I suppose with the added suppressor and sub-sonic loads it'd make a fine crittergetter. Just not to my taste.
Stephen
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Really
Not sure about this configuration....it's a 38/357.
I suppose with the added suppressor and sub-sonic loads it'd make a fine crittergetter. Just not to my taste.
Stephen
I suppose with the added suppressor and sub-sonic loads it'd make a fine crittergetter. Just not to my taste.
Stephen
What He Just Said...
Bayou Renaissance Man just posted a must read...if you are concerned at all about your almost worthless Federal Reserve Notes, get over there and read his new post.
It's time to lock and load my friends.
Stephen
It's time to lock and load my friends.
Stephen
The Blog Of The Week
I'm telling 'ya, to pick the one blog of the week I feel meets my criteria of a good well-rounded blog isn't easy. Yet, here I've found one. This very intelligent young woman writes under the tag of Heroditus Huxley, which I'm sure many of you already know and love. If the name throws you, then Google it.
Our blog of the week is theantisoma. Her commentary is as sharp as a knife very well written dragon biting down to earth kick 'em in the butt stuff.
And, she's a gunny. Wing it over and bookmark her blog to your list and you'll not regret it. Her blog isn't receiving its due credit. Help her out.
Thanks.
Stephen
Our blog of the week is theantisoma. Her commentary is as sharp as a knife very well written dragon biting down to earth kick 'em in the butt stuff.
And, she's a gunny. Wing it over and bookmark her blog to your list and you'll not regret it. Her blog isn't receiving its due credit. Help her out.
Thanks.
Stephen
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Bits & Pieces
Perhaps I've mentioned this is my busy season, from now until New Year's. You've probably noticed a drastic reduction in my post over the last few weeks - it shall continue, I afraid.
(an hour later)
See. I'd barely finished writing the sentence above when the door bell rang....which is fine, it's money. But, those that just want to come in and chat, bug me to death. Don't get me wrong, I like them, most of my customers are nice people, the vast majority tied, in one way or the other, to the gun culture. There are the 'Fudd's' too, good folks, just one sided, and then the 'wanna-bees,' those with a wish to be hard asses but are in fact vastly unqualified to handle weapons....they give me pause, which leaves me silent while they are in my shop.
Excuse me while I pull a cup of coffee.
My son just sent me a text asking the worth of a 1929 penny. I replied, a penny. Okay, perhaps with its copper content, five cents. Give me a break. Some dude wanted to sell it to him and I know he'd pay far more than its actual worth. The boy can't afford it.
Yesterday our weather turned. In a two hour period the temperature dropped twenty degrees with high winds and rain, a steady cold rain. This morning, clear with wake up temps in the low fifties. Nice.
As you know I drive my granddaughter, Little Bit, to school each morning. We always stop for a hot breakfast. This morning a 'fake' Santa walked inside for his reindeer food.
Little Bit, "Papa."
"What, Sweetheart."
She's giving Santa the once over; a careful study indeed.
"Papa, that's the ugliest Santa I've ever seen."
Me, "Well, Honey, he just had a rough night."
"Papa, he's not real is he."
"No, Honey, I'm afraid he isn't. He was probably hired by Santa as a temporary bell ringer for the season."
Silence. She rubs her nose. Takes a bit of her food. She keeps him in a steady gaze. Let's out a long sigh...
"Papa."
"Yes."
"Santa just needs to quit hiring the homeless, or at least makes them takes baths."
She has a point.
Stephen
(an hour later)
See. I'd barely finished writing the sentence above when the door bell rang....which is fine, it's money. But, those that just want to come in and chat, bug me to death. Don't get me wrong, I like them, most of my customers are nice people, the vast majority tied, in one way or the other, to the gun culture. There are the 'Fudd's' too, good folks, just one sided, and then the 'wanna-bees,' those with a wish to be hard asses but are in fact vastly unqualified to handle weapons....they give me pause, which leaves me silent while they are in my shop.
Excuse me while I pull a cup of coffee.
My son just sent me a text asking the worth of a 1929 penny. I replied, a penny. Okay, perhaps with its copper content, five cents. Give me a break. Some dude wanted to sell it to him and I know he'd pay far more than its actual worth. The boy can't afford it.
