Excuse me while I climb up here…

Welcome aboard my Train of Thought and bear with me a moment while I get to my main point, which is really about fear but has stops at safety and guns and choices.

My father always carried a pocket knife. He opened mail with it.  He opened Christmas presents very delicately with it.  I even remember him cutting up apples with it in a pinch.  It is not a big knife, just a regular Winchester pocket knife.  I carry it now.  I open mail with it and the occasional package.  And I always think of him. 

Recently I put myself in a position where I was not particularly comfortable and knew I would feel better if I had something sharp and pointy that I didn’t have to unfold.  I have swords, but that would be a bit of over-kill, don’t you think?  So now I have a nice little survival knife that I can also use when I camp. It can even be used as a fire started.  I am a practical creature.

But even as I went on this little adventure I was breaking one of my cardinal rules:  I will not have things near me I am afraid of.  No I was not afraid of the knife, that is silly.  I was afraid of the person I was meeting.  Why did I go?  Because I knew my fear was completely irrational and I needed to face it.  I also needed a security blanket, of the sharp and pointy variety apparently.  And yes, I was correct.  There was no Boogyman.

But my thoughts strayed back to this today.  I wanted a simple edge, not a gun.  And I will never want a gun.  I am not afraid of them, and I am not anti-gun.  If you want to own them be my guest.  I do feel that automatic weapons should only be used for warfare, but that is my opinion.  I absolutely love the idea of defending my ranch from interlopers with an over under shotgun.  But a shotgun is the only one I have ever wanted to handle, and in my world it belongs on a Montana range (with me, a horse and a vicious dog.  You have your retirement plan, I have mine).

That said, I have never lived in a place where I felt I needed to defend my safety from other people. My feeling is that I won’t live there.  If I have the money to afford a gun and feed it bullets (and pay the attending price for using it) then I can afford to not live there.  I realize this is not the situation for everyone.  Of course, I also don’t feel property is worth defending.  Nor is pride.

So we go back to not having things near me that make me afraid.  This would include a neighborhood. 

So if you like guns, good for you.  If you hunt, then I completely support your right to own a few.  Though not an arsenal mind you, no one really needs that many unless they are collector or specific function pieces-my opinion- and that goes for any weapon.  Because if someone has 100 of the same model sword wouldn’t we ask some questions?  And don’t tell me automatic weapons are for hunting.  Those are for killing, and I am not okay with that.  Eat what you kill, fine.  Just kill, then you are a sick SOB and I don’t care what you killed or how you did it.

So with all these thoughts I realized that for me personally, I’m not okay living in a house with a hand gun unless there is a security, military or law enforcement professional also living there.  Hand guns are for killing people.  That is their only use.  They are not purchased for hunting.  They are purchased to hurt someone, or because you are afraid.  People say they want to carry a gun “in case they need to defend themselves”.  Wow, how do you walk through life in anticipation of possibly running into a situation that would call for a shoot out?  That is a LOT of anxiety.  Or you have watched too many action movies.

So somewhere in my mind these sorts of weapons became a symbol of fear, not strength. And I will not have those things near me that reek of fear.  And to be honest, for me and the way I live, if I find myself in a situation where I am that cornered…I’d rather rely on me than a prop.

I shall now get off my soap box.  Thank you for riding the train J