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A Cruffler Reveals his Dark Secret: Part One

What you are about to read is true. All of it. 

Amazing how much my life can change in a month.

Well, there I was, preening in the mirror. Close shaven, all the wild hairs in my ears and nose trimmed back with pythagorean precision. The confident glance in the mirror belied the nervousness that bubbled steadily just under the surface. 

I looked at dismay at my thinning head. "A race 'tween gray and thin, and thin's winning..."

The woman of my dreams was on her way to my cruffler abode. Our nights on the town had been the stuff of dreams. So far she'd been amazing, everything I could hope for. but now the moment of truth has arrived. Soon, she would enter my domain, see my dark secret, the name that dare not be spoken aloud. Cruffler.

The doorbell rang, I glanced around the living room once more to make sure I had softened it sufficiently that is would not be obvious that I was a firearms enthusiast. All the Gun Digests turned spine inward to hide the title (It was rather odd to have an entire two shelves of books backwards, but I hoped she would not notice.) I didn't take the 1864-68 Swedish Rolling Block off the living room wall, but I did turn off the soft lights that highlighted it. I did notice the two boxes of Norma 7x57R I had left laying on the floor and nudged them under the couch. The PA63 in 9mm Makarov I had hidden in the couch cushions had been removed and placed inside a giant beer stein. I let her in the door, and with typical female precision, she promptly scoped out the home that I had laughingly referred to previously as my 'Cave'. I watched nervously as she did a double take on the Rolling Block. To my relief no comment was made, and I made the offer of the nickel tour. 

She had no nickel, so she kissed me instead. Of course, I relented on the fee, and the tour began in earnest. We got to the garage, I had forgotten about that, and heard her gasp aloud when she saw the rack I had with 12-14 non-functioning project guns. 

"You have a lot of guns out there!" she said nervously.

"Trust me," I said, "thats really not a lot. None of those are in working order anyway." and I closed the garage door. 

We began the trip upstairs and she noticed the door to the storage room under the stairs.

 
"What's this?" she asked.
"Nuffin," I shrugged, " Just storage area." 

She grasp the knob and began to open the door. 

"That looks like a good sized ... O H M Y G O D !" she shrieked.

"What?" I asked, feigning puzzlement.

She had seen the rack I had, where mounted and locked securely were my commercial type guns. Mossberg, Marlins, etc., about 16 all total.

"Now that's a lot of guns." She said. She glanced at me with bewilderment.

"Trust me," I said, "that's really not a lot."

"Why so many?"

"I hunt. Deer mostly?"

"You kill cute little bambis"

"No, I don't hurt the cute, warm, cuddly deer, I only hunt the bad, smelly, evil, satanic deer."

She chuckled softly. I thought to myself that there is still some hope....

"Satanic deer?" she queried.

"Yeah. Very rare, eyes glow red. Smell like sulpher. Gotta hunt'em at midnight. The meats kinda spicy, makes good chili though." I grinned.

She let out a hearty laugh. Things were looking better. 

We headed upstairs, but not before she pointed to the coat closet beside the front door. I knew what she meant and nodded.

"Yes. 4 more in there."

She gave me a sidelong glance and odd smile as she headed up the stairs.

We came to the computer room, where I have all the project guns that I was planning on photographing for my web site in the next week. Laying there in various stages of assembly (or disassembly) were whole guns and barreled actions. Danish Krag, VZ-52, Schmitt-Rubin, MAS 36, etc.

"Well... Thats nice." She turned to me. 
"Now are you going to tell me this isn't a lot of guns?"

"Indeed Madam, I am telling you, 'thats not a lot of guns'"

"Why do you have guns in your computer room?"

I explained about my website, and the need to have the digital camera close to the computer, and how I fix them up. She nodded occasionally, questioning me periodically. The quizzical look in her eyes didn't go away though. I hadn't breached the barrier. 

Well, we finally made it to the master bedroom. It has a walk in huge walk-in closet. The closet was made even bigger by the space allocated to a second bathroom that was never put in. That extra space sported a partially completed wall (to be hidden when finished) where I have the bulk of my collection. She entered the closet while we bantered about the curtain and carpet colors. She turned the corner inside and suddenly turned silent. I caught up with her, stood beside her and tucked my hands in my jeans pockets.

I suddenly became very interested in the shoes I was wearing.

