How To Be Hospitable

Four weeks ago, TCC formed a group to look at the hospitality of guests (sometimes read visitors) at the church. My former pastor is leading the group, and he wanted me there to provide some perspective not only as a new member, but also as a person who sees things from a different perspective. I was excited and apprehensive to pursue this opportunity. Excited as this blog could finally be put to some use, but also apprehensive because my first visit to TCC left a lot to be desired, at least for me.

After the first week it was the group that left a lot to be desired. Chuck started in by focusing on what the church does well. I suppose there is room for that, and maybe that's the best way to start this kind of introspection, but I'm always apprehensive when a study starts out by stroking someone's or something's ego. I nearly left it after the first session.

Indeed, I had resolve to simply hand my notes over prior to the second session, but Chuck called the group off the second week due to his being sick. That gave me another week to consider whether or not I would stay on this group. On further consideration, I deemed it better to stay in and take my lumps.

Last week I dealt the lumps. We did a little review and talked about first impressions. After two thirds of an hour, Chuck asked me to read my notes from my visit to TCC. Not wanting to spread too much disharmony and discord, I offered to just hit the highlights, but someone asked me to read them verbatim. I did so. (The notes in question were the blog entry for July 11, 2010.) I read it with as little emotion as I could so as not to present the wrong impression.

After I was done, there was total silence in the room for a few moments. To say it was a pregnant pause wouldn't do it justice. A couple of people kinda held their breaths. I wasn't at all sure what the next step would be. Bonnie was assimilating the info. Bea, I think, was assimilating the info but relieved that I hadn't noticed her perceived peccadillo. Maria wasn't sure what to say, but I couldn't really read her. Gayle was, of the people there, the most shocked at what I had to say. For the rest of the meeting she didn't say much, and it's quite possible she didn't say anything at all.

Eventually, after a few heartbeats, Chuck picked things up and asked me why I came back. I answered truthfully and with one word: Yizong. Chuck was gracious to concentrate on that preexisting relationship, but I suspect that the feeling in the room was that, had Yizong not been there, I surely would not. That would be a correct assumption, and not necessarily one that won't come to pass.

After the meeting, Bonnie wanted to know why I wasn't comfortable with TCC. Over the next hour, I recounted the tale of RCC, Chuck's involvement, my history and involvement, and the circumstances that lead to my departure. I explained the search that I had embarked on, some of the history and background of the project leading up to my decision to land, at least temporarily, at TCC. I was frank to the point of brutal in my reasoning for joining the church, and Bonnie quite correctly pointed out that, if indeed my intention was to find a singles group and a mate, then TCC might not be the place for me.

Too true, but we'll see. There is another meeting of this hospitality group tonight. I'll be there, but not nearly as prepared as I'd like. This morning I didn't make it to church, so I didn't really have the chance to observe everything I wanted. I'll try to observe as much as I can and recount the rest to be complete for tonight's discussion.

Should I consider taking the project forward and exploring new churches? I'm beginning to think that I should. Yizong's photography class is dying fast and hard, and I don't really see any ministry that could minister to me. Bonnie sees me as a challenge, both in hospitality as well as ability. I think she identifies me as someone who needs a special kind of care and feeding. Whether she has come to that realization or not, that assessment is quite correct. I'm not the average bear when it comes to interaction and background, and several churches have learned that the hard way.

Where will I end up???

Ash Wednesday - First Day Of Lent 2011

Having been raised Southern Baptist, such traditions as Fat Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, and Lent were not observed. Several years ago I joined a Disciples of Christ church, and I found that the DOC denomination does observe the Liturgical Calendar. I don't see any problem with observing such things as long as the primary focus is where it should be--on Christ.

Lent lasts about forty days. As I understand it, the 40 day length is in commemoration of Christ's preparation for his ministry--the temptation in the desert. As such, the tradition is that those who observe it are to give up something in a similar manner as Christ. Some give up shopping, or drinking, or smoking, or wearing certain clothes. One year a girl I knew gave up meat. This year I am endeavoring to give up solid food.