Yesterday our weather turned. In a two hour period the temperature dropped twenty degrees with high winds and rain, a steady cold rain. This morning, clear with wake up temps in the low fifties. Nice.
As you know I drive my granddaughter, Little Bit, to school each morning. We always stop for a hot breakfast. This morning a 'fake' Santa walked inside for his reindeer food.
Little Bit, "Papa."
"What, Sweetheart."
She's giving Santa the once over; a careful study indeed.
"Papa, that's the ugliest Santa I've ever seen."
Me, "Well, Honey, he just had a rough night."
"Papa, he's not real is he."
"No, Honey, I'm afraid he isn't. He was probably hired by Santa as a temporary bell ringer for the season."
Silence. She rubs her nose. Takes a bit of her food. She keeps him in a steady gaze. Let's out a long sigh...
"Papa."
"Yes."
"Santa just needs to quit hiring the homeless, or at least makes them takes baths."
She has a point.
Stephen
Monday, November 28, 2011
It's Just An Old Reel, Isn't It.
In our family room we have two 'built-in' bookshelves on either side of our fireplace. I have a bad habit of taking tidbits of my life and sitting them alongside the books. You know the little spaces left when you shove the books aside or rearward, leaving a nice couple of square inches of polished wood, perfect for the odd old and unopened box of Remington Hi-Speed .22, The pretty red and green of the box that gives texture and class to a protective archival wrapper of the complete works of Alice B. Toklas ...like that.
In the quiet of last evening I glanced from my comfortable chair up at the bookshelves in an attempt to find some volume or the other that had recently been tossed about in my mind; I believe it was a rare bio of Hetty Green, the witch of wall street. Anyway I became distracted when my attention was caught by one of my odd dust catchers; a vintage (not old, just kinda old) Heddon spinning reel. A model 220-R. I stood and reached and sat to caress the fine lines of this reel - actually I stroked memories of my youth.
Heddon is long gone, oh sure, the product line of fishing lures is still owned by some strange corporate body, but the essence, the history of Heddon has long vanished.
When I was young, a knot-kneed kid of twelve or so, I had three interests in life - guns, books, and fishing. Just your typical country boy. I can remember countless hours of intense study with a Heddon catalog tucked under my bed clothes where I'd dream by flashlight of a mailbox filled with Lucky 13's and River Runts.
Across the road from our home, at that time, was a cattle pasture. Located within was a beautiful old pond of some several acres. The lake held an island always just out of my reach as I had no boat. My time and fishing was limited to the shoreline, but I was content with the limits, happy even for the freedom of a day with nature.
I'd always wake early on weekends. I'd grab a quick breakfast of whatever and then outdoors to dig a can of worms for 'just in case.' Just in case was my backup to the three or four odd lures I was allowed by my father or purchased with birthday money. Those lures (or as I referred to them, plugs) were precious jewels decorated, as they were, with shiny silver propellers fore and aft. Painted in shades of gold and yellow or a washed out green with black spots - for me, art.
I'd go armed for combat with my battered steel rod loaded with its very old spin-cast reel. Not trusting its worthiness it was usually accompanied by a six foot cane pole; I intended to catch - something.
In those early morning hours with the rising sun warm on my back, I'd crawl under the house and retrieve my stash of gear and head out with fresh dew cool on my bare feet. A scrawny tow-headed kid with the ability to slip between barbed wire without leaving a trace of his passage.
I had no mentor. I fished purely by instinct.
My father was 'the game warden,' as the locals called him and as such I was to be feared. The locals kept all fish regardless of size so they were uneasy of me and took efforts to stay out of sight and refused to fish with me. Thus, the small lake was usually mine alone, my private world. This suited me just fine. I was a quiet kid and company talked and I was sure every Bass in the pond could hear them which would spoil my chances of a good catch. Bream, on the other hand, were just stupid, I left them as a backup.
I'd work the pond from one end to other, and I almost always caught fish. Most were three and four pound Bass with the occasional ten, and once, a twelve pounder which caused me to drop all and run, screaming like a banshee, all the way home to show my mother. Proud, I was....
The snapshot of the memory taken that long ago morning has been lost to time. I wish I still held the evidence, I'd like to see if there was a mile long grin on my childish face, if I held the Bass close or at arms length, but mostly I want to see, just one more time, that old rod and reel. If memory serves me the reel was a Shakespeare. But the years since haven't been kind to my recollection.
