Happiness Lemonade

Burglary lemons? Make happiness lemonade.

Last week, a friend mentioned to me that he broke his dining room table. I, on the other hand, had a spare dining room table, an enormous monstrosity which was part of the furniture ensemble that filled up my Atlanta McMansion back in the day. Some of the local degenerates stole the companion pieces during our 2015 burglary, so this set was just sitting around taking up space. Since this friend, his brother, and his son have helped me about a billion times over the years, I told him he could have it.

I also decided to give him the buffet piece. Curiously, the degenerates stole the mirrored and lighted glass display top companion piece, but not the buffet it sits atop. I’ve always wondered what they were going to do with that display piece by itself. Maybe they use it as a backdrop set for midget strippers down at the lake house. At least I hope they are midgets, the depravity of these degenerates apparently knows no bounds.

Saturday evening, we loaded the entire dining room set onto our gooseneck NASA trailer. I call this our NASA trailer because it looks like something NASA would use to haul rockets around between launch pads. When we moved from Atlanta to our previous house in Roberta, I wanted a truck and trailer combination that could haul anything that was legal to carry without a CDL. After loading the buffet (itself almost as wide as the trailer) at the front, the chairs (which were still packed in cartons from our 2009 move from Atlanta), the table base, and the table top, there was still about a thousand feet left on the trailer.

When we moved from Roberta, we brought with us a dozen or so rolls of 2×4 fence wire in various lengths and heights, a couple of rolls of chicken wire and a couple of pallets of T posts. Knowing that deploying livestock around the local criminals would basically be crossing “The Walking Dead” with “Attack on Titan”, we never set up livestock fencing here. Interestingly, during the break-in, the degenerates didn’t steal the fencing and the T post collection, either; they probably smelled the threat of honest work on them. I knew my friend could use the fencing or find someone who could, and we were constantly stepping around it in the shop, so it was a good candidate to take along.

We loaded the rolls onto the trailer behind the furniture; the T posts we kept as these are useful for electric fences, which seem to do a fairly good job of keeping the degenerates at bay. I’m reminded of that Schoolhouse Rock thing, “we’re giving them … electricity, e-lec-tricity.”

Sunday morning I hit the road to meet my friend at his house after church. The whole way, I had a smile on my face, birds were singing, the clouds were clouding (“sun was shining” isn’t universally a good thing in South Georgia), and I thought about all the times he and his family have helped me and mine. Like so many small businesses, his family got hit hard by the engineered financial crisis of 2008 and its aftermath. During all that, he was always there when I needed him. I have been around the local criminals and government official scofflaws in this area so long that it is always a culture shock to see heritage America in action when we get together. My friend and his family are salt of the earth types, and every time I speak to them I wonder whether the country might be able to pull itself out of its tailspin after all.

I was lost in reverie so much I almost missed the turn onto the highway in front of his place. When I pulled up in his yard, he met me, predictably, in his red MAGA hat. He told me back around 2010 that Trump would make a great President, and sent off dozens of letters over the years urging Trump to run in 2012, and then to run in 2016. I called him the day after the election and asked to speak to “The Secretary”. Of what, I don’t know, but he ought to be one. Maybe of the Department of American Heritage.

His wife is the soul of the family, and as cute as a button. Throughout all the chaos they’ve endured, she’s hung in there like a rock. The look on her face when we brought the furniture in was the lemonade of the entire experience.

I’ve had a smile on my face since.

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