Homeland Security, Pistols, Ammo and Hives

A week after my father’s funeral in Texas it was decided that I would take his truck back with me to Oregon. I flew my oldest daughter into DFW airport so that she could make the long road trip with me.


When we left Texas, my brother had loaded my mother's .38 revolver (the one she never got to shoot before she died) with hollow points for me. I have a concealed handgun license, so no biggie to carry it with me in the truck. Karli and I were on our way. We were looking forward to being on the road alone with no distractions to keep us from reflecting on losing my father and her grandfather so soon after my mother had been killed.

When we were about 600 or 700 miles into the trip I looked into the bottom part of the console, the place my dad had used as a cooler, and it was filled with ammo. Cool. My brother took care of me and we'll be just fine on our trip.

Well not so fast cowgirl. Karli and I were on the road to Las Vegas VIA the Hoover Dam. There was a traffic advisory so we tuned in to the suggested station and learned that all cars were subject to thorough searches due to tightened security at the dam because of terrorist threats.



Then I remembered that I had a loaded handgun and a shit load of ammo, and my CHL was in my other wallet..........in OREGON. Who would have thought that I would have needed it at my Dad's funeral?

Then the realization that I have an Oregon driver's license, I’m driving a truck with Texas plates that belongs to a man I claim is my father that died hit my square between the eyes. By this time Karli is so freaked out that she's getting hives and she's in a complete panic. Beads of sweat were beginning to form around her forehead and make their way down around the curves of her face.



I called my brother to ask him to look up the concealed gun laws in Arizona and Nevada. Well they both have reciprocity with Oregon....if I had my CHL on me.

Joel said to unload the gun and put it in the in the back of the truck. Cool. Well not really. About that time 2 highway patrol cars pulled up behind us. Karli's about ready to crap in her pants now. She's visibly trembling and wanting to know if they'll hold her as an accomplice or let her go. I told her that she's only as good as the company she keeps. In other words, if I go down, she goes down! There was no way we could stop and put the gun in the covered bed. We kept going.



We finally pull up to the check point after what seemed like hours.  I push the gun into its case and push the case a little further down between the seat and the console. The officer saunters up to the truck and tells me that I need to get out of the vehicle. Well, Holy Freaking Shit! We're going to jail.



He asked me to open the bed cover of the truck so he could search it. My hand was shaking so much I could hardly get the key in the lock. He pokes around for a few seconds and then tells me I could go. I walk back to the front of the truck, get in and leave before he could change his mind. I look at Karli; she's crying and scratching hives like crazy. She'd be a terrible criminal thank goodness! She was gasping for air between sobs and said that she was sure that he was going to cuff me and with our luck we'd be on COPS or Inside America's Jails.

We make it through the check point just fine. But then I got to thinking. Here I am with a hollow point loaded .38 and, like I said before, a crap load of ammo. There were no dogs to sniff around for explosives, the cab wasn't searched and I'm thinking....."What the hell? It's THAT easy for a terrorist to get to the dam? That's not making me feel so safe!"

In the officer's defense, Karli and I do not fit the terrorist profile, but then again aren't we the type that the extremists are trying to recruit for their cause?



After a few miles on the road Karli’s hives had diminished and we made it to Vegas just fine.

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Handguns, Troopers and A$$holes

We had left the camp in Southern Oregon from vacation with the kids a few hours earlier. The weather was perfect with blue skies and warm temperatures. We were heading north on I-5 when I noticed the silver Tahoe in my rear view mirror. I had seen it earlier in front of me and had remembered it because of its vanity plate OLD 32. I hadn't realized I had passed it but evidentially he did; he was tailgating me. I changed lanes from the fast lane to the left to the middle lane. So did he. I thought that was a little weird but didn't think much of it. My 11 year old son, my 8 year old grandson and I were singing to "When You're Good to Mama" by Queen Latifah so I just kept driving, singing and having fun with my boys. We were practicing for the family talent show that had been postponed during vacation until Thanksgiving. We pretty much sucked so we needed all of the practice we could get.




A few miles and several song repetitions later I saw that the Tahoe. It was dangerously close to me yet again, so we changed lanes, and as before, he followed us. Ok now, this guy was messing with me. I picked up my cell and called my daughter, Karli. I told her what was going on and that I was going to speed it up and try to lose this loser. I pushed cancel on the touch screen phone and stepped on the gas. We lost the freak, or so I thought. A few minutes later, there he was right behind us again.