"Oh My God... Oh My God... Oh MY GOD." She stood there, stunned by walls covered with guns. Somewhere close to 200 right there.

"Wha?" I muttered, looking at my laces.

She began to stutter "Now that is a lot of guns! "

"Yep" I said, still looking at my shoes. "That is a lot of guns."

She was clearly uncomfortable.

"None of them are loaded, I'm a federally licensed collector, and this is all legal." I offered.

She began to glance around nervously, stuttering and trying to change the topic. That's when the doll caught her eye. Many of you on the list have seen my post and pictures of the figurine I called "Crufflestopheles."

There he stood on his base, holding a MG42 this time. He had a plaque at his feet with his name on it.

She turned to me. "Crufflestopheles?"

"Shhh!" I emphatically pushed my index across my lips. "If you say his name three times, he'll appear and I'll have to by another gun!" 

I gave her my best 'serious' look. She stood there dumbfounded for several moments and then laughed so hard tears started to come out. We sat down on the loveseat in my bedroom and began to have an earnest discussion. She explained how she had known what is was like to be a football and hunting/gun show 'widow' and didn't want that in her life again. I emphasized my ambivalence to sports, which calmed but did not placate her fears. I decided to try another tact. As I suspected, she likes to shop. (Duh!) I pointed out several of the shows I go to have malls or outlet malls nearby or on the way. She nodded in agreement but seemed lukewarm. 

Suddenly I had an epiphany.

"Do you like beanie babies."

She began beaming "Like you like guns!"

"Well, I'll tell you, about half the shows I go to have tables full."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, and beef jerky dealers, and nic-naks"

"Nik Naks?"

"Well, not the minature bear and porcelain figure type, but yes."

"I never knew."

"Now ya do!" 

She stood up and reached inside the closet and picked up the M94 Swede and the M91 Eng. Carbines I had there.

"You know, these are kinda cute."

"Cute" I thought to my self? "I think I got a keeper."

2000-03-23 22:29:25 

A Cruffler Reveals his Dark Secret: Part Deux 

(Being in the main a story about cruffler who met the woman of his dream sand learned to love accessorizing his collection rather than expanding it,and learned to love casting lead.)

or

(What the HELL is a LOOFA, and why are they multiplying in my shower likeTribbles?!)

Those of you who know me (or rather, know of me through my writings on this list the past 3-4 years) may recall that I had multiple operations in a vain attempt to remove a spinal cord tumor that had the potential to cripple me (and already had in many ways). The damage had ravaged me in rather personal ways that I have to this point not spoken of (read: potential spokesman for that magic blue pill that Bob Dole pushes on TV) and after many failed attempts at leading a 'normal' life and establishing a long term relationship with one of the fairer sex, I decided that I was fated to meet life alone. 

That was almost 10 years ago, and that was fine with me. I mean, I am my favorite person, and I love to shower me with gifts. I got into cruffling because I had turned my hobby (computers) into a career.

Lesson 1: Doing a hobby for a living ruins it as a hobby. 

Guns were about as different a hobby as I could find. Several of my friends were big varmint hunters, with high dollar collections of Thompson Contenders and Encore firearms. I went with them to a few shows. I wanted to go shooting with them after the shows at a nearby range, but I wanted something of my own. 

I bought the only thing I could afford, a $69 Chinese SKS and a case of ammo(1440 for $89.99). I met someone at the range who had a bunch of old rifles. He told me the history of each of them, and at that moment I was hooked as a cruffler.

Now I am in the midst of what can only be termed a paradigm shift in thinking. As a single (and intending to always be so) man, I regularly spent all my disposable income on my hobby. I thought nothing of eating Ramen and whatever I could buy cheap at Odd Lots/Big Lots (if ya know what those are). Anything I could do to get money, legally, before going to the OGCA shows was done. I literally sold my blood plasma, collected pop cans at work and from friends to get a few dollars, bartered and horse-traded old computer equipment scrapped from work. For those of you with children, you'll understand the analogy. 

Guns are like Pokemon, "Gotta Get 'em All!".

Now, the woman of my dreams enters the scene. Paulette (Yes, I know, it's too damn cute. Paul & Paulette... Like peas in a pod....) and I are to be wed. I gave her the diamond ring last night on bended knee. The target date? August 19th 2000. It is to be a simple affair. 

