Thank You, Sweet Baby Jesus, You're My Guy

Hi, My name is DM and I'm a Shootaholic.
There's no such thing?! *Phew* and *Thank You, sweet baby Jesus, you're my guy.*

Sarah Gets Her Gun
Sunday afternoon at the folks has slowly become the old Friday night. As all of the yahoos (mine and my sister's) get older and make attempts at normal social lives, ANNOYING, ["No. You can only be friends with your cousins. Why do you think we had you all so close? So we didn't have to meet other kids."] Fridays have become tough.

And Topher works every Friday. [No comment.]

This past Sunday was like any other typical Sunday evening - dinner, smoking in the garage, catching up with G-ma and Bump, watching the boys fight over who gets to ride G-ma's tricycle. You know - same old, same old. And than out of nowhere, during dinner, while we eating, quietly enjoying a meal I didn't prepare, Bumpa says:

"You know there's more than 1000 rounds of .223 in the garage."

Just casually, like he was mentioning there was a stray cat who comes around once in awhile. Just like that. Mine and Bek's head snapped up so fast, I'm surprised neither of us got injured.  I don't remember who said what, but it was a simultaneous firing of the following:

"NO! We didn't know!"

"What do you mean? There is 1000 rounds of the ammo we shoot IN YOUR GARAGE?"

"WHAT?"

"Shut up. You're kidding, right?" 

"Haha very funny asshole, ammo is expensive."

"Seriously? How much do you want for them? Are they still good? Where are they? What the Hell? Do you know how much ammo is? What do you want for them?"

"Yeah well, it's just been sitting out there for years, you girls can go through it. After dinner." It's a good thing he added that last part or I'm pretty sure my mom's head would have exploded - I did already feel myself push the chair back to get up....

Yes, we finished dinner. Yes, it took forever. Yes, Bek beat me to the garage and I hate her for it. And absofrickinlutely, we started pouring through my grandfather, Hank's, old stuff. We started sifting through the rust-caked ammo cans and supply bags as best we could.

Ok, to be honest, it looked more like we'd just been given a Unicorn to take home and keep forever. I don't think I'm exaggerating, either.....

The evening felt like Christmas. The next day felt like Christmas. ALL OF IT FELT LIKE Christmas! The ones when I was YOUNG and not a parent, and Christmas was all about me and the presents I got - it felt like that kind of Christmas Awesomeness. Bek has caught gun fever just as badly as I have, so the next few days were filled with lots of texts, lots of research, lots of reading glasses as I poured through articles on my phone any spare second I could find, even at work.

We call it a Kaczorowski thing when we find an interest we like so much that it becomes an obsession that never stops until it feels satiated or a specific goal is attained. The goal following that Sunday dinner was this: we gotta find out if we can shoot this old ammo! And if so, what do we need to do to ensure they are safe and will load properly???

Yes, we can. And yes they're safe. Getting them to load properly is a work in progress: not having a clean AR to use for testing was a tad prohibitive in terms of completing the research. (And that is what started this whole new wave of frustration when I couldn't properly field strip my AR.) (I have accomplished that, yet still have not been able to remove the pin holding the bolt catch in. Slowly but surely.....) (Sunday Update: it's a roll pin that I can use a punch to remove. I thought so, but was nervous I'd break something.....)

Just really cool stuff. 

The next obvious thing to do was go shooting. I mean, of course, we had to test some shit. 

The next day, as we cursed daylight savings time for cutting short our sunlight, we met at The Pit and my sister, my dad, and I spent HOURS there. First my sister and I went and set up and we shot some while waiting for my dad, than when he arrived, he invited a coworker along also. 

I have opened this post and gotten to THIS point all week - I still can't find the right words to describe how cool it was to be shooting together, to feel carefree, to laugh, to not concentrate on anything but *who can shoot better, me or you?* and just have fun.  Especially with my family - despite the fact that I still miss Nate, and still have more moments of *FOR CRYING OUT LOUD* than I should - it makes me happy to have my family happy around me. 

Looking back now, just a few days later, I know it was one of those really special nights that will stick out in my head for years and years to come. Like that one time my dad got half arrested at the campground and was asked to never return again - it's going to be a night I'll remember, smile about and talk about for a long time. 

When the Bump's coworker showed up, I nearly groaned out loud and WOULD have to turned to Bex and said "please tell me he isn't fixing me up" but she can't hear shit when her earplugs are in.  I was wrong, It was WAY better: the guy owns every tool on the planet. My dad brought us a gun friend that owns EVERYTHING. 

