Outta Here!

Many times, as I have sat on Sunday mornings and wrote this stuff, I have 'mentioned I could hear my neighbor outside in his yard with his high-powered rifles practicing. I can't say practicing for what, but for the comfort of some that will read this stuff, I will say he was practicing for the next hunting season. It is entirely possible he was not practicing for hunting, he might just like to shoot things. I’ve been known to shoot things myself.

That is not what this story is about. I will get to the story in a minute, not yet, in a minute. My construction career took me all over this country. Louisiana, Virginia, Iowa, Nevada, Arizona, Texas. I could go on but my fingers are getting tired from all this (construction language) typing. Looking back, I always returned to Colorado as my projects completed. There are a few reasons for that. Colorado was home, Elaine made me come back because that's where we lived. Each and every time I came back to Colorado, it had changed. Maybe a little but it changed.

It took years, but all the pastures I played in as a child are gone. They have been replaced by apartments,

strip centers and mega-mansions. Two and a half decades ago Elaine and I moved out of what had become Colorado. We’re in the mountains of Colorado, away from the apartments and strip centers, but we are still close to our dentists and doctors and such.

Twenty-two years ago, Robbie Rifleman moved onto the property "next door". Last week, Mrs. Rifleman telephoned to tell Elaine and I that she and Robbie were taking their rifles and moving to West Virginia. They have enough of what Colorado has become. The traffic, politics, and taxes have become too much.

The Rifleman's purchased a house that they had found on the internet, sold their house and were moving out of Colorado, taking their guns with them.

I don't know if this was a story, but I just want to say I'm going to miss the Riflemans. Colorado is not Colorado and hasn't been for quite a while. This means I might need to bring out my own rifles and stop writing stories.

God Bless, Love ya, practice

Our crazy lives!

Monner

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