Surely I was being paranoid. I changed lanes this time into the slow lane to the far right so jerk-off could pass. He changed lanes right behind me. Ok, now I was getting freaked. I was about 50 miles from home and this ass has been following me for about twenty miles so far. Jeff was no help; he was on his Harley with no way to get a hold of him. It was just me, Joshua (the kid with autism), Jakob (the human superball) and Jeremiah (the flat footed kid that can't run) and the Tahoe from Hell. Millions of things were going through my head; Karli's stalker, my motorcycle accident, and even that movie about a killer truck. Yeah, I had pretty much lost my mind.



I tried to ignore this brainless freak, but he had me scared. I don't frighten easily, but this guy had accomplished his mission. I was panicked. I asked Joshua to hand me my purse that was at his feet in the passenger side of my Mercedes. He handed me the tan leather bag, I reached in and pulled out my .38 Taurus from the bottom of the Coach purse. The handgun had been my mom's and my brothers had given it to me after my dad died last September. It's the one I keep loaded with hollow points and in my car at all times, ever since that homeless guy tried to get in the Jaguar with me at the 7-11 months before. I carefully put it on the dash so if Tahoe Dude got near me he could see I was armed and hopefully he would back off.



When we got to the Wilsonville exit, about 25 miles from my home, traffic slowed to a stop. Great, just freaking great! There was no one beside of me and scary Tahoe dude switched to the middle lane and I could see him slowly inch his way beside my car. Out of the side of my eye I could see the hood of the Tahoe beside my window. I cranked up the CD, closed the sunroof and looked straight ahead. Then Mr. Brainiac was right beside me and screaming. Joshua looked over with this look of sheer panic and I told him to look away and ignore this freak. I glanced over at the Tahoe Terror and grabbed my handgun off of the dash and took it out of the holster. I then made sure he saw it as I put it in my lap. The Tahoe sped away and off at the Wilsonville exit.

 I grabbed up the iPhone and tried, yes tried, to call 911. The damn phone wouldn't work. It was like every nightmare I had ever had. The phone never works or they put me on hold. Both of those happened that exciting day. When I did get through to 911, they routed me through "push number one for fire", "do this for that", and at the end of the long menu the recording said to say "Help" if you needed help. So I pay tax dollars to be put on hold only to find out I could have said help at the beginning of the recording. When I get through I get the Clackamas Police only to find out that I needed to be transferred to the Oregon State Police. Ok, I'm feeling really safe now. When I was finally routed to the correct person the call was dropped. By this time I was shaking so frantically that I couldn't hold the phone to call back. I threw the phone at Joshua and told him to call 911. After several attempts the call went through. I was connected to a woman dispatcher and told her what was going on. She asked me what type of vehicle I was driving. I told her it was a silver Mercedes. The tone of her voice told me that they already knew of me.



"Ma'am, can you hold on for a moment?"



What is this the damned DMV? I have a maniac following me and I'm being put on hold again!



"Ma'am, is a trooper pulling you over right now?"



"Yes, thank God!"



I dropped the phone and put the windows down. I could see the trooper approach my car as if we were on COPS.



"HANDS IN THE AIR! NOW!"



"Oh, I'm screwed, " I thought.



"NOW! IN THE AIR"



"Ok, Ok, they're in the air"



"Ma'am, can you step out of the car?"



Now I was crying. Not because I was of the trooper, but because I knew we were safe. Not only was I crying, I was about to puke. I was shaking so badly that I had a difficult time moving to the front of the car as the trooper was instructing me to do. I kept stopping and he kept telling me to move to the front of the car. I finally made it and sat on the guardrail. He told me that a driver, Mr. Meathead, had called in some crazy lady waving a gun in a Mercedes. Holy crap, I was going to jail!



I explained that I have a CHP, a concealed handgun permit, and that my gun was in my purse. The trooper got the gun out of my purse, checked it out and returned it, loaded, to my floorboard. He came back around the front of my car and said "Nice weapon, that's the same one my wife carries".



Oh God, I'm not going to jail, it's going to be ok. I explained to him what had happened and how afraid we had been and then promptly threw up over the guard rail. He assured me that I was ok and that he believed the other driver to be the instigator. He had Tahoe Terror's information and was going to be making a visit to his house to inform him that he had chosen the wrong car to mess with. The trooper then told me that since I was in fear for my life and the lives of my children the man should have realized that I could have killed him and I would have been protected under Oregon law.