[Who happens to be happily married, so TY. Dad. He was hysterical, too.]

We ran out of ammo and daylight at the same time because Bex and I budgeted our bullets - we fill about 12 mags with 10 rounds each at a time so it takes us longer to go through them.

Yes, it's a very effective strategy to save money and ammo, but the true perk is: when you know you're aiming for a specific target, or a number of specific targets, and you know you only have 10 rounds to do it in, you concentrate more.  I think I've improved more since shooting three times with my sister, competing back and forth, than I did in 6 months of weekly shooting with Nate.  In those 6 months, I learned HOW to shoot an AR, how to handle my pistol more tactically and defensively, how to build an AR, maintain several types of guns, and most importantly: how to google accurate info, even if I was just trying to prove him wrong....

When I shoot with Bex, I shoot to shoot BETTER than her. And she picked it up pretty quickly. (Although...due to the fact that I have the AR apart right now, the scope isn't on, so maybe...maybe I should put the rear iron site on and see how she does than.....)

Once we started packing up, I had to pee like a mutha and I really didn't want to go back up that huge-ass hill in the dark, so I was more or less done. I was ready to pack it in and call it a night when Bump called Bek and I over to tell us he was giving us the guns and I was all like *yeah, I know, you're leaving for 6 months and I'm keeping them locked up, got it. And I'll clean them, yep, got it. And I'll figure out what to do about Grandpa's gun, got it.*

"So, here's the thing. They can NEVER be sold. They MUST stay within the family..."

And I know I was still nodding in agreement despite the fact that my brain was doing this weird come-back-to-life-Sarah-he's-saying-something-important thing. It was processing what he was saying AND meaning, and yet, STILL what came out of my mouth was: 

*Wait, aren't you only going to be gone like, 6 months? You are planning on returning, aren't you?* Actually, I may have also asked if he was dying and this was his way of telling us. 

"The paperwork is under the felt. Keep storing everything in your Aunt's vault. The 1911 goes to Emerson, he already knows." And he's already read the manual you gave him, Bump. Which I found in his room the other day - and was like WTF, I'm not dying for MANY MANY years, dude. 

I am sticking around to enjoy being the proud owner of Hank's Colt 1911 for at least twice as many year as I have dreamed of owning it.  It was the very first hand gun I ever shot.  It was the only hand gun of my grandfather's that I ever shot. The classic lines and beauty of the design is just so flippin' awesome to me - I can scroll through images of 1911s all day and not get bored. 

It was with a 1911 that I hit a golf ball on the long range at The Pit - and yes. that really happened. It's about a 100 yards, Nate was texting every single one of his shooting friends. I loved it. 

I haven't been able to do anything near that with my Ruger 9 mm - yet.  But I understand that isn't what it's designed for anyway - I know, I get it, I don't try often, either. I typically shoot my hand guns at the close range - if I had a range finder, I'd tell you the exact yardage. Once it gets too cold to shoot outside, I'll go to the indoor ranges where I will know the distances.

Anyway - I totally digress.

The entire rest of the night was spent alternating between me telling myself that I own a 1911 and going back to my laptop to look up various random things. IT WAS A GREAT NIGHT. 

I am, still, ever so grateful to my dad for giving it to me. In addition, my sister was given hers, and she became a gun owner. It was a big night. It really was. I know because she sent me selfies of her and her new rifle all night. I was taking selfies, too, don't get me wrong. I was definitely clicking pics of 2 my favorite things recording the evening for posterity.  

The next day I took my new 1911 to the shop to show the guys. 

We started talking about my grandfather and it started making me even more curious about him. Realizing how LITTLE I knew about him is humbling and surprising.  I know things about him - but I never knew him as a person. I knew him, I mean, he was alive until I was in my late 20s. but I never got to know him. I really wish I had. I wish I had gotten to know ALL of my grandparents.  The way my kids are so close to my parents?  I never had that. My grandparents were different than my parents - all of them and all for different reasons. 

My grandfather [not pictured, that is Jeff] was a very, very interesting [if questionably moral and unquestionably insane] man. I wish I could ask him questions. 

SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Like:

 Where did you get that^?  Why is the slide like that? 

Why did you stock pile so much ammo? 

Was it the zombies or the Koreans you found scarier? 

Why were there multiple weed whackers in the dishwasher when you died? 

But mostly: Did you always love guns or was your passion for weapons born out of necessity, perceived or real? 

This is where the story of how I got my 1911 ends. 

Or rather, this is where the story of me and my 1911 begins. 

Just sayin'.