Country Mouse comes to the City

I was trying to get out for a run today.  It was hard.  I needed to plan.  I needed to take care of certain things (it being the morning and all).  I was nervous.  Where was I going to be able to stop if a crisis ensued !!  I packed my normal running supplies (everyone I run with knows what is ALWAYS in my pocket).  It was taking me forever to get out.  Kathy was getting antsy since my run was holding up the family. and then Kathy said it:

The country mouse comes to the city.  It took a while to sink in.  But it's true.  The above is a picture of our mini bar here at the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Louis.  Or rather, it's a picture of the contents of our mini bar here at the Four Seasons Hotel.  We needed to empty the mini bar because we bought beer from the grocery store.  And we bought meat and bread and carrots from the grocery store so that we can have a picnic tomorrow.

I really am not a city mouse.  My run ended up going under railroad tracks and through industrial areas (industrial "park" is way too nice to describe the area).  The whole while I was cognizant of the areas of safety (in terms of a potential crisis). I managed 6 miles.  I went to a nice old French area of the city.  ran along the river.  When I got back to the hotel, the door guy handed me a water. Wow !!  the nice check in lady asked me about my run.  All I could manage to say about it was that I ran under a train bridge and saw a homeless tent encampment (I actually seem to be able to find these in every city I run in).

This country mouse is looking forward to getting out tomorrow.  We are going to hike / run the Chub trail which I have been told in in the country.  I'll have my normal running supplies - but I wont be nervous.

My bullets fell out of my pajamas the other day.

Once you have bullets in your pajamas, you don't tend to take them out.  It's just not on the list of things you remember, like I got up so I'll make coffee or take a shower or brush my teeth or empty the dishwasher.  I remember these things. I do not however remember to take the bullets out of my pajamas.  When they fell out, I was upstairs in the guest bedroom (since that's where my closet is because the very large closet I built in our bedroom is 100% filled by Kathy - and frankly - it's easier to have a closet outside of the bedroom since I go to bed before her and get up before her.  I am just quietly in bed when she arrives and gone when she gets up so it's really as if my only purpose in the bedroom is to serve as one of those warming stones/pans they used to put in the beds - or at least did in Miss Swann's bed in one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies)   and I just put them back in my pocket since the box of bullets wasn't in my closet and I really don't want bullets just sort of laying around the house or sitting on the dresser (yes, my dresser is also in the guest bedroom).

My pajamas are lime green fleece with grinch heads printed on them.  I don't remember whether Hannah or EmmaGrace bought them for me.  It could be either of them since they both believe me to be the Grinch which is of course understandable since Kathy always says - don't be such a grinch Ron. I'm not really a grinch - but I do like peace and quiet and sometimes living with 3 girls/women can get loud and being a man, I may (at least to them) express myself rather grinchishly.  In the same vein, both daughters like the fact that once I have expressed myself, I merrily go about my business.  No brooding, no lengthy lectures.  And - please note here - Brooding "the act of sitting on eggs to incubate them is called brooding"  Hens, i.e, females are the ones that brood.  Bill (our rooster) never broods - he just struts about crowing his way through every day- of course he is rather Hen Pecked .....  Its all connected.  We are all the same.  Are we chickens?

Now I have a bullet in my pants too.  It really can't stay there very long.  Banging around in my pocket with my iPhone.  I don't really have anywhere to put it.  Should I throw it away?  What if something sharp hits it in the garbage.  That would be a problem for the garbage carrier and then for me since who else would have been the one to throw a bullet in the garbage.  I could put it in my drawer - but.

And several weeks later - I finish this post (this being the first new sentence in weeks).  The bullets are our of my pajamas now (I washed my pajamas).  It seems that the squirrels have enough food in nature (we do have about 250 Walnut trees on the property).  In other words I am beyond the season where I come down to make coffee, see the squirrels all over the bird feeders, load the .22 (since when I went through a period of using the shotgun I felt kind of bad since the advantage was so heavily stacked in my favour ..) and attempt to sneak out the door to level the birds' playing field.  The squirrels were smart this year though (I believe this is a result of selective breeding over the past 10 years (man in grinch pajamas - run, zig zag, do not tarry !!) and as a result, the bullets collected in my pajamas (load gun, run around yard in pajamas, give up, unload gun, put bullet in pocket) rather than being used much.