So sorry for the silence of late, but I have been busily preparing for my first gun show. Admittedly, it will not the the first gun show that I have ever attended, just the first one that I will have a table. In reality, gun shows and I are tight. My dad has always loved them, and as children, my brother and I spent a considerable amount of time wandering in gun shows from table to table.
When I was growing up, my dad was the proprietor of a little country store. He sold grain, tack, used furniture and army surplus, not to mention anything else he thought might sell. He issued hunting and fishing licenses, rented videos and sold guns. He built a woodstove (in the shop at the high school where he taught), which heated the building and there were tables and chairs surrounding the stove. We had a bakery case full of doughnuts and sundry other eatables and the coffee pot was always full. Dad's store served as the local meeting place. The troubles of the world were hashed out around that wood stove as the coffee flowed. Deals were made, necessities purchased and small town life was lived, all within the confines of our little store.
Going to gun shows remind me of my dad's store. The smell, the people, the fiercely independent streak brings me back to the days of my past. I remember digging through musty boxes full of surplus, making sure the contents were not past their usefulness. I remember cartons full of packs, pouches and belts, some from our military and some (ugh!) the Germans. I, of course, could spot the difference in an instance - knowing full well that ours were quite superior. I remember wearing military wool pants to school in the winter time trying to start a fashion trend and thinking it was normal for people to wear military blouses as jackets.
When I would get homesick, after moving to Seattle, I would frequent a huge Army/Navy surplus store on 1st Ave. I would walk past bins full of mag pouches, feeling each one. I would look at the dummies sporting gas masks and finger the wool blankets with the medical symbol on the corner - and I would feel like I was home. I would bury my face in the piles of BDU's and breath deeply, and I would think of my dad.
Now, as I walk past table after gun show table, trailing after my husband, I am reminded of my childhood, trailing after my father. I feel the mag pouches, finger the blankets and feel like I am home.
Soon, I get to have my very own table! I am going to be at the Spokane Gun Show next weekend (11/4 - 11/6). We will have books (
The Prepared Family Guide to Uncommon Diseases), pads (
Naturally Cozy) and miscellaneous gun stuff. Yes, I know, with pads there, all of the guys will be in a hurry to hang out at my table! My dad is coming to share a table with me (I'm so excited!) and Maid Elizabeth will help run the booth.
I would love an opportunity to meet any of you folks that are in the Spokane/Coeur d'Alene area. If you find yourself at the gun show, I will be there Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Stop by and say Hi!
Until then....