Giving up solid food for 46 days (Lent lasts 46 days this year) is no mean feat. I've never given up solid food for that length of time. I have given it up for about three weeks. That was after I had my gastric bypass surgery. Indeed, it is because of my surgery that I'm giving up solid food. I've gained some weight back because I started eating badly again and stopped exercising. So my decision isn't completely altruistic or religious. It is partially that, but in large part pragmatic. I simply have got to start losing the weight again. I just wish I could lose the appetite and the desire for food. As often happens, I make a resolution, and something immediately comes to test it. That happened this afternoon at work. One of our groups had lunch leftovers: lasagna and bread from a restaurant I love. As hard as it was, I abstained. But I thought of it all the way to church.

This was the first time I've made it to church on a Wednesday night in several years, maybe even as much as twenty years. It was my first Ash Wednesday service ever. TCC wasn't offering a service per se. The sanctuary was open for prayer and meditation. The youth, on the other hand, had their own Ash Wednesday service. Yizong burned up some grass and mixed it with oil for the forehead marking. There was a lot of modern praise and worship music. Shelby, our resident high school senior, gave some testimony about her past. The rest of the group took it respectfully and well, and I am glad. I thought it would not be well received. I declined to be marked when that part of the service was performed. (I believe it to go against the principle set forth in Matthew 6:16-17.)

After the service there was some general fellowship for the youth. I say fellowship, but in the context of this youth group, it means hanging out. There were some announcements and plans that were attempted to be made, but the kids at this point, weren't listening and didn't care about anything other than hanging out. Several people got pretty frustrated at that behavior. Loryn, one of the youth, had an activity planned, but it was abortive getting it started, and nobody really listened to her once it was started. Poor Yizong got frustrated enough to yell at them a little. There was a little shock, but I think it was good for them.

For once in several months, I was home before ten at night. Day 1 of 46 down, 45 more to go.

Photography Class 1a

Sunday saw Yizong and I teach our next photography class. Or rather, reteach the first class. With so many people not there we felt it would be better to go over all the previous material if we had more people. This time we definitely had more people.

The class went much as the first one did, especially with Yizong trying to be professor. He didn't engage in it as much this time around, which was good, but he still has the professorial leanings. I did more talking this time around, and I also put in some of my own pictures to help explain things. We covered all the topics previously, then I covered leading lines and some additional perspective items.

What struck me this time around was the immaturity and undisciplinedness of the kids. We had everything in there from a 12 year old to a high school senior. It was a tossup who was more undisciplined, the 12yo or the senior. Shelby, the senior, was seemed more interested in twitting Yizong for his heavily-accented English than paying attention to what was being talked about. She stopped once I started talking. Two others, Selena and Travis, were far more interested in texting or doing something else on their cell phones. I'm sure Selena didn't care one whit about anything that was being said. It was a constant battle to keep everyone's attention, and after a time, it was a drag. There was constant talking, twittering, noise, and side discussions all over the place. How do we overcome that? Do we overcome that? One thing is for sure, these kids definitely aren't Ridglea kids.

Death Comes Unexpectedly!

Every once in awhile, I hear something that bears repeating. What follows came from the movie Pollyanna. I don't know if this is a real sermon or not. All I can say is, if it's not, it ought to be. If you want to see it delivered by the immortal Karl Malden, then click here for the video. I absolutely love this sermon! Here it is, written out:

"Death comes unexpectedly! And the God, Jehovah, will execute his vengeance on ye who despise his undying love and trample his benefits underfoot. The unconverted soul, the foolish children of man do miserably delude themselves in the false confidence of their own strength and wisdom. They trust to nothing but a shadow. But bear testament. Death comes unexpectedly!

"Now, you say, ah, no, I had not intended it to come now. I had laid out matters otherwise. I thought my scheme good. I intended to take effectual care, but death came unexpectedly like a thief, outwitting me, too quick for me. Oh, cursed foolishness that I had flattered and pleased myself with vain dreams of repentance. But sudden destruction caught me up.

"And now He will deal with you. Now the great King of Heaven and Earth will abolish and annihilate this pride! Will crush the hardened wretch of the polluted infinite abomination, and rain on him a deluge of fire and brimstone! And where is their strength, then? Where are the great leviathans who defied God then? Where is their courage, these proud spirits? Yes... Death comes unexpectedly.

"And the Dread Judge has the key of Hell. He shuts... and no man opens. In Hell you will be reserved in chains of darkness forever and ever. This place of atonement, of damned souls and misery, with nothing to relieve you, no comfort, no water for your parched tongues, no place to rest or take a breath, but the everlasting, infinite convulsions of misery, forever! And ever and ever!