About that time, Michael and Nikki drove by seeing their mom stopped by two state troopers. The looks on their faces were priceless. I was just relieved that I wasn't going to end up dead or in jail.



Looking back on the entire incident the only thing I can think of that I could have done to piss off Tahoe Dude was when I was watching a motorcycle that looked as it were going to swerve into my lane. Sure enough it did and I had to swerve to keep from hitting and killing him. Sorry Tahoe, get a life and watch what's going on around you, and maybe try taking a Xanex.

  

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The Other Woman

“It’s like cutting though leather. Make sure to cut firmly.” After those instructions the doctor handed the scissors to the only man in the room.

“Ok, I got it.” Fighting back tears Jeff took the scissors and cut through the umbilical cord.

There was crying, well actually screaming coming out of this little 7 lb. baby boy. As soon as the cord was cut the slippery baby was loosely wrapped in a soft, warmed blanket and handed to his trembling father. The screaming infant had a head full of black fuzz and was still wet with the fluid that had protected him for nine months. Immediately after the baby was put into his daddy’s waiting arms Jeff began to sing Amazing Grace. Instantly the baby quieted. He turned his little brown head and looked directly into his father’s tear-filled eyes. The child recognized the voice of the man that had sang that song on a tape that had been played every day during the last half of the pregnancy.

The room was crowded with the doctor, several nurses, the parents of this new little life and the woman that knew the baby she had carried all those months was not hers to keep. In that crowded little hospital room there was not one person with dry eyes. The baby knew that he was in the arms of his daddy. At the same time a bond had been severed a new family was formed. The tiny bundle was then with his forever parents.

The baby was named Michael Julian. Julian is a family name that runs back for generations in the new mother’s family. The baby at once was enveloped by a new past, a new future and a new life. Michael was a happy baby that was the center of his family’s life. It seemed that this child had been a part of the family since the beginning of time. He had an older sister and brother that cherished and protected him as he grew. He had parents that kissed his owies, taught him how to skate and nurtured him from the beginning.

The years went by and his parents sensed his sensitive nature. Michael always knew that he was adopted; it was a part of his birth story. Even if the family had wanted to hide that important fact Michael would have known. He was of mixed heritage. His skin was a beautiful mocha brown and his hair was black and curly. He did share one physical feature with his new mommy; their eyes were the same auburn brown color. Michael’s adoption was common knowledge but it made no difference he belonged where he was.

Today on Facebook I got a friend request. It was from the woman that chose me so many years ago to mother the baby she had carried. As I stared at the request I felt adrenaline rush through my body. My face grew hot and my heart began racing. I couldn’t help but stare at the picture of the woman that had made the request. I thought of Michael’s sensitivity. I thought about what his reaction could be. I thought about how his future could change and I felt the intense fear of possibly of losing my child, my baby, my Michael. Some of my fears were rational, some were not.

I know that Jeff and I are the parents of this special 18 yr old. I know that he is of the age to make the decision to meet her. I also know that it would be too much for him to handle right now. But the feelings that return to me again and again are feelings of losing my son. I feel angry that the request was made. That choice should be Michael’s and Michael’s alone. I feel guilty of not being more understanding. I feel selfish and scared.

I continued to stare at the request. I called my daughter, the sister that loves him like no other. We talked and no decision was made. I thought of the problems that had been in this woman’s life and why we had to cut ties with her. I thought of the trouble that the children she raised were in. I thought of the other children that she had given away and of the one that she had aborted. I thought of how different Michael’s life would have been.

I ignored the request.

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Another day of chaos in our family