I do remember days of summer sunshine, the odors of cow pies, tiny piles of rabbit scat, raccoon tracts pressed into the mud, the way the water lilies held close to the shore with their white waxy blooms kissed with just a touch of yellow. I still remember the cattle, tails swishing flies, heavy milk filled udders that flapped when they walked. I remember the morning I became distracted by Crawfish hunting, a tin can of boiling water and the way those mudbugs tasted afterwards. And, I vividly recall the tall dull green bulrushes, and the quick hard thunderstorms that had a habit of catching me mid-cast, and I, too hard headed to seek cover forced to walk home soaked as a drowned rat. And the water, I remember the water most of all.
Norman McClean once wrote in his novel, A River Runs Through It, a simple passage - 'I'm haunted by waters.' The moment I read his words I fully understood their meaning.
In the quiet of last evening I glanced from my comfortable chair up at the bookshelves in an attempt to find some volume or the other that had recently been tossed about in my mind; I believe it was a rare bio of Hetty Green, the witch of wall street. Anyway I became distracted when my attention was caught by one of my odd dust catchers; a vintage (not old, just kinda old) Heddon spinning reel. A model 220-R. I stood and reached and sat to caress the fine lines of this reel - actually I stroked memories of my youth.
Heddon is long gone, oh sure, the product line of fishing lures is still owned by some strange corporate body, but the essence, the history of Heddon has long vanished.
When I was young, a knot-kneed kid of twelve or so, I had three interests in life - guns, books, and fishing. Just your typical country boy. I can remember countless hours of intense study with a Heddon catalog tucked under my bed clothes where I'd dream by flashlight of a mailbox filled with Lucky 13's and River Runts.
Across the road from our home, at that time, was a cattle pasture. Located within was a beautiful old pond of some several acres. The lake held an island always just out of my reach as I had no boat. My time and fishing was limited to the shoreline, but I was content with the limits, happy even for the freedom of a day with nature.
I'd always wake early on weekends. I'd grab a quick breakfast of whatever and then outdoors to dig a can of worms for 'just in case.' Just in case was my backup to the three or four odd lures I was allowed by my father or purchased with birthday money. Those lures (or as I referred to them, plugs) were precious jewels decorated, as they were, with shiny silver propellers fore and aft. Painted in shades of gold and yellow or a washed out green with black spots - for me, art.
I'd go armed for combat with my battered steel rod loaded with its very old spin-cast reel. Not trusting its worthiness it was usually accompanied by a six foot cane pole; I intended to catch - something.
In those early morning hours with the rising sun warm on my back, I'd crawl under the house and retrieve my stash of gear and head out with fresh dew cool on my bare feet. A scrawny tow-headed kid with the ability to slip between barbed wire without leaving a trace of his passage.
I had no mentor. I fished purely by instinct.
My father was 'the game warden,' as the locals called him and as such I was to be feared. The locals kept all fish regardless of size so they were uneasy of me and took efforts to stay out of sight and refused to fish with me. Thus, the small lake was usually mine alone, my private world. This suited me just fine. I was a quiet kid and company talked and I was sure every Bass in the pond could hear them which would spoil my chances of a good catch. Bream, on the other hand, were just stupid, I left them as a backup.
I'd work the pond from one end to other, and I almost always caught fish. Most were three and four pound Bass with the occasional ten, and once, a twelve pounder which caused me to drop all and run, screaming like a banshee, all the way home to show my mother. Proud, I was....
The snapshot of the memory taken that long ago morning has been lost to time. I wish I still held the evidence, I'd like to see if there was a mile long grin on my childish face, if I held the Bass close or at arms length, but mostly I want to see, just one more time, that old rod and reel. If memory serves me the reel was a Shakespeare. But the years since haven't been kind to my recollection.
I do remember days of summer sunshine, the odors of cow pies, tiny piles of rabbit scat, raccoon tracts pressed into the mud, the way the water lilies held close to the shore with their white waxy blooms kissed with just a touch of yellow. I still remember the cattle, tails swishing flies, heavy milk filled udders that flapped when they walked. I remember the morning I became distracted by Crawfish hunting, a tin can of boiling water and the way those mudbugs tasted afterwards. And, I vividly recall the tall dull green bulrushes, and the quick hard thunderstorms that had a habit of catching me mid-cast, and I, too hard headed to seek cover forced to walk home soaked as a drowned rat. And the water, I remember the water most of all.
