Sunday, April 3, 2011

Sunday is even better when you're on vacation.

I know, I know.  I said I was going to be MIA and off gallivanting and not blogging.  But there are a few hours each morning and each night where we're not out doing vacation-y stuff, and the fact is, if I don't blog about it as it comes, it will never be mentioned.  I forget things, and then life gets in the way with new things to blog about.

Jimi's brother doesn't want me to talk about him; he's afraid one of you will track him down and take all of his things.  Okay, he didn't say that specifically, but he did say he doesn't want me to mention him.  Apparently, referring to him as "Jimi's Brother" is saying too much.  Jimi promised he won't tell him.

He's a hell of a neat guy, though.  A little quirky, but I can be pretty quirky myself; I consider it a positive personality trait.  He loves photography and music and guns and outside.  He owns a large piece of property not far from his home, and spends his evenings and weekends shooting beavers that are destroying his trees and waterways.  Jimi's trying to talk him into saving the pelts for a coat, but I don't see that happening.  He considers the beavers rodents - he doesn't have any interest in wearing a rodent coat.

We spent our day yesterday hanging out around the house and then went to the property in the afternoon.  We hiked, explored, and shot off a lot of ammunition (no beavers were harmed in the making of this blog entry).  I was a little rusty, but I'm still damn good with a Colt AR-15.  Why are guys so shocked and impressed when a woman is able to accurately fire a rifle?  "I was an Expert Marksman in High School" is always greeted with a "Really?" said with a tone of incredulity.

We're going back into the city today for more touristy things.  YAY!  More Metro Riding!  YAY!

Here are some more pictures:

 Virginia is a right-to-work state, which apparently means that you can be employed by a company whose workforce is represented by a union, but you don't have to join the union to be employed.  Those who don't join the union are called scabs.  Can you imagine being the scab, and everyone's wearing these buttons?  
Talk about hostile work environment.  

 Is that a bird or a stump?


Please don't make me cry.


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