Today was one of those days that I seemed to have a spurt of very un-diva like behavior. I worked in the yard for hours and cut down all of the plants that had gotten out of control. I had most of the huge yard done and then it happened.
I was cutting back this gigantic lavendar plant when the hedge clippers went dead. Holy, freaking crap. I knew what it was before I put the trimmers down; I had cut the extention cord in half with the trimmers. I was going to die a long and painful death at the hands of my husband and a half of an extention cord.
That experience reminded me of another one several years earlier. When we built this house we only had 5 kids, but had enough foresight to install two dishwashers in the main kitchen. They worked well for years before being beaten to death by five gorilla-like, door slamming, plate smashing kids.
I went out the the appliance store and purchased two very expensive, high-end dishwashers figuring that the more money I spent, the more weeks I would gain in the long run, yes weeks not years.
The dishwashers arrived and the plumber was backed up for weeks. I wasn't going to wait. Over the years I've repaired electrical problems, installed disposals, wired for electrical switches, and fixed the garage door openers, so I figured I could handle installing a dishwasher or two.
I helped the kids bring the first of the dishwashers upstairs and removed it from it's box. I disconnected the first dishwasher, well mostly. We got to the water line and I asked one of my, to remain nameless, sons to turn off the water line that was located under the sink. That's where I made my first crucial mistake, I forgot to tell him that there were two cut off switches, one for the inside water and the other for the outside deck water. Yeah, you guessed it, he turned off the wrong line.
Just as I turned the wrench to disconnect the line water began to spray everywhere. The water line was hissing and dancing like a cobra being mesmerized by it's handler, except this was more dangerous than the cobra.
As I tried to catch the jumping water line I screamed to Cole, whoops I guess I did name him, to turn off the right line. He couldn't find it. I was trying to crimp the line and it wouldn't happen. Then I was trying to hold my finger over the end of the line that was spraying water at 80 psi. Not sure if you've ever tried that, but it doesn't work.
I screamed for someone to go turn off the water line out in the front year, not remembering that one was only for the sprinkler system and the whole shut-off was downstairs, under the house. There was no EFFIN way I was calling Jeff, he couldn't know that gallons of water were spraying under our beautiful maple hardwood floor.
"Cole, go get the effin neighbor!", "Karli, Michael and Nikki, get some GD Effin towels!" and then I had to admit defeat and told Joshua to effin call his effin father and ask where the GD water line was.
The one I needed was under the sink, 18 inches from me. It was behind a bottle of Cascade detergent. Finally Karli, or someone, turned off the water. I was drenched, my hair looked like a wet llama and my makeup was running down my face. I turned to see the shocked faces of my kids, all trying not to laugh.
Well their composure didn't last long. They began to howl like rabid hyenas. I could have shot everyone of them before I began to laugh as well. Cole was laughing harder than I had ever seen him.
"Mom, we should have had this on tape, except they couldn't air it on TV. It was Cole BLEEPING get the BLEEP BLEEP water turned BLEEPING off. BLEEP BLEEP-it. Karli get the BLEEPING towels BLEEPING up here BLEEPING now. BLEEEEEEP, BLEEPING BLEEEEEEEEP!! You BLEEPING kids better not BLEEPING tell your BLEEPING father BLEEP BLEEP-it!"
Ok I learned my lesson, directions don't tell you everything and always call someone that knows more. Or better yet, suck it up, bribe the kids not to tell dad and pay the plumber overtime to get him in sooner.

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The Naive Biker Chick and the Gang Member

I was waiting at the parts desk of my favorite Harley Dealership. It was taking the guy behind the counter a while to find the right cover for my Heritage. I happened to glance at the man standing next to me. I noticed he was a relatively clean-cut, nice looking guy. He was dressed in the customary leathers of a motorcycle rider and was wearing a denim vest and t-shirt. The t-shirt is what caught my eye. On it was the logo and colors for one of the North Western outlaw motorcycle clubs. I stared at him for a few moments thinking that he just didn’t look the part of a gang member. He had no tattoos, his hair was short and he looked like your run-of-the-mill white collar weekend rider. With that t-shirt though, I knew that he was anything but a weekender.

One percenters are what outlaw motorcycle clubs are known as. The American Motorcycle Association commented once that 99% of motorcycle riders were law abiding citizens. The rest were dubbed one percenters. Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms refers to them as OMG, Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs.

These guys can be some bad-assed dudes. Membership is done only by prospecting. Their rules are rigorous and enforced by violence. Once you accept their colors you’re in for life. The only way out is prison or death. I knew this.

But me being me, I began a conversation with Mr. One Percenter. I knew from one of our friends that rides with this group, but holds no colors, that there was a “family meeting” happening a couple of weeks later in a town about 12 hours from here. “Are you going to the party this month?” I asked the man.

The guy looked at me and I could hear Jeff whisper behind my back “oh shit.”

“I’ve been to a few parties”, he answered. He was checking me out, wondering who I was, what I knew and how I knew it. At that point I thought that I had nothing to fear. Certainly this guy wasn’t gonna pull his 9mm and pop me in the dealership.

“I’m talking about the one in a couple of weeks” I replied and mentioned the town and state. I heard Jeff whisper “shit” again and “you’d better be careful Teri”.

“One of my friends rides with you and is going to cook for you.” His look softened, he asked the name of my friend and nodded his head.