Norman McClean once wrote in his novel, A River Runs Through It, a simple passage - 'I'm haunted by waters.' The moment I read his words I fully understood their meaning.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sunday
It's been a quiet morning. Sweet Wife and I took our morning walk and afterwards I gave my feet a few minutes of rest and then began my annual post Thanksgiving turkey soup.
It's a simple soup of our leftover Thanksgiving turkey, fresh herbs and vegetables. I begin by sauteing onions in butter and olive oil until they're caramelized. As the onions saute I remove the turkey meat from the bone. I remove all skin and connective tissue. With a nice pile of meat standing by I add minced garlic (not the crap in the bottle or pre-minced please) allow the garlic to simmer a bit then add the turkey.
Like I said, simple. Other than canned tomatoes I use fresh vegetables; little red potatoes, mushrooms, corn, and baby Lima beans. I prefer chicken stock. Since I used all my nice homemade turkey stock during Thursday's dinner I went with boxed chicken stock for this soup. Use whatever works for you but I believe water a poor choice. You want favor after all. Now, salt and pepper, just go easy on the spices at this stage.
My herbs are simple fresh thyme and sage. I mean come on, it's turkey. Since I love my food a bit on the spicy side I add Creole seasoning. Just don't get too carried away with it. Season lightly at the beginning, you can always adjust later.
Measures and amounts of ingredients should be adjusted to the number of meals and or people you're cooking for, of course.
I'm sure each and everyone of us has their favorite post Thanksgiving turkey recipe, I offer mine for the simple reason I need a post today....I'm tired and just can't get my mind in gear. Please, remind me to take next year's Thanksgiving week off.
Above, the onions are ready for caramelizing.
De-bone time.
Just a prep picture.
Construction under way. After I've all the ingredients in the pot I bring it to a boil, then place my pot on a simmer plate (I use gas) then reduce the heat and allow it to simmer for hours....the longer the better in my humble opinion.
The soup is happy now, and how I love the way it perfumes the house.
Enjoy, and thanks for reading.
Stephen
It's a simple soup of our leftover Thanksgiving turkey, fresh herbs and vegetables. I begin by sauteing onions in butter and olive oil until they're caramelized. As the onions saute I remove the turkey meat from the bone. I remove all skin and connective tissue. With a nice pile of meat standing by I add minced garlic (not the crap in the bottle or pre-minced please) allow the garlic to simmer a bit then add the turkey.
Like I said, simple. Other than canned tomatoes I use fresh vegetables; little red potatoes, mushrooms, corn, and baby Lima beans. I prefer chicken stock. Since I used all my nice homemade turkey stock during Thursday's dinner I went with boxed chicken stock for this soup. Use whatever works for you but I believe water a poor choice. You want favor after all. Now, salt and pepper, just go easy on the spices at this stage.
My herbs are simple fresh thyme and sage. I mean come on, it's turkey. Since I love my food a bit on the spicy side I add Creole seasoning. Just don't get too carried away with it. Season lightly at the beginning, you can always adjust later.
Measures and amounts of ingredients should be adjusted to the number of meals and or people you're cooking for, of course.
I'm sure each and everyone of us has their favorite post Thanksgiving turkey recipe, I offer mine for the simple reason I need a post today....I'm tired and just can't get my mind in gear. Please, remind me to take next year's Thanksgiving week off.
Construction under way. After I've all the ingredients in the pot I bring it to a boil, then place my pot on a simmer plate (I use gas) then reduce the heat and allow it to simmer for hours....the longer the better in my humble opinion.
Enjoy, and thanks for reading.
Stephen
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Thanks & Welcome
To two new followers this morning. The first thanks and welcome goes to my new friend, Just Cook. He's a chef and has a new blog, please, take a stroll and say hello.
My friend, I will reply to all comments, good or bad. It might take me a day or two, but I shall reply so please drop a line when you visit.
My new friend, John (aka Just Cook) like I've mentioned is a chef, a professional, unlike me, a wanna-be. I've always admired real working chefs. The culinary arts draw me like a moth to flame. I'm far more comfortable with a handgun or battle rifle in my hands, but chef knives turn me on too. By the way, his last blog entry was about making flour from acorn nuts. He'll even show you how to process venison. What's not to like....I mean, come on, he's a real working chef.