I have no savings to speak of (until Paulette, I had no reason to plan ahead) , and she works in a start up company with few customers and fewer dollars for salaries, but that's okay I tell her, the material stuff is nice, but its not what we will remember 20 years from now. Now Paulette tolerates my hobby. She even wants to go shooting with me, but she has grave reservations about buying more guns. 

It's understandable, what with approximately 250 rifles who could want more? (Me!) I make a decent living, but she has been struggling by with a young son (10) on a wage of $9 hour for the past 4 years, and psychologically, its hard for her to see me spend what would be a weeks pay for her on a single gun, even if it is a much lower percentage of my salary. So after this week (picking up a custom rifle placed with the gunsmith over a year ago) I will refrain from expanding my collection till after the wedding and only accessorize. I also must complete my enclosed workshop (half of my two car garage) to store my guns securely. She has a young son, and is understandably worried about him (and more so any friends he might bring over) getting hands on the guns I have stashed in every nook, cranny and crevice of my home. 

Its difficult for me sometimes. I know that with all the surgeries I've had and the complications that came with some (a near fatal staph infection and coma for 2.5 months) and the crippling effects that I suffered I gained a certain type of maturity and appreciation for the preciousness of life.

But now, ah... now I feel like I'm growing up all over again. I must learn as I go along, moving from an egocentric universe where everything revolved around me and my desires to a partnership of shared burden, duty and reward. On top of that, the impressionable skull full of mush that is her son. I know instinctively that I have to be an example to him, a good influence. I know up front this is a tough row to hoe. Not only for the obvious challenges, but the sins of other men weigh upon me. Paulette and her son have had a hard life, suffering at the hands of hard men with cruel passions and violent dispositions. Paulette bears the mental and physical scars to prove it. 

Her son? only time will tell. He seems a decent kid, polite, respectful, though lacking in the mannerisms of boys that have a male figure in their lives. I find myself laying awake at night, searching my memories for those things that made an impression upon me as a boy, that had good, positive influences. We are getting him into the Boy Scouts (first merit badge? Rifle Shooting!).

We went to the park two weekends ago, and flew model rockets in the air. It brought back memories of my childhood and my father, and I watched Nathan having the kind of joy I haven't had a long time. That pure joy of the moment, untainted by the cynicism and jaded passions that age sometimes brings. 

It's the next best thing to time travel. For the rest of that day it put a lilt into my step and a smile on my face that I haven't had in a long time. 

How does this all fit into cruffling? I must find a way to bring Nathan to the point where he respects the collection I have, and what it can do if misused or used carelessly. I hope to instill in him a love of knowledge, books and history. These qualities are what I find in my cruffler arms. I want him to understand on a gut level that his (step)dad isn't a 'gun nut', but a steward of history, and that my hobby isn't a borderline shady activity, but a legitimate hobby worthy of respect. 

As a cruffler I am a steward of history, guardian of the past, but as a (step) father I am the steward of the future, of the next generation. The first, while full of inspirations and worthy tales of heroes and epic struggles is, none the less, static. The latter is the one shot chance to shape and influence what has yet to be formed.

That thought is rather humbling indeed. I hope and pray I can meet the challenge. I know this missive is not even close to the light hearted humor of my first post on the topic, but I am at a crucial point in my life, and while not humourless (What the Heck is a Loofa, and why are they multiplying in my shower like Tribbles?!) I am faced with a great responsibility. 

Paulette amuses me. It amazes me that for all of our higher functions that there are behaviors that are ingrained into us on the DNA level. 

She Nests. She can't help it. My bathroom, once populated my a single naked light bulb, a single shower curtain of indeterminate color, a pile of used razors and empty shaving cream cans and a toothbrush that I had with me since Desert Shield, now has transformed. I have a two ply shower curtain with cutesy flowers, there is a thingie on the wall that holds the toilet paper roll off the floor (I am amazed by technology!). 

My toilet water is BLUE! I only have one razor out at a time. There are about 7 different bottles of STUFF in the shower, hanging on the rack slung from the showerhead. Each smells different, but I have no Idea what they do. There are 3-4 Loofas (whatever they are) in there, and two little scrubbie thingies on sticks. (I must confess, I do use the on-a-stick-thingies to scratch my back.) 

