Beech Tree News Network

My husband, Garey, and I watched a news clip in which a mom and two kids had chosen to stay inside a car that was on fire instead of climbing out of the car and facing the lions that were surrounding them.  (The situation took place at a safari park in Great Britain.  Luckily, a park ranger arrived on the scene, pulled up beside the burning car and quickly ushered the family into his vehicle.)
    As is often the case, Garey and I discussed what we would do in the situation.  We both agreed we’d rather be attacked by lions than burn up in a car.  I said I would climb out of the car, but stand as close as possible to the burning vehicle because lions are afraid of fire.  Garey pointed out that the car would probably explode when the flames reached the gas tank.  I said I would rather die in an explosion than burn up in a fire or be eaten by lions.
    We have these kinds of conversations quite often.  I don’t know why.  I guess it’s some sort of exercise in mental preparedness, just in case we’re ever faced with a worst case scenario situation.  It’s not as if either of us is continually faced with life-threatening events.  The worst thing that’s ever happened to me was being locked in an out-house on Ashes Creek by an ornery mule who put his back side up against the door and wouldn’t move for a couple of hours.  Garey had a wood bee get tangled up in his facial hair and sting him until his lip turned inside out; and there was that chainsaw incident in which a patch of blue jeans and epidermis was removed from his right thigh, but his femoral artery remained intact, so I didn’t see it as life-threatening.  We continue to have these discussions, nonetheless.
    When I’m watching a movie or crime series on TV, and I see a woman lock herself in the bathroom in order to get away from an intruder, I expect her to find a way to fight back if the intruder insists on breaking the door down.  I yell instructions like, “Tear the towel rack off the wall and use it as a weapon!   Grab the alcohol out of the medicine cabinet and throw it in his eyes!  Don’t just stand there screaming!  Do something, even if it’s wrong!”  They never listen to me, of course.  If I am ever discovered on a bathroom floor after I’ve been assaulted, start looking for a guy who has towel bar abrasions on his face and red eyes, because unless I’ve been drugged first, I will fight back.
    Garey’s mom, Agnes, and his sister, Charlotte, came for a visit this weekend.  Charlotte, like Garey, is big on planning ahead when it comes to personal safety.  When Agnes fell and broke her hip while she was visiting us a year and a half ago, Charlotte had an alarm system installed in Agnes’s house while she was in rehab doing physical therapy.  She also hooked Ag up with a Life Alert system—the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” people.  She wanted to install a 24-hour monitoring system so she could keep an eye on her mother, but Agnes drew the line there.  I would have too.  The concept is a bit too Orwellian for my taste.
    Both Charlotte and Garey are always trying to get Agnes comfortable with shooting a gun.  Countless times, they’ve taken her outside her house or our house, put a pistol or shotgun in her hands and insist she aim and fire.  Agnes closes her eyes and squeezes the trigger then jumps at the sound of the exploding ammunition.  She is obviously uncomfortable with the procedure.  It is also obvious that the entire process is an exercise in futility, because for one, she never touches the gun again until the next time one or the other of her children insist that she should; and two, if someone did break into her house, she doesn’t move fast enough to be able to get a gun before the criminal gets to her.  She’s eighty-five years old for goodness sakes.  She walks with a cane.
    What Garey and Charlotte should do is teach Agnes a few martial arts moves with that cane of hers and set a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the night stand.  An intruder wouldn’t be expecting that.  She could do some serious damage because she’d have the element of surprise on her side.  Before the dust settled, the intruder would be the one pressing the Life Alert button in hopes that the police would appear before he met his demise.