Dawn was different this morning. The big blow stripped most of the remaining leaves from the trees around our house, treating us to sunup earlier than we've seen it in months.
We'll have our shade back again by next May.
A low-grade tornado did touch down four miles west of here yesterday afternoon, taking out a barn, and straight-line wind ripped the roof from a elementary school's gym 11 miles east. We were unscathed, save a neighbor's sweetgum limb that came down in our driveway. I'm reminded of similar good fortune two years ago.
The older spawn had a bit part in yesterday's events. His car is out of commission (again), so mid-morning I shuttled him to an appointment in Lancaster. To while away a half-hour of down-time, I skipped up the street to a small gun shop I'd been curious about.
The place was dingy, dusty, disorganized and crowded with all manner of stuff. Three old guys were working the counter, chatting with a handful of customers. Hundreds of long guns, most of them used, perched on racks lining the walls. A few six-foot showcases held knives and handguns of various ages and types.
Boxes of ammo were everywhere, placed with no apparent thought or logic. On a table in the middle of the shop, a grimy percolator burbled next to a stack of styrofoam cups.
What a find.
I didn't need anything, really, but the old-school atmosphere made me want to buy something, if only to mark my discovery. In a jumbled bin toward the back of the store I found a new Mag-Lite, a red 3-D model that looked like it had been there since the Reagan administration -- perfect. I grabbed a few boxes of 5.56x45mm (because a guy can't have too much) and stepped to the cash register.
"How much you want for this?" I asked the white-haired fellow behind the counter, holding up the flashlight.He looked it over. "How 'bout $19.95?"
"Hmm," I said, feigning disappointment. "I was thinkin' closer to $15.95."
He scowled. "Fifteen bucks and not a penny less."
We grinned at each other and finished the transaction.
"We're just a simple old gun shop," he said as he bagged my purchase. "Hell, we didn't even have to lock up the guns until a few months ago. Some kid started stealin' 'em."
I dropped off the 18-year-old at home an hour later, advising him to park his butt in the basement 'til after the storm passed. A friend joined him at the house as I left to pick up his brother at school.
The storm was nearing its crescendo when my cell-phone rang -- the spawn, calling to report that he and his friend, unable to contain their teenage curiosity, left the basement to watch the storm from the front porch. The wind pulled the door shut behind them, locking them out of the house during a tornado warning.
Dumbasses.
Mrs. KintlaLake and I, celebrating the fifth anniversary of the day we met, ended the stormy day with dinner at an all-you-can-eat buffet. We left the boys at home to carve their jack-o-lanterns.
Besides having a great time, we got our money's worth -- pictured at right is my second of three plates.The best dish of all, however, was waiting for us when we got home: toasted pumpkin seeds, fresh from the oven.
Life is good. Our spirit thrives.