I know now what the mirror really looks like without all the streaks. I have a rug (!) in my bathroom. She bought towels. ( I had only two, my budweiser beach towel from high school, and my military issue one.) I now have two (!!) sets of sheets for my bed! (Now, if that ain't the high life, I dunno what is!) 

I never knew you couldn't wash whites and colors together. (Well, you can, but she gets really irate)

I never knew you had to wash the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher (I'm still trying to understand that one.)

I found out my grilled cheese sandwich maker thingie also flattens the wrinkles outta clothes.

I didn't know I needed curtains in my new house.

Women civilize us. Otherwise we are bears with furniture.

A Cruffler Reveals his Dark Secret: Part Three (tiny update)

I was at a gun show recently with my beloved bride-to-be. (you may recall the
chronicles of our meetings posted here previously).

I had promised not to buy any more guns (excepting one .45-70 Siamese Mauser
I had to pick up from my gunsmith) until after the wedding. I had kept my
promise, though this show was very tempting.

I saw a very nice Mannlicher Schoenauer rifle in .243, vintage and very
clean. The man at the table asked me if I wanted to buy it. ($600).

"I'd love to. I'm very tempted. But, I'd have to delay my wedding by a month
or two" I said as I laid my hands upon the rifle.

"Honey," chimed my love from behind me in her most dulcet tone "Don't MAKE
me hit you."

I turned and deadpanned in my best sotto voce tone "Sweetie, I can't even
MAKE you shut up. How am I going to MAKE you hit me?"

I figured if I had the power over her for the one, I'd have the power for
the other, and vis-versa. It makes sense, right? I grinned.

The expression on her face intimated that she did not share my sense of
humour at that moment.

"I know you love me Honey. You don't have to say it all the time...." I
grinned and hugged her.

I stepped back and she greeted me with the expression usually reserved for
the dog when he craps on the living room floor.

At that moment, I really, really sympathized with the mutt.

Of course, I made it up to her in spades. Breakfast in bed, wildflowers
stolen from the field out back. She finally broke out laughing.

"I forgive you honey!" she laughed. "I'd never have admitted it yesterday,
but I didn't know to laugh or punch you right there. You said it so
seriously."

Hmm....

Dating is a tightrope. with my ego hanging precariously over the abyss, and
I have the urge to press the envelope at times. Thank God I found a woman
who can appreciate my sense of humour, and when the moment is right, pitch it right back as good
as she gets.

And we all end up laughing.

Paul....

A Cruffler Reveals his Dark Secret: Part Four

How does one find the proper terms to describe the life changing events that are unfolding this fine eve? Saying something original is difficult. The cliches ("A Paradigm Shift", "Life Changing Experience" etc..) have all be used, ad nauseum.

By 2:00 PM EST tommorrow, (19 Aug 2000, Ed.) I shall be married. Paul Edward Pelfrey will wed Paulette Marie Lavarnway, and the family that has been gestating in embryonic form for the past several months will emerge, strikingly different in its form compared to my life of a year ago. 

I shall have a ready made son, Nathan Charles, who has taken to me in such a fashion that I could only have wished for. Nathan is a excitable young boy of 11, who apparently has been praying and wishing for a man to call dad, and someone who would treat his mother not with brutal abuse and violence, but kindness and respect. He has witnessed things that a young boy should not see, things that make me cringe.

I've taken to him as well. I enrolled him in Boy Scouts, and he learned to shoot this past week at summer camp. Now I bought him a $15 air rifle (Rumanian) to teach him safety. I've already earmarked a fabulous M96 Swede in mint condition, and a Sporterized swede for hunting, to give to him when he earns it. 

He thinks me a harsh taskmaster, and he huffs and stomps away when I take his homework and erase the wrong answers, or the right answers that are so poorly written as to be illegible and tell him. "Do it again, correctly and neatly."

"Why do I have to do homework when school hasn't even started yet? And why do I have to write stuff over and over? My teachers aren't this tough!"

I elucidate all the things he tells me he wants to do (Shoot, hunt, go to gun shows with me.) and tell him that he has to earn it. Not with perfection, but with competency and consistency.

Then I ask him:

"And how many of your teachers came to visit you at Scout camp on family night? Which ones send you birthday cards, or put a computer in your bedroom, or take you out for a milkshake after you get your merit badge?"

After the obvious answer "None of them."

