Hydrangeas, Chimes and The Anatomy of a Shooting

by Bella Rum

H is off to the doctor for a physical. His weight is about where it should be, his cholesterol is under control as is his blood pressure. A year or two ago, we had a scare with his lungs, but it turned out to be nothing, or almost nothing; thank goodness. The man is in good health. My breath always catches when I say that. You’ve heard all the tales in which the one who appears robust – without preamble – keels over and leaves behind the one everybody thought had one foot on the banana peel. Life is random. Or maybe not. I always change my mind about that, but I mostly think it’s random… maybe.

Did you hear about that Georgia man who shot himself in the penis while holstering his weapon? The bullet exited through his buttock. So, he essentially shot himself in the penis AND the ass with one bullet. Makes the Warren Commission report seem more believable, huh?

Now that’s a man who loves his weapon enough to chance shooting his gun clean off. H once told me, when he was in boot camp, if a soldier made the mistake of calling his weapon a gun, he had to run around in a circle with his weapon in one hand and his penis in the other while shouting, “This is my weapon. This is my gun. This is for shooting. This is for fun.” Can’t they just bond like girls do? Trade makeup tips and make a date to get their mani-pedis?

We’ve had the most beautiful spring I can remember. Except for a couple of days last week, it has been one golden day after another. I’ve practically lived outside. It’s so hard to come inside. You just want to lap up every minute of it.

I bought some hydrangeas a couple of days ago. H planted them for me. I hope they don’t get too much sun. Hydrangeas like morning sun and afternoon shade. These will get sun until about 2:30. Too much probably, but I will keep them well watered this summer and hope for the best. I love them. I got two mopheads, one deep pink and one pale pink, and one blue lacecap. I have no idea if it’s spelled mop head or mophead or lace cap or lacecap. I did the google and found it spelled both ways. Unless you know for sure, I must live in ambiguity, which I don’t do well.

After his doctor’s visit, H is stopping to buy some chimes. Our chimes have seen better days. There’s nothing prettier than the sound of chimes. Well, baby laughter, rain on a tin roof and train whistles in the distance are pretty darn nice.

That’s all the news that’s fit to tell and some that isn’t. Hope you had a nice weekend.