damn gun didn’t fire itself. The crazy dude did it. How did he get a gun? I don’t know. Could someone else, with a gun, have taken him out before he could kill people? I don’t know that either; sometimes, as we see on the news, that happens. I tend to think many who carry would be just as terrified as someone who didn’t, and that, of course, would limit their actions.

But it’s pretty obvious that having a “gun-free zone” doesn’t work very well. Bad guys work around the rules, that’s why they’re called “bad” guys. You go into a bank, you don’t try to rob the place because you’re not a “bad” guy; he’ll go in the bank and try to rob it anyway.

Not like he went to a gun store and bought a gun, although maybe he did. There are loopholes; mistakes are made. Many crimes here in STL, however, are committed with stolen firearms.

That’s ‘cause we have bad guys, everywhere.

I know all the arguments; we’ve all heard them, over and over. I’m okay with hearing a fresh take on an issue, but I’m not okay with skewing statistics to prove a point as in several articles I’ve read recently.

Fact: Killing innocent people is wrong.

I think we can all agree with that.

But for a country in which many citizens believe it’s okay to murder a baby in the womb, why are we surprised when someone thinks it’s okay to shoot people?

Those who believe in abortion don’t think that that a fetus is actually a human being—or, they think the baby’s rights are less than that of the mother, the mother who chose to have sex (please, spare me the stats on rape victims and pregnancy or even failed birth control; the old saying “there’s an exception for every rule” applies across the board).

Look, most people think that sex is great—people think a lot of things are great, but that doesn’t mean we have a “right” to do those things. Even if we do, for every action, in any situation, there’s a consequence:

Get drunk, risk having an accident;

Steal something, risk arrest;

Have sex, you could get pregnant.

All of these things are your choice. THAT is your choice, and your choice extends to fixing the “problem,” but only if it doesn’t infringe on another’s rights.

If you get drunk and have an accident, you pay fines, repairs, living with guilt, possibly prison time. You might be able to alleviate those consequences, but the point is that YOU are paying for your choice. Steal and face arrest, same things apply.

For those who believe abortion is wrong, that it’s killing another human being, the consequence you may face for having sex is pregnancy and parenthood.

For those who think abortion is a good solution, you have a “procedure” and that’s it, one and done. In effect, you have no consequence. But that’s not how things should work, right?

I mean, if you believe it’s okay to kill an innocent child, why are you so adamant that we do away with guns because sometimes someone opens fire on innocent students or bystanders or anyone else?

If you ever hear anyone say, “I love to paint! I can afford to hire someone to paint my house, but I’d rather do it myself!” run far, run fast.

That is a load of hooey.

You can tell we spent the weekend painting. Mostly.

Got up early on Saturday and pulled the irrigation system out of the garden. Damn, hoses are heavy. Especially several, attached. Sure, I could have pulled them all apart, but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do with them.

By the time I finished that, and picked up the tools to store for the winter and the trash in that one pile—there’s always that “one pile”—I wasn’t in the mood to UNload the truck up at the barn. So I hopped on the mower and headed for the house, mowing along the way.

My husband was repairing the ceiling where he’d removed the walk-in closet.

I mowed around the house and the parking area, avoiding the rocks I’d dug up a few weeks ago. Still didn’t know what I was going to do with them.

Next, since I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I pulled out the green paint and glopped it on the kitchen side of the bathroom door. Glop. Glop.

I’m a slob, what can I say?

A few coats later, and I got back on the mower. Mowed my way back to the barn to unload some supplies we’d brought; looked at the hose in the back of the truck.

Mowed a little more.

My husband was repairing the ceiling. Yep, same ceiling.

Guess what time it was?

That’s right, boys and girls, SKIM-COATING TIME!

Shoot. Me. Now.

So my husband says, “Why don’t you just do those two big walls? But stay away from the trim or the panels, and the doors too.”

Ahem. I mentioned that I’m a slob, right?

I made my rounds, and while waiting for the drying in between coats, I decided to touch up the doors. The outside doors. That ones that already took 3+ coats. Sigh.

I’m smart, though. I didn’t put down the new doormats yet. Smart like a fox, yes?

By four o’clock, I decided it was beer time. And dinner-cooking time. I was done.

Of course, the next day, we weren’t up as early. And it was cold. Ish. Prepper that I am, I reached into my bag for jeans and a sweatshirt.

Oops.

Someone needs to get her brain in gear.

My husband started sanding, which was my cue to spend as much time outside as possible. This is definitely his job. It grates on me like fingernails on a chalkboard.

So I loaded the truck, burned the trash, composted, finally picked up those damn rocks and left them in the wheelbarrow. I still don’t know what to do with them . . .

I pulled out my camping gear for the coming weekend, except for the sleeping bag. No idea where it went. It’s somewhere, obviously, but I couldn’t find it. Missed a few other things too.

Figures. Brain. Gear. Not working.

And then it was time to paint.

Two coats. And counting. This is the WORST PAINT EVER.

But it looks good . . . Even on my boots.