"Now Isaiah has warned us, on the day of vengeance, the earth shall be laid to waste. And the cormorant and the bittern shall possess the land. The raven and the screech owl shall dwell in it. And who is man to think he can withstand God's mighty wrath? Great mountains cannot stand before this wrath. Yea, he can lay the earth to pieces in one moment or shatter the whole universe with one stroke of his fiery sword! How dreadful is the state of those who are in daily danger of this great wrath, this abyss of death and despair.

"Yet, this is the dismal case of every soul in this congregation who has not been born again, however moral or strict, sober and religious you may otherwise be. There is no security for the wicked because there are no visible signs of death at hand! Unconverted men walk over the pit of hell on a rotten covering. And there are innumerable places on this covering so weak they will not bear their weight. And these places cannot be seen. The arrows of death fly unseen as noonday. God has many different unsearchable ways of taking the wicked from this world.

"Who here in this congregation listening to this discourse will soon be visited by this covenant of darkness? There you are, siting there, calm in your knowledge of health, secure in your well-being. Yet who could suffer the agonies of the damned tomorrow? Yes, even today or maybe the next hour, the next minute. And if we were to know which of you it was, what an awful sight it would be. A soul doomed to the everlasting bottomless pit of a divine wrath! Yes, death comes unexpectedly! Amen."

- Reverend Ford, Pollyanna, 1960

Enduring Heartbreak

Today was one of the most heartbreaking days I think I've spent in quite some time. It was instructive, had new experiences, and turned out one of the worst results a person could possibly look forward to.

Herman and Jennifer went to court today to try to wrest custody of Herman's children from his first marriage from his wife. I went as their friend and supporter. I've been working with them all week, preparing their house for their kids. It's been a long week, and the anticipation was quite high. H and J's lawyer all but assured them victory in court, so I'm told. So confident are they of getting their children that they remodeled five out of six rooms of the upstairs of their house. It started last weekend with three days of solid work, and continued with work every night throughout the week to get their house ready. I went up last weekend and stayed with them a couple of days to help move furniture, paint and clean. Later in the week I spent two more nights up with them getting the last of the work done. Thursday night we finished. We were tired, but happy, and looking forward to Friday.

We woke up early on Friday and dressed in our good clothes for court. We picked up some pictures that H and J planned on using for court and proceeded to their lawyer's office. This was the first time I'd every been to a law office. Having seen lots of movies and TV shows, I was thinking the offices would be posh, maybe even luxurious. But, as is usually the case, reality is often much less glamorous. The offices were in a sort of strip mall, and the offices themselves were functional, yet very spartan. We were shown into an assistant's office where we had a pre-hearing discussion. We were shortly called over to the courthouse for the hearing.

We crossed the street to the courthouse, and I was turned away at the metal detectors. Apparently multi-tools and pocket knives are evil and disallowed in court. I love the way society feels that one weapon is any worse than another. It makes me feel like I live in the UK. But, to be expedient, I recrossed the street, handed over my tools to the assistant, and reentered the courthouse. Security was no problem this time, and I made my way to the elevator.

To say the next hour was bizarre doesn't do it justice. When I went up the elevator, I was sharing it with Herman's ex-wife, the respondent in today's case. That felt ultra-weird. After we emerged, they went one way and I went the other. (I wonder if they recognized me. I'm almost sure they did.) Down the hall were Herman, Jen, and their lawyer. The lawyer behaved very much like what I expected. Not quite what I saw on TV, but fairly close. After some last minute discussion and prep work, we entered the courtroom.

The courtroom itself was modern. There were three or four rows of what amounted to church pews without the holders for hymnals. The room was nicely decorated. The judge sat in the right-hand corner of the room as you face the courtroom. Each table had a microphone. The court reporter sat to the judge's right. The witness box was on the left of the judge and had a microphone also. To the left of the witness box was the bailiff. There were computer monitors in front of the judge, the court reporter, and the bailiff. The bailiff was wearing a brown shirt, dark pants, and was carrying what appeared to be a 1911 on his right side. The judge was woman, and was wearing the traditional black robe, exactly as expected.

What I didn't expect was the apparent looseness of the docket schedule. I didn't hear our case called. That's because it was called as soon as the previous case had finished. We were scheduled at 11am, but we were good to go as soon as the lawyers had set up. Our side set up and was ready first. The judge asked if the respondent had been notified as they were not there. They had, they were just running half a minute late. Our lawyer conferred with the ex-wife's lawyer for a time, then we were off and running.

