Living with a Gun writer
Patience required …
The photography studio where my “gun writer” likes to pretend he’s working. It’s also
occupied by that miserable packrat, Dodger, who keeps dragging stuff into my home.
Anybody want a ‘rat? (We think Cindy means Dodger — not the husband.
But we could be wrong. Editor)
I live with a gun writer. Worse yet, I live with a gun writer who’s an engineer. It’s painful. Most people live in a house. I live in a lab with half a dozen experiments going on and at least half of them involve guns. At the moment, one my spouse’s “experiments” is occupying a table in the kitchen. I’m afraid to ask what it is. All I know is it probably eats money faster than I can make it and it will be months before it will leave the kitchen.
Most houses have a “man-cave” somewhere — either a Garage-Ma-Hal or a den in the basement — someplace hubby can hang out with his buddies; drink beer; watch football and display tacky trophies not allowed elsewhere in the house. We don’t have a Garage-Ma-Hall. We don’t even have a garage. My Ford Tremor shivers outside in the cold coated with ice and snow; while enough tools to start a hardware store occupy what could be a garage. We don’t have a cozy den in the basement either. We have a photography studio which is a jungle of guns, camera equipment and assorted props including that silly rat, Dodger, who likes to photo-bomb. My spouse doesn’t drink beer or watch TV or collect tacky trophies. There’s something genetically wrong with him.
Living with a gun writer is like living with a small child or a puppy or both. They’re needy, high maintenance and leave a trail of stuff wherever they go. About the time I think I have five minutes to relax in my recliner with a beverage or play my piano — I’m being summoned. It will sound something like this: “Hey, can you come look at this photo I just took?” or “Please proofread this before I send it off…” or “What do you think of this grip?” or “Can you come downstairs and take a look at my photo set up?” Or my favorite — “Can you come out to the garage and take a photo while I drill this hole?” Seriously — it’s cold out here with only Birkis on my feet!)
Trips
Traveling with a gun writer is equal to traveling with a child. You can’t imagine how much stuff is necessary for a weekend trip to our farm. Sometime on Thursday, he begins gathering up everything he plans to take with us and covers half the living room floor and any flat surface near the front door, including my recliner, with guns, camera equipment, tools, computer, props, targets, ammo etc. It looks like we’re preparing for a military invasion. In contrast, I get home at 5:15 on Friday; change into comfy clothes; pack a small suitcase; add the suitcase, my hiking boots and jacket to a pile and pack the cooler. By 7:00, I’m ready to go with my little pile of stuff. Meanwhile he’s putting together the puzzle of how to get all that stuff into our vehicle and hopefully leave enough room for food. Some of us like to eat. Then, late Sunday night, the process gets reversed and the living room is once again buried. I get to sit in my recliner on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights –—that is, when I’m not being summoned.
The summoning doesn’t stop at the farm either. Do you think I can sit in a comfy chair on the patio enjoying the peaceful outdoors? Nooo. First of all, it tends to sound like we’re at war most of the time; especially when his shooting is going badly which just results in more shooting (and bad language). And then the inevitable summons comes: “Hey, can you come shoot this and tell me what you think?” Someday I’m really going to tell him what I think!
And then there’s gun writer math. Every time he gets a new gun or tool, it’s supposedly for a gun article and that it will “pay for itself.” It seems the outflow may be exceeding the inflow. I think I had better start paying attention. There might be a problem here. And, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d really like some of those tools in the garage put to use finishing my kitchen which has been under construction for almost two years. It seems there’s always another “gun article” that needs to be finished. I’m trying to be patient, but…
