And now….a Devoted Spouse story.
A week or so ago Devoted Spouse got that gleam in his eye. When he gets that gleam it can only mean one thing (no not THAT) but something to do with guns and ammo. He had his favorite hat on and keys in hand as he took off in search of “stuff” for a (GASP) new hobby. I sat in my comfy chair and cringed, wondering what he was up to now. What he came home with looks something like this (only larger, trust me):
Rather resembles a fondue pot, doesn’t it? I can assure you it isn’t. It is called a Tumbler and is a device which takes brass casings from used bullets and “tumbles” them in a mixture of crushed walnut shells dyed w/rouge (no I’m not making this up) until the brass is all shiny and new-looking. Then Devoted Spouse can take those shiny brass casings and with the judicious (please Lord) use of gunpowder, turn them into new bullets. No, he’s not cheap – he thinks this is fun. His definition of fun and mine differ slightly. But if he’s happy and busy, then a new toy is harmless, yes? Well, not quite.
He tried out his new toy immediately. That’s what one does with new toys, right? Being the kind husband he is, he did this in the basement. Unfortunately, my comfy chair upstairs in the living room is directly overhead from his “work-space” in the basement. He put…I don’t know…thousands it seemed… of bullet casings into this gargantuan machine, filled it with something called Media (the walnut shells) and flipped the switch.
I thought my comfy chair had fallen into a meat grinder. Who turned on the garbage disposal and what on God’s green earth was being chewed up???!!! The sound gave new definition to the word “deafening”. I decided to be a good, patient wife and just wait it out. It couldn’t possibly take long.
It.Went.On.Forever. Tumble, Tumble, Tumble. Grind, Grind, Grind. I thought we were having an earthquake. Now, the earth has moved many times thanks to Devoted Spouse…but he was always in the room at the time. This was not right. When I realized my chair was actually moving, I got up and quickly went to the basement.
The decibel level increased exponentially as I descended the basement stairs. I felt the distinct trickle of blood as it leaked from my burst eardrums. Sullying the bottoms of my lovely yellow flip-flops as I walked in my own bloody footprints, I stepped up to Devoted Spouse and stood there with my hands on my hips and at the top of my lungs asked….WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? I calmly waited for an answer.
Devoted Spouse turned off the infernal machine and replied, “I’m tumbling my casings.” And, yes, he said that with a delightful, child-like smile on his face.
I turned around…took my bleeding ears up two flights of stairs to my
home office, library, craft room, crap room — to find peace and quiet. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’, I could still hear that monstrous machine two floors away! I shut the door, found my handy-dandy earplugs and returned to my book. The noise lasted for well over an hour — I thought I would go insane. And people wonder why therapists make so much money.
As I sat there reading it occurred to me I had also seen something else in his array of new equipment. My nice melamine mixing bowl from Williams Sonoma! (Gasp again!) Later that evening we had “the talk” as in GET MY GOOD BAKING BOWL AWAY FROM CRUSHED ROUGED WALNUTS….NOWWWWWWW! And, yes, he has been banned from all my kitchen cupboards for the near future.
I think for grins and giggles I’ll go to the gun safe, take out the antique Winchester rifle and use it to stir up a batch of cookie dough. If he can use my mixing bowls for his bullets; I should be able to use his guns in my baking. Makes perfect sense to me.
Life has returned to normal here at Chez Crone and Bear It….but it took some work….sigh