Over the next half hour, I saw what had been acted out on TV hundreds of times. Lawyers called witnesses. Questions were asked. Testimony was given. The only thing I didn't expect was how witnesses would be sworn in. All witnesses were asked by the judge to rise and raise their right hands, and then she swore them all in at the same time. After the swearing, each was instructed to come forward and give their names to the court reporter. That done, the judge instructed all witnesses to leave the courtroom and wait until called. I was not a witness, so I could observe the entire proceeding. First Herman was called. Then Jennifer. Then we rested. Then the ex-wife was called. Finally, her lawyer testified as to what his expenses were. I don't feel it my duty or privilege to rehash everything that was said. The upshots were: the custody agreement was not changed, the ex-wife was instructed not to smoke around her kids, the place to exchange the kids was changed to a "more neutral" location, and Herman and Jen were instructed to pay the ex-wife's lawyer's expenses. Jennifer was fighting back tears in the courtroom. Herman was thunderstruck--a look of total, uncomprehending shock on his face.

Our lawyer was certainly not expecting the outcome. Once we were clear of the court, he said as much. He offered what advice he could under the circumstances, but whether any of it was heard or understood is something I'm not sure of. We just sat in the car in the law office parking lot for a time after the lawyer bade is farewell. Jennifer was sobbing. Herman was upset and trying to think of anything he could do to reverse the course of events. I sat in the back seat, teary-eyed, but trying to be strong. Finally, after having made a few phone calls, we proceeded on our way, shaken and uncertain of what to do.

After some consultations, all I could do was take them to lunch then return to base. Nobody had eaten anything at all up to this point in the day, and it was nearly half past two in the afternoon when we finally took a moment to eat. H and J were absolutely beside themselves with worry and rage, grasping at any stray or crazy idea that presented itself. H's mother and her husband came, but all that happened was more pot-stirring. We left the restaurant emotionally drained and exhausted and drove quietly back to H and J's house in Roanoke. They promptly passed out for a few blessed minutes before they were to pick up their kids, and I did some reflecting.

What am I getting myself into, I wondered. Finding my significant other, my wife, has been a priority for some time now. I want it to be the right person: the one I'll spend the rest of my life with. This experience upped the pressure on me to get it right. I don't ever want to have to go through this. To lose my kids and have to fight for them. To see my kids stripped away from me by some stranger in a black robe. To be told I can only do certain things certain way and only on certain days by an impersonal, cold legal system. What am I getting myself into?

A Dish Fit For Judith Jones

Ok, last post from last weekend. This one covers cooking dinner. I had been planning on trying Boeuf Bourguignon for some time. I confess, it was because I wanted to see if I could cook it like it was cooked in the movie Julie & Julia. It was a true experience! One that I will savor for a long time!

Truth be told, the length of time it took to properly prepare this dish is one of the things that I found exhilarating, instructive, and inconvenient all at the same time. This dish doesn't start with cooking. It starts by finding all the appropriate ingredients. I'm happy to say that I was able to find everything I needed for this dish from Walmart. From the chuck roast to the beef stock to the shallots and pearl onions, Walmart had it all. I hope that's a portent of things to come as I continue to explore Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

One thing I hope does improve is the cost. The total cost of cooking boeuf bourguignon is nearly prohibitive. I think I spent nearly $50 in ingredients. I ended up buying two chuck roasts to get the 3 lbs. of beef I needed. Then there was the wine, the vegetables, the spices, the broth, and one or two non-food items. Now, to be fair, some of that stuff I'll be able to use over and over like bay leaves and thyme, but at $2.50 a bottle for spices it was still expensive. I'm not even counting my lovely, new french oven, which was over $70 by itself, but it was completely worth it!

And so was cooking this dish. All the time, the money, the experience... Let me talk about the time a little bit more. Once I had all the ingredients in hand, it was about a five hour process. The first thing I had to do was clean the roast. Initially I had a three and a half pound chuck roast, but it had a bunch of junk that had to be cut off. My first chuck roast ended up being two and a half pounds. Bummer. I had to buy a new one to get the last bit of meat I needed, and of course I only needed about half a pound. Cleaning the roasts took a little time. All the white connective tissue and fat had to be removed. It would have ruined the stew otherwise. That took about half an hour to 45 minutes. I cleaned one before I went to church and subsequently to Roanoke.

