Environmental vs. Hereditary

I have long-believed that some issues are inherited and other issues come from environmental exposure.

Take alcoholism. I have always believed the tendency towards alcholism is partly inherited, and should a person with those genetic tendencies be raised in an environment where alcoholism is prevalent, the individual with the genetic tendencies is pretty much screwed.

This past Sunday, Birdy and I were busy in the garage, completing our last-minute winter projects.

Birdy's project was preparing his turkey decoy. Birdy took one turkey from last season, "caped" it out and froze it. Saturday, he thawed the "outside" of the turkey to use over a decoy. This should make Birdy's decoy more realistic. He hopes. He thinks. We'll see.

When Dillon shot his first bow-kill, I decided to keep part of the hide to tan.

Tannning an entire hide is a total pain. It's a great idea in the beginning, but it turns out to be a whole load of work.

This yearling was so soft, the fur so thick, I couldn't resist. What a neat way to keep a piece of my son's first bow kill? I decided to take a small section and make a throw for the back of a chair or maybe a fur "doilie".

I realized Sunday that the pelt was still in the fridge, still salted, from this past fall. Since my husband had his turkey shell scattered all about the garage, I may as well join him.

I found my tanning directions and sat down with the hide and a sharp knife. I made a pathetic attempt to scrape the fat off the hide. This is the worst part. After a few lame scrapes, my husband came over and scraped for me. I kept telling him, "Hey, I can get this..."

I tried not to protest too loudly, though.

Once the fat was gone, I had to rinse the hide and then re-salt it with non-iodized salt (pickling salt) and put it back in the refrigerator until I can run down some citric acid.

Birdy, having cleaned up his turkey hide, was busy sprinkling Borax all over it. I made a comment about Dillon's turkey butt that had been sitting on top of the garage 'fridge for over a year, "Kid's been asking about it."

"Oh, well, I can work on that, too!"

Great idea! Yeah! Let's clear all the dead critters out of the corners! There's several deer skulls on the back patio, decomposing, along with a coyote hide in the freezer.

"How you gonna get all that Borax off that hide?" I asked.

"I guess I scrape it."

"Why don't you wash it?"

Birdy frowned at me, "Can't wash it, it'll ruin the feathers."

"How do you figure? Turkeys get rained on all the time."

"Yes, but this turkey can't prune itself."

My forehead immediately screwed into a frown and I began mumbling....prune. Prune? Prune. Prune is a fruit. You prune a tree. An old woman is a shriveled up old prune....prune...Prune.

Birdy peers at me and asks, "What are you doing???" Like he didn't already know what was coming.

"Prune."

"Yes, prune."

"Prune is a fruit...what's the word I'm looking for??? PREEN! Birds preen!"

"Who cares??? I mean, you knew what I meant! You knew," long pause, "I was close."

Then, we both fell-out laughing.

"You think it's hereditary! You think it's genetic! It's NOT! It's environmental, too! I know it is! He's always close!" I laughed.

He being my father.

Birdy laughs some more...and I commented, "I wouldn't be surprised if it's not something in the water out here...."

After a delicious dinner of corned beef and cabbage prepared by my mother, Birdy and I were nursing our over-stuffed midsections watching something I'd found on the History Channel.

I love history and my brain is filled with useless information regarding history, social studies, and geography. My husband's brain isn't filled with this useless information. He has his own special brand of useless information...

He climbs into the bed next to me and after a few minutes, asks, "Where did they find this Shroud?"

We were watching a show about the Shroud of Turin and how it might actually be real and the radio-carbon dating done on it might really be wrong.

Having already explained most of the show to him, he stumped me. I couldn't answer that history question. That bothered me so I had to hit the internet on the next commercial.

I googled, get this, The Shroud of Turpin.

Turpin is the hunting buddy of Rob's that just passed away.

Oh, Lord. It IS a mixture of hereditary and environment. And I bet it's in the water, too. Oh, man.

Just so you know, the Shroud of Turin was located in the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist in Turin, Italy. It just turned-up. No one is sure where it came from...

Today, I was taking the kids and myself to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist. By the time I get there, I'm exhausted. They have you recline in the most comfortable chair and then begin grinding away on your teeth and gums. Meanwhile, my boys are shredding the office...

As we pulled into the parking lot, Dustin spurts forth with, "Oh, Reb Lodster! No, Reb Lodster. I mean, Reb Lobster...aw, man."

Dillon and I are cackling.

"Red Lobster, Dustin?" I asked.

"Yeah, that."

After our cleanings, we piled back in the TrailBlazer whereupon Dustin announces, "There's Duckin' Donuts."

Are you kidding me?

"Dunkin', Dustin, Dunkin'."

"Oooohhhhh!!!"

Maybe I should invest in bottled water...