I sent Dane an email with a long recounting of all the many things I'd been doing all week. Then I wrote the following about the end of my sister's visit yesterday...Dane said it made him laugh out loud so I thought I'd share it with you...
Meanwhile, at one point, Dad called everyone around his bedside. Important for all of us to be there. I wondered what was up, perhaps wanted to bless us each, or thank us, or talk to us about remaining faithful Christians or whatever. Did not expect him to say, "I need to tell you where all the guns are." I had no idea how many guns are in the house. I mean, not like the "patriots" but still, pellet gun, bb gun, couple of shot guns/rifles (both dad's first gun and grandpa's first gun), double barreled shot gun, couple of handguns.
(Just for some context, as kids I remember I think two long guns in a corner that we were told were "dad's guns" and not to touch them, and we just didn't. I don't think they were ever moved or used. We basically had no curiosity about them at all...later I remember Dad saying he'd been given a gun one Christmas as a boy but he only ever told us about flushing rabbits to sell, that he did maybe once with his uncles. He never hunted in my lifetime that I know of. The rabbits they'd flush out of the field and shoot, gut, and put on a refrigerated train car in gunny sacks with their name and address attached. They went by train to St. Louis where someone they assumed sold the meat and pelts. They would send back payment of 50 cents/rabbit by mail. This would have been in the late 40s/early 50s I assume.)
Jill