Herein was the stumbling block to our glorious concoction. At this point in the timeline, I needed about four and three quarters more hours to finish. I should have opted to cook immediately instead of taking time to go shooting. As it was we took an hour and a half to indoctrinate H3 into the gun culture (which we did marvelously), so we didn't get cooking until 4:30 in the afternoon. Dinner occurred at 8:45 that night.

The next nearly five hours were glorious. I had at my disposal some of the best cookware made, superb ingredients, and some good assisting. I was moving around the kitchen, slicing vegetables, sauteing meat and vegetables, cutting, braising, slicing, in short cooking. Real cooking. A real dish. Jen, Misty, and eventually Herman peeled my pearl onions. That would have taken forever to do, so I'm glad they could do that. I made the lardons and sauteed the beef while they did that. Once the beef was done I sliced up the vegetables. It's amazing how just slanting a carrot by 45 degrees can make it look ten times better than just plain old boring roundels. I sauteed all that then roasted the beef in the oven a little. Having done that, I put in the wine and the beef stock.

Oh! What a smell there was in the kitchen when I put that wine in. The recipe calls for three cups. I put in a whole bottle, which is slightly over three cups. I must say, at this point, I was kinda questioning Julia. I've had wine before, and the thought of having a whole bottle in this dish was staggering. I think it was the smell that really made me question it. To say that it smelled winey doesn't do it justice. I could just imagine taking a bite and tasting nothing but wine--not my idea of a good dish. But, this is a place where a little faith in Julia is called for, so I pressed forward.

I might mention that it was at this point in the recipe that I made a little mistake. I put the wine and beef stock in the french oven, and put the whole thing in the oven. Trick is, I didn't put the vegetables in. I should have. The reason I didn't is because I failed to realize that Julia didn't specify using a skillet in this recipe. Everything was to be cooked in the french oven. I wasn't doing that, and I missed that step. As a result, our vegetables were al dente and not cooked all that well.

The rest of it was well cooked. Once the meat was simmering away in the oven (for two and a half hours) I did the supporting recipes. Boeuf Bourguignon calls for two supporting recipes in Mastering: sauteed mushrooms and pearl onions brown braised in beef stock. The mushrooms were easy enough. A little olive oil and butter, and they sauteed up in about ten minutes. I served a few to my waiting eaters to curb appetites. They were well received except by poor Jen (she doesn't like mushrooms). I set those aside and did the pearl onions next. All I can say about those is, oh, dear God! I sauteed them for ten minutes, then simmered them for forty minutes in beef stock. When they were done, they literally melted in your mouth! I couldn't wait for it all to come together.

But, waiting was all we could do at this point. I had all the vegetables done and ready to go, but the beef was still cooking in the oven. It was about another hour and a half before everything came together. Misty had to leave and put her baby to bed. Really wish she could have stayed, but we all knew Jacob had to go to sleep. We had hoped that Herman's kids could have stayed for dinner, but we kept having delays, and H's ex wouldn't hear of waiting for her kids. H and J ended up pulling out some pizza rolls and green beans to feed the kids quickly. They left about fifteen minutes before our stew was done.

Down to the three of us now, I pulled the stew out of the oven and simmered the sauce down a little. We were all anticipating the stew--it smelled like a little piece of heaven! When it came out and I was simmering it, I didn't detect any but a faint hint of wine. And once all the vegetables were put in, there was absolutely no problem whatsoever. We couldn't wait to eat!

And eat we did! Everything about that dish was wonderful! The meat was falling-apart tender. The pearl onions were delectable. The broth was a wonderful beefy-hint-of-winey flavor, and even though the vegetables weren't all the way done, they were still good. Jen liked it so much she was even eating the mushrooms, even though she can't usually stand them! At this point I should know never to doubt Julia. She was right about the biscuits I did, and she was right about this dish. Julia Child spent over eight years writing this book, and it's a tribute to her that dunderheads like me can make a dish as awesome as this! Thanks, Julia!

A Different Kind Of Class

Do you ever get that deer in the headlights feeling? I did. Two weekends ago I showed Herman the starter rifle I had for his son, little Herman (who I will refer to as H3). Herman was excited, and so was Jen. They both want H3, and eventually all their kids, to know about guns, how to shoot them, and how to handle them safely. I'm all for that! The deer in the headlights feeling came when Herman called me up and said, "Hey! When are we going shooting this weekend?"

