Another Adult House
I might have a theme here. First BirdBrain’s house and now Adam and Tricia’s. The moral might be, don’t hire me to do work, or if you see me with my black backpack, lock your door.
Adam wondered why there are no photos of the part of his house I’m most familiar with – the inside of their refrigerator.
Adam and Tricia’s is not your average “adult house” — it’s in a class of its own: Art Museum.
Adam, is that the crossbow that shot arrows into the air at one of our Maine campgrounds that came down and almost hit us?
Comment by smiling Dan — April 7, 2007 @ 9:44 am
‘T’ain’t no crossbow, but a regular, full-sized upright compound. I still have the baby, yellow-plastic-handled one to which you refer, but this is much bigger and potentially much more lethal. I love ballistics, from lakeside rocks to baseballs and arrows, and I used to do target practice in my backyard with a haybale target I made (after learning the ropes at Teepee Archery’s indoor ranges in North Acton). But I became hyperconscious of the potential for an arrow to go awry. I was literally too scared to be rational — rather than becoming overcautious, I was borderline panicky and had to get that arrow downrange as quickly as possible, (and thus became even more dangerous). So now this beautiful bow just hangs in the basement stairwell hoping its owner reacquires a spine (and a life, with some free time … ).
Comment by el Kib — April 7, 2007 @ 9:55 am
Who is the curator?
Comment by jennifer — April 7, 2007 @ 11:00 am
Adam, you’ve slipped a nock or two since the days to which Dan refers.
Guys camping on Maine lake firing crossbow darts at targets until one bright bulb says,” Let’s see how high an arrow can go.” The other three campers either assent or are too stupified to say anything, so Adam points his crossbow skyward and we all watch the sharp object until it disappears into the sun. Now what?
After the act was not the time to think of the consequences, but I remember men scattering as though avoiding a cruise missle, which, come to think of it, is a good description of an arrow returning to earth.
Comment by michael — April 7, 2007 @ 11:30 am
Returned to water is what it did, thankfully, burying itself in a raft of vegetation — despite an earnest search by canoe, we never recovered it. But nor did we have to explain the yellow fletches sticking out of someone’s head or back. I still think waiting for Dan’s watch alarm in the darkness crowns us, but that was admittedly a front-runner for reasons to cut off our oxygen supply …
Comment by adam — April 7, 2007 @ 11:54 am
…too stupified to say anything or too stupid to say anything? What interesting beverages were you guys consuming? (I’d like to know for my next camping trip.)
Comment by rakkity — April 7, 2007 @ 2:13 pm
Great story! (given the ending) About how long did it take to come down? And which way did you scatter? What was the point (of scattering)? I mean, was there some “safe” direction?
Comment by jennifer — April 7, 2007 @ 2:18 pm
Good point, Jennifer, and rakkity, imagine the outcome had we been drinking.
But panic makes one run in all directions and this time mostly into the relative safety of the nearby trees. I believe I kept my hands on top of my head.
Comment by michael — April 7, 2007 @ 2:44 pm
Then there are the starchy root tubers plummetting unseen out of the dark of night, maddeningly just out of the pencil beam of the space-shuttle-belly-tickling spotlight, and landing within feet of the idiots who ignited its aerosol charge, thwacking impressively into Mike’s deck (or a certain dock in a location that will go unnamed but which reminds one of kitchen utensils) and prompting discussions about terminal velocity. Even a hardhat would be scant protection …
Comment by el Kib — April 7, 2007 @ 3:36 pm
Cupid, draw back your bow….
Comment by La Rad — April 7, 2007 @ 11:29 pm