OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

Wednesday it was time to clean the trailer up from the last outing, put it away in the RV parking area alongside the house and cover it for the winter.

When I was finished the "girls" wanted a ride in the back of the truck - a highly illegal maneuver in California.

Back in the day how fun it was to ride in the back of a pickup, cruising down the street, waving or yelling at people that we knew. It was almost like being in a parade.

Like anything else, the losers in this world who break the rules or hurt themselves have ruined it for everyone else. No longer can we ride in the back of a truck and pretend that we're at the head of a 4th of July parade.

The rule mongers are taking all of the fun out of life. Next thing you know it will be a crime for men to leave the seat up on the toilet. But leaving the seat up is already a crime in our house punishable by numerous lashings by both the tongue and a wet noodle.

Last time I left the seat up I heard this large kerrrr-splash in the middle of the night followed by lots of words as the wife picked herself up out of the bowl. She was wet. She was really mad. I'm a quick learner. I put the seat down each and everytime.

Taking the girls for a ride as they sat in the back of the truck seemed like a natural thing on a fine winter's day so I did. We went up the street and back. It was a short ride but one I think the grand child will remember for a while. The smile on her face as she sat on Grammy's lap as we drove slowly up the street was worth a million bucks.

Recently we disposed of some of our coastal property. This particular parcel was 80 acres of land with roads on it, our roads. In this age of better safe than sorry, the rule of no kids in the back of a truck could be ignored.

We made the rules of the land. One of our rules was, "Kids can ride in the back of trucks". Up and down our dirt roads we'd go, kids smiling, dust being kicked up everywhere. Riding in the back of a truck . . . Isn't that part of being a kid?

I also liked the part of owning lots of land where I could step out the back of our cabin and fire any of the firearms in my collection without any hassle of law enforcement.

It was cool. I could be Dirty Harry any hour of the day or night. Sometimes I would murmur, "Are you feeling lucky, punk?" and stumble out the back door, loaded pistol in hand. Bang, bang! Then I'd press the gun barrel to my lips and blow the smoke away from it.

It was also fun to read the local weekly newspaper the following week and refer to the section on sheriff's reports. It was always, "Shots fired Fish Rock Canyon" and list the time and date it was reported. Sometimes the newspaper report said, "Man yelling, Are You Feeling Lucky, PUNK?! in the Fish Rock Canyon".

Life living in the City prohibits my playing Dirty Harry. I could use the B-B gun in place of an honest to goodness firearm but somehow that's not Dirty Harryish and a lot is lost in the translation.

It's time to buy another large parcel of land that has it's own roads where I can take any kid for a ride in the back of the truck, is isolated enough for me to practice my Constitutional right as an American to bear arms, arm bears or just be bare if I want. That's what I call freedom.

It's Christmas time. Today we'll visit craft fairs, shop a few stores, stay away from the first of the month crowds at COSTCO and be merry. After all, 'tis the season, isn't it?

Happy Saturday.