Rainy Day Adventures

It’s hard to believe someone who was born and raised here in the Pacific Northwet can be affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder, but when you’re nearly through the coldest, wettest June on record and already feeling some frustrations about other, non-weather related things, even the sturdiest of us can get a tad bummed.

Normally in June, we’d have some cloudy days, some sunny days, far fewer rainy days – we’d have flowering plants growing in window boxes and color popping up in our gardens. Traditionally, Father’s Day is a sunny one, and you can take Dad out to any number of air shows or outdoor activities.

This June – our window boxes are empty because it’s been too wet to plant anything, the garden color is starting to mold with all the cold and dampness, and Father’s Day was a raining, chilly mess spent entirely indoors.

I’m not whining.

Actually yes, I’m whining. I feel bad about whining because I’ve lived here all of my life, and I’m used to this. But being used to the occasional shit summer doesn’t make it any more fun to endure.

I’ve been even more frustrated lately because a lot of little annoying things have been happening, building up and adding to the irritation of the weather and serious lack of vitamin D. Nagging little things that happen to us all, but sometimes pile up into one giant piss-storm that you’re left chiseling at with a butter knife.

For the cherry on top, I’m one of those people who will stew about something well past the point of being healthy. If something happens on a Friday, and you can’t do a thing about it until Monday, I’ll stew and fret the entire weekend – while other people would put it out of their minds until Monday morning.

I can’t help it, really. It’s just who I am.

So, feeling frustrated and irritated, irked and chilly, I went out on Saturday and bought myself a new targeting rifle – a PINK one, just because I can – then my Sister and I went to our Mom’s house, where she and our Stepfather joined us in an afternoon of Fathers’ Day shooting.

I shitz you not, my peeps, pink.

Myself, my Sister my Mother and my Stepfather spent a lovely couple of hours blowin’ the ever lovin’ life out of targets, cans and bull’s-eyes. I need to adjust the sights on the new one a tad, although my Sister had no troubles hitting the targets every time, I was a tad off with the new one. Using my Stepfather’s gun, I had better aim, and his has no sight. So a few adjustments are in order.

But damn, Skippy, that felt good.

No, it didn’t bring out the sun. In fact, it’s raining today, with a high predicted to be 61F. And it didn’t magically cause color to appear in the garden, or plants to show up in my flower boxes. It didn’t fix any of the niggling little things that have been bugging me these past few weeks.

But it felt good.

It felt really, really good.

The man helping me with my purchase turned out to be a fellow rock hounder, so my Sister and I spent a long while just talkin’ rocks with him, which was fun only fellow rock people would understand. He had a bag full of local crystals he’d found, and we talked about Carnelian, flint knapping and cuts.

The thing I like about weapons is the same thing I like about other power tools – if you treat them with respect, they do the same. You can count on them to perform, so long as you take care of them, clean them when necessary, use them properly, observe all the safety precautions and wear the proper protection. You know what to expect, and if something breaks down, you know how to fix it.

Much more reliable than people.

So, if it’s too cold to do any rock cutting this weekend, you’ll find me out back, blowing the living daylights outta some clay pigeons!

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