“Yeah I know him” he said, “He’s a great guy. We got him this huge smoker to cook with there.” That’s when Jeff stepped up and introduced us. Mr. One Percenter gave us his name. He shook our hands and acted like he had known us all his life. We were all in construction and used the same lumber store. Our company’s account there is on credit, most likely his is a purely cash account, a large cash account.

We chit-chatted a bit, shook hands, said our good-byes and went on our way. Two days later when Jeff saw our friend he told Jeff that he had gotten a phone call from the club asking a few questions about how I knew about their meeting, if he told us about it and exactly what he told us.

Jeff came home that night and started a conversation with “We’ve got a big problem. It could be huge. I don’t want you to be embarrassed or mad.” Then he began to tell me a little more about the line I had crossed. Evidentially you don’t talk to these guys unless they first talk to you. You never mention names and women do not take part in the conversations. He then let me know that our friend will more than likely be called out at the meeting and there could be trouble.

My first thought was “how was I supposed to know?” Then I began to get angry. Mr. One Percenter and his “brothers” have a web site that clearly states when and where their parties have been and will be. They have pictures and even a freaking online shop!

I didn’t want our friend in trouble at all, but I certainly was pissed that they’d even question him when anyone in the world can pull up their information. I asked Jeff to apologize for me and told him to tell our friend about the website. That’s how I found out most of what I knew anyway.

Maybe I’m being naive, but I can’t wait to see one of those guys again.

  

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Waiting

I'm trying to distract myself today from more tests to rule in or rule out leukemia. Sitting in Starbucks playing with my phone seeing if this mobile blog thing really works. I'm going to be really pissed if I spend all this time typing on my iPhone and it doesn't post.
It's also supposed to post to my Twitter account but I'm not so sure I have it working correctly.
It's been a hard couple of days, months actually, but I've been able to stay away from the self-harm even though I got into a huge fight with my extremly stubborn, arrogant, rebellious husband. Seems he told off another OSHA inspector in January and chose not to tell me. Well I opened the mail two days ago and there it was, a citation with numerous violations and a deadline to respond. He's thinks it's no big deal. I'm looking at the fine, losing our workers comp, and our livelyhood.
In that argument I found out that it was none of my business, I was worthless, arrogant and didn't know what I was talking about.
I've shutdown, retreated to my sanctuary and ceased eating. All that being said there's been no thought of knives, razors or pills. Suicide is a thought that's been torturing me. But I've been able to deflect it so far by thinking of the devastation it would cause my kids. That's a huge change for me. Before there was nothing that exorcized the demon that wants my soul. You know, when I got the results of my first blood test I actually welcomed the thought of the suspected cancer. I guess that's a form of suicidal thoughts.
I wonder if it's just the bipolar speaking or the fact that I'm tired. I'm tired of living this stressful life. I'm tired of fighting the economy to stay in business. I'm tired of the ever present fear of losing my house. And I'm tired of the intolerable thought of possibly losing one of my daughters and three of my grand children. I'm just plain tired.
Well I'm off for more testing.

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So Not Good

Today is so not a good day. Thoughts that I believed vanquished forever are once again haunting me. I don't feel that I'll act on them. It's just unsettling to have them re-emerge after so long in remission. Are these demons that I'll fight all my life? The thought of forever fighting these foes is draining and so, so scary.

I feel that I'm on the edge today, ready to topple into the pits of hell. I need to get it back together. I need to fight and win this battle with the devil that's in me. It's hard, the thoughts, the words, the sounds and the relief have come rushing back. It's a battle that I thought was won. I thought I had been victorious.

I feel like a whiner at the moment, but I know that this is what is keeping me from my past destructive behaviors. The relief and peace that the cold, sharp steel brings is my tormentor at this very moment. If I gave in to it I fear losing all the ground that I've gained. But the urge is strong, almost overpowering. Almost is good, it doesn't have me yet.

I need a plan to get through it, but right now my mind just can't seem to formulate one. I'm watching the kids play video games and it's as if they are on a theater's stage. I can't get my focus on them or on anything that would be beneficial to me right now.

So far the only plan I can come up with is to stay out of my bathroom, out of my bedroom and away from the old friends that are kept buried in those rooms and buried in secrets that only you and my therapist know.

All I can do is to fight it minute by minute until the feelings have vanished. I worry about tomorrow, and the day after. I have to win today, or it will win tomorrow.

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