To be sure, I don't remember telling him that I would go shooting with him the next weekend when I showed him that rifle. I had intended to find a time when he had the kids so that we could have a leisurely day of shooting. As it was I had church commitments, the jewelry party, meeting with Lynn, the photography class, and my first serious cooking attempt all planned out. But I like to shoot, so I worked it in.

Right after the photography class I grabbed all my stuff and hightailed it for Roanoke. On the way he called and started vacillating on shooting. He wasn't sure it was worth the time or the shortness of the day due to our planned cooking (I said I'd do my cooking up there for them). We went back and forth on it for awhile, but eventually decided to proceed with the shoot as planned. When I got to their house, I offloaded all the groceries and cookware, picked up Herman and H3, and zoomed up to the range.

Herman and Jen are lucky! They've got a nice range not more than ten minutes from their house. It is called Quail Creek Shooting Range. It's a nice outdoor facility that is run by, as far as I've seen so far, nice and competent guys. We checked in and paid, and we took two rifles out to the benches and set up H3 to shoot his first real gun!

When we got out to the benches, I let Herman do all the teaching. H3 is Herman's son, and Herman is ex-Marine, so I deemed it fitting that father teach son, not father's friend. It's tradition, and what am I going to teach an ex-Marine rifleman's son about shooting? Herman knew what to teach and how to teach it. I just pulled out my lever action .22 and plinked away.

The gun I brought for H3 is a little single-shot, bolt action .22, a Crickett rifle. They are small and made for kids. It was just the right size for H3. I fired it once to show Herman and H3 how it worked (and to make sure it worked). After that it was all Herman's show. He walked his son through the basics: never point a gun at anyone, always keep the gun pointed at a safe place, down range at the range, don't play with loaded guns, make sure to follow the range officer's instructions, never shoot unless he, Herman, Jen, or myself are around. After the basic safety, Herman showed him how to hold the gun, how to load it, aim, cock it, and put the bullet on the target. It was art in motion watching father and son having their first shoot.

It's something I kinda wish my dad had done for me. My dad had, at one time, known about shooting and did some recreational shooting. But in 1965 my dad was went to Vietnam to be a forward air observer. After four months in country, in a no-kidding real-shooting war, his days of firearms were over. I can't say as I blame him for not wanting to relive that, but I also feel like I missed out on something we could have shared. More's the pity.

Herman and H3 won't have that regret, and that warms my heart! H3 took to that little rifle like it was his best friend. Before we were done, he was asking Herman, "Daddy, can I have my own gun?" The answer to that will be, "Later son, when you're a little older." H3 is only seven years old right now, but I think he will be perfectly fine with guns. I didn't see him do anything wrong or unsafe. He is a well-behaved and well-disciplined youngster who looks out for himself and his siblings. If he continues in that behavior I would have no problem getting him his own gun.

I was a little afraid I might not get that rifle back! H3 became quite adept at using it. After Herman loaded and cocked it the first time, H3 would grasp it, pull it into his shoulder, squint down the barrel, and squeeze that trigger. His first shot, naturally, was nowhere on the paper. That's ok! It will come with time. It didn't take long before H3 was pulling that bolt open, putting the next round in, and closing that bolt all by himself, and quite well, too. The only thing he had trouble with was cocking the rifle. The Crickett is manually cocked by pulling back on the cocking piece, and it takes some effort to do it. H3 was able to do it about half the time. The other half Herman would pull it back for him. Eventually he was able to put together a respectable group at seven yards (hey! we started out slow!).

The target I was shooting at had nice, ragged holes at the center of my targets, plus one hole dead center for my last round. (I was shooting kneeling with the rifle on the bench). Not quite a hard feet to accomplish, but I had lots of fun. We took the targets down. H3's will get framed at some point. When we got back to the house we, of course, showed Jen my target with the nice, tight groups, and told her it was H3's. Then we showed her H3's and told her it was mine. She didn't buy it--she always knows when Herman and I are full of it. Not that it matters anyway. She was just as happy as we were.

All in all it was mission accomplished on several fronts. We had fun. We taught another kid how to shoot. And we strengthened a bond between father and son. Pretty good for an afternoon's work!