Grilled Lead
Though M.O.M. is known for her Weapon of Mass Destruction – Methane, she has other weapons in her, um, arsenal. *coughs*
I sometimes think that M.O.M. was born in the wrong century. She would have done remarkably well shooting corks out of bottles, or splitting playing cards down the center alongside Annie Oakley. And though she wasn't a sharp shooting ace in the late 1800's, she is My Outrageous Marksman.
We were never big into hunting or shooting or anything like that. Though I recall a bow and quiver of arrows hanging from the garage wall for many years, I wasn’t aware of my parents owning any firearms growing up.
Later, however, I became aware of their unassuming presence. The first time I recall seeing a gun in one of my parents hands, was when I was a teenager. It wasn't anything special, just one of those CO powered BB pistols. I can’t recall when exactly it was, but it was the scenario that stuck in my mind most prominently. Dad worked second shift and didn’t get home from work until around 11:30 at night, so dinners were almost always just us girls and M.O.M. One evening she was preparing our supper and she decided to cook out on the grill. We had a nice deck off of the back of the kitchen where the barbeque grill sat near the sliding glass door.
I remember M.O.M. going outside to start the grill, and then slamming the lid back down with a startled thud then running back into the house rather hastily. I asked what was wrong and was met with a breathless “Just get out of the way!” I can see it clearly still. She ran to their bedroom and I could hear her rummaging around and then she ran back through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door. Then I saw the gun. I had no conceivable idea what could possibly be going on, but I knew it had to be something bad.
M.O.M. flipped the lid of the grill open like a mad woman and then immediately jumped back away from the grill as if it might explode. Then she took aim and fired twice into the grill.
I remember standing there in front of the sliding door, watching her dumbfounded. Were we out of matches? Was she trying to create more airflow? Had the grill somehow insulted her? I mean, why!?
She looked absolutely horrified and she cautiously took a step toward the open grill, jumped back and fired another shot. About this time, the neighbor, having heard the noise cautiously approached the deck and softly said her name to get her attention. She turned to look at him, keeping one eye on the grill. Nick looked at her and grinned asking “Shouldn’t you make sure it’s dead before you put it on the grill?”
The sheepishly admitted that when she opened the grill to light it, a rat began frantically looking for an escape route. She slammed the lid down and ran into the house looking for any weapon to kill the filthy creature. The only one that might do the job and keep her at a distance that wouldn’t allow the vermin to leap onto her in its panic, was the air pistol.
I don’t imagine this was a use they had considered when the pistol was obtained. I think we ate McDonald’s for supper that night.
This Town Ain’t Big Enough…
M.O.M. and rodents don’t mix. Just ask the rat in the grill, and I must admit that I can relate to that sense of unreasonable panic that sets in when we see one of those critters running loose. I think they’re adorable when they’re a pet, but I don’t want to see one running across my kitchen, or find their poop in my silverware drawer, or find a gnawed hole in a box of Cheerios. That just makes me cringe and shudder all over.
During the time that M.O.M. and dad lived with my grandparents, they had a beautiful house built in the woods. Of course, M.O.M. had it landscaped with loving care and the result was a home with a front lawn worthy of a park. The house has a lovely porch where we can sit on the wicker rockers and enjoy the birds, the squirrels, and occasional deer that stroll through.
One afternoon, M.O.M. was sitting outside enjoying the beauty of her garden when she spotted a mouse about 20 feet away in the landscaping. I'm not one hundred percent sure why she had that air pistol out there with her on the porch, or even what was going on in her head when she lifted the pistol, aimed and fired. I imagine that in her mind it went something like this:
- *Cue theme music from "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly".
- Scene: M.O.M. sits on the porch in the heat of the day, a tall glass of iced tea perched on the weathered wicker table beside her.
- A pistol rests on the table near the glass of tea.
- A tumbleweed bounces past and suddenly and the camera focuses on the dirt swirling behind the departed tumbleweed.
- The dust clears showing an empty street, then the camera zooms closer, a speck appears on the street. Camera zooms closer still and steadies on a mousey man about 3 inches high.
Camera zips back to focus on M.O.M. sitting on the porch, her booted feet up on the rail, a toothpick dangling loosely from her lips, and a white cowboy hat pulled low over her eyes. She could be asleep.
M.O.M. (slowly pushes her hat back with the tip of her finger but not enough to see her eyes): What you think yer doin' around these parts Bubonic Bill? You know yer kind ain't welcome here.
Bubonic Bill (unintelligibley squeaking)- M.O.M. (laughing sarcastically): You think you got the stuff? I don't think so, rrrrodent!
Split screen, M.O.M. is seen on the right, Bubonic Bill is seen on the left with a thick black moustache and dressed in a tiny black cowboy outfit complete with holster and guns. M.O.M. slowly takes her feet off the rail, one foot at a time, and stands up.- She pushes the hat back further on her head and now we see her eyes.
- She takes the toothpick out of her mouth and flicks it away indifferently.
- Screen splits to a third view and the camera focuses on the ice tea in the center panel as a bead of sweat begins to slide down the side of the glass.
Bubonic Bill’s little mouse finger twitches hear the holster, and he suddenly goes for the gun. M.O.M. whirls and snatches the pistol from the table. The two side screens go black and we see the bead of sweat as it slips off the tea glass and onto the table.- Single view screen, dust settling in the street, then a close up shot of Bubonic Bill’s booted feet lying in dust.
- Camera swings back to M.O.M. blowing into the barrel of her pistol.
Dad went to fetch the body, which was a task amongst the mulch and leaves in the landscaping. When he finally did discover it, he exclaimed “Oh my god! You hit it right between the eyes! How the hell did you do that!?”
And For My Final Act…
Rodents were not the only critters to meet with the business end of M.O.M.’s itchy trigger finger. Grandma got a firsthand taste of M.O.M.’s skill.
It was one of those family road trips that where you would expect to find Clark Griswold behind the wheel. If it could go wrong, it did. I was 17 and we piled into the family “truckster”, hauling a 29 foot travel trailer behind us. We were followed by grandma and grandpa in their Winnebago. Due to the circus of follies that seemed to follows us along our path that year, things were kind of tense.
We had barely reached our halfway point, but happily had done so without killing each other. We’d pulled into what I recall as one of those really large truck stop type parking lots. For reasons I can no longer recall, my dad and grandpa walked up to the building and the rest of us were left sitting in the vehicles waiting. Grandpa had pulled their camper into a spot up two and over one row to the left from where we were parked. It was no surprise to see grandma’s arm hanging out of the open passenger window with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.
M.O.M. had long been annoyed with grandma’s smoking habit and had been trying to convince her to quit for years. For some reason, we had one of those battery powered super soaker water guns with us. M.O.M. asked “Does the super soaker have water in it?”
I replied “It does.” So M.O.M. held her hand out motioning for me to give her the gun. The sheer dynamics of this are absolutely amazing. From the driver’s seat, she held the gun out of the window of with one hand and squeezed the trigger. There was a quick succession of electronic pumping sounds and then silence. I watched from the seat behind M.O.M. as grandma raised her arm back in the window and attempted to take a puff of her now no-longer-lit cigarette, and then tossed the wet butt out the window.
She had no idea what had happened. One minute she had a lit cigarette, the next minute it was wet and out. She later said “I thought a bird pissed on it.”
Nope, M.O.M. strikes again! She didn’t shoot water on grandma’s hand. She didn’t shoot the cigarette out of her hand. No, she shot the fire off of the cigarette!!
Hey, don’t piss off M.O.M. Capiche?
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