Me and the gun
November 27, 2006My mother calls me at work distraught. During my parents' move into a new house in Clay County where my mom teaches school, she had misplaced a few key items.
"I can't find the skirt patterns," she said.
My mom is an ace behind the sewing machine, something I and my five younger sisters have taken full advantage of, especially now that we're old enough to pick out our own material. (Painful flashback to many, many, many embarrassing years of colorful, flower-laden Easter dresses.)
About two years ago, Mom cut out some handmade skirt patterns for Sister No. 3 and me. These came in handy any time we would find some cool material. We could mail it back to her and, in a few weeks, have a brand new, perfectly-fitted skirt sent to us in the mail.
But during my parents move this summer, the skirt patterns were misplaced.
The horror.
"Oh, and I can't find the gun either," Mom continued.
Yep, that's right. Skirt patterns rank higher than finding misplaced weapons in our household.
***
Mom calls about two weeks after the first missing patterns/gun incident.
I'm at work, sitting at my desk.
At work, mind you.
"Lara, when you get a second -- and there's no rush -- could you go outside and look in your car and see if there's a gun underneath the front seat?"
Seems Mom remembered she put the gun in a car -- so it wouldn't get lost -- but she just doesn't know which vehicle.
Maybe it's mine.
I excuse myself from the newsroom and slyly go looking for a gun in my car.
I turn up empty.
***
Mom calls me again at work in early September.
"We found the patterns," she exclaims. "And the gun."
The patterns were in a box that had been placed in the storage unit instead of the sewing nook.
The gun was another story. It was hidden in a box full of ribbons and other knick-knacks in the trunk of Sister No. 4's car.
The car that I had driven to work for all of August.
Apparently, I had been parking a car with a loaded pistol in its trunk on Times Record News property for a month.
If I've told my bosses once, I've told them a thousand times: Don't mess with a country girl 'cuz you never know when a weapon might turn up.
Posted by Lara Richards at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
I've got the skills
November 20, 2006It was a Friday morning this August and I was driving home to Paducah. I pulled in to the Allsup's in Crowell and immediately knew something big was going on.
Beer trucks were everywhere.
It hit me -- Foard County had voted in May to go wet -- and now, the beer was here.
I grabbed a Coke, not a cold brewski. (Liquor sales wouldn't officially begin until the next morning). I paid at the counter and hopped back in my car.
And then I realized that I was a reporter and news -- big, frothy news -- was happening right in front of me.
I admit I cursed a little. It was my day off and I was headed home.
"But the news never sleeps," I could hear my editor, Wilson, beating into my head.
I went back into the store, this time as Journalist Lara.
I interviewed the store manager and then headed to the courthouse to talk to County Judge Charlie Bell.
As I climbed the steps of the courthouse, I realized that I wasn't what you would call dressed to impress.
My jeans had needed washing three wears ago and had a fresh stain on them from the burrito I'd eaten earlier in the day.
My flip-flops had seen better days and my hair was kind of up, kind of down, mostly dirty.
And then there's my T-shirt. Ahh, the T-shirt. It was neon blue and said -- in big, colorful, capital letters -- "I've got the skills to pay the bills."
No joke.
I walked into Judge Bell's office and introduced myself to the woman sitting at the desk inside.
"Hello, my name is Lara Richards. I'm with the Times Record News and I've got the skills to pay the bills."
OK, so I didn't say it like that, but I might as well have.
I quickly explained to the judge's secretary, Marilyn, why I was there and -- more importantly -- why I was dressed like a ruffian. The judge was out of the office, so I ended up calling him on the phone.
I finished my interviews in Crowell, and me and my skills hit the road.
Being a journalist means always being on the lookout for news, even if I'm dressed in a ratty T-shirt on my day off.
And I guess I'm OK with that.
After all, I've got the skills to pay the bills.
Posted by Lara Richards at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