"Thats' why I'm tough. I love you, I care how you do and where you go in life. I want you to have the skills to do whatever you desire. More than that, I want you to have the confidence that you can do better than you think you can, because I know you can. How you present yourself, how you write and speak, can make it easier for you to open doors, to reach for things you want."

Tucking him into bed that night, he gives me an extra long hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, dad." he whispers.

That right there is one of the defining moments of my life. My life, what I do and say, now has real consquences outside of myself. I have left the egocentric universe of me on a one way ticket. My influence, however great or small it is, will now affect his trajectory through life. That, my friends, is an awesome and exciting responsibility.

Nathan has given me more, pure, innocent, unjaded joy in the past 4 months that I have ever had in my life. Yes, I am tough, demanding and onerous when it comes to learning. "I'm the only kid who has READING A BOOK as one of my chores! Its' embarrassing!" He cries. But we have fun, too. The night he grabbed my East German gasmask and sandwich baggies on his hands to clean the puppy poop out of his bedroom (while dressed in Mickey Mouse longjohns and Picachu-shaped house slippers) was a sight that made me laugh to tears. Tossing a cup of cold water over the shower curtain at him, flying rockets in the park, or helping me serve breakfast in bed to his mother.

These are my treasures now.

Paulette is my angel. We have our moments, each of us have bad habits and assumptions to unlearn. but each day has been better then the last. She is thoughtful, grateful and appreciative of my affections and has come to peace with my cruffler hobby. I do my best to make sure I earn her love and respect.

We are retreating to a state park in the southern part of Ohio for a week long honeymoon. I shall be incommunicado until the 28th.

Thanks for your kind responses to my earlier missives under this Subject heading. I'll miss the daily reading of the list, but, believe me, I won't miss it too much!!!

(A sleep deprived) Paul....

A Cruffler Reveals his Dark Secret: Part Five

The Wedding Eve!

The nuptials? What nuptials?

To the list at large: (reply in private)

Question: (Purely hypothetical of course, because my Paulette is the dictionary definition of Sweetness, Kindness and Light in case she is reading this.)

Do all women become irrational, raving, Jeckyll & Hyde like (ex: "Paul. I despise you and all you stand for. Would you please bring me a glass of your wonderful Lemonade on Ice, Sweetie?") balls of frenzy, trepidation and paranoia in the month before her wedding?

I am a very calm, quiet person, and it seems that my sangfroid demeanor serves only to aggravate her when I don't attribute the same gravitas to the pitfalls and inconveniences that we encounter while planning the weddings.

(example:
Sales Clerk: "I'm sorry. The shoe manufacturer doesn't make that style of pump in white."

Compare:

Paul: "Ok then. What do you have in white?" (mind you, eggshell is *not* white. That was made *abundantly* clear to me in no uncertain terms when I made the suggestion to Paulette.)

or.. 

Paulette: "AAAGGGghh! I want this in white! Why don't they make it, huh? You're trying to ruin my wedding aren't you? " she lunges at the sales clerk with the pointed end of the ice cream cone I just bought her at the UDF next door (Cotton Candy flavored) screaming "Die! Die! Die!".

After I pry her off the clerk, I wipe the melted ice cream from his brow and apologize profusely.

Paulette sobs softly outside the store. "Everything is ruined. This is horrible. I want the wedding to be perfect..." <sob>.

"Everything is going to be just fine sweetie," I squeeze her hand.

"No, its not. Its going to be awful, just awful."

"I get to marry you, and that is what counts honey."

"Agghh!, I hate it when you do that!"

"Wha?" <blink>

"Why don't you get angry?"

"Because some child laborers in a chinese shoe factory aren't whipped into making your pumps in white just for your wedding?"

"Yes." completely straightfaced.

<blink> What does one say to that?

I've tried every thing to understand. I bite my tongue, smile and tell her how much I love her.

She did get slightly offended when she woke up in the middle of the night the other day. It seems that the priests were chanting too loudly, and she is a light sleeper anyways. I tried to tell her the pentagram she was inside of was only chalk, and would vaccuum right off the floor, and the candle wax would come off easily too. In any case, she had to visit the latrine, and we didn't have time to exorcise that particular demon that seems to have possessed her of late. (I think the priest mentioned Hormonostopheles, but I can't be sure.)

Paul...