My other new friend is dakotas5. I believe his blog is fairly new too. Hillbilly Survival will prove an interesting read.
Again, my new friends, thank you for hitting my follower button. To my long time friends, please, run over and say hello. I appreciate it.
John, Dakotas5 - you are now among friends.
Stephen
My friend, I will reply to all comments, good or bad. It might take me a day or two, but I shall reply so please drop a line when you visit.
My new friend, John (aka Just Cook) like I've mentioned is a chef, a professional, unlike me, a wanna-be. I've always admired real working chefs. The culinary arts draw me like a moth to flame. I'm far more comfortable with a handgun or battle rifle in my hands, but chef knives turn me on too. By the way, his last blog entry was about making flour from acorn nuts. He'll even show you how to process venison. What's not to like....I mean, come on, he's a real working chef.
My other new friend is dakotas5. I believe his blog is fairly new too. Hillbilly Survival will prove an interesting read.
Again, my new friends, thank you for hitting my follower button. To my long time friends, please, run over and say hello. I appreciate it.
John, Dakotas5 - you are now among friends.
Stephen
Friday, November 25, 2011
Fun With Black Powder
Here's a neat trick for 'that' day. One or two old single barrel shotguns (and a double) should always be a part of your firearms collection. Be careful.
Enjoy.
Stephen
Enjoy.
Stephen
The Day After
Not sure about you but I'm tired. It's been said by some that Thanksgiving is their 'favorite' holiday, which is understandable, but for the person in the kitchen on their feet for most of the day, I'd bet it isn't.
I was that person yesterday. I'd begun my preps the evening before; took it easy, put my stock to simmer, chopped my vegetables and herbs. My 'mise enplace' saves me a good hour of work on the big day. Sweet Wife helped a bit but truthfully the less people in my kitchen the better; most just get in my way.
Even Little Bit tried to help. She was able to spend Wednesday evening and Thanksgiving day with us. She had a good time. When she approached asking if I needed assistance in the kitchen I, or course, said sure. Kitchens with their open gas burners and sharp knives (and trust me mine are very sharp) are really not good hang outs for children. Anyway, she helped Papa with the turkey prep. Ever seen a little girl with both hands covered in semi-melted butter rub a turkey breast....then, wipe her face.
I was in the kitchen from 0800 until well after 1400....my feet hurt.
I'm at the office now. Just opened the shop because the media said I should and I've heard talk of Black Fridays....we'll see. So far it's very quiet. The coffee is on and I've just jerked myself a cup, so come on down and join me. We'll chat, shot the poop, tell tall tales of days gone by when our blood still ran rich and hot.
Just received word via text that my good friend ShooterSteve proposed to his girlfriend yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner. My understanding is he shocked the heck out of her and she melted and said yes. I'm very happy for them. May the Good Lord bless them both.
I'd like to leave you a picture taken yesterday just after Little Bit had her hair done by her Nana. She was all proud, told me she was now my little Bohemian. I glanced at her Nana for an explanation, all she said was, she takes after you, she reads. Oh well.
You guys have a great day and I'll see you later.
Stephen
I was that person yesterday. I'd begun my preps the evening before; took it easy, put my stock to simmer, chopped my vegetables and herbs. My 'mise enplace' saves me a good hour of work on the big day. Sweet Wife helped a bit but truthfully the less people in my kitchen the better; most just get in my way.
Even Little Bit tried to help. She was able to spend Wednesday evening and Thanksgiving day with us. She had a good time. When she approached asking if I needed assistance in the kitchen I, or course, said sure. Kitchens with their open gas burners and sharp knives (and trust me mine are very sharp) are really not good hang outs for children. Anyway, she helped Papa with the turkey prep. Ever seen a little girl with both hands covered in semi-melted butter rub a turkey breast....then, wipe her face.
I was in the kitchen from 0800 until well after 1400....my feet hurt.
I'm at the office now. Just opened the shop because the media said I should and I've heard talk of Black Fridays....we'll see. So far it's very quiet. The coffee is on and I've just jerked myself a cup, so come on down and join me. We'll chat, shot the poop, tell tall tales of days gone by when our blood still ran rich and hot.
Just received word via text that my good friend ShooterSteve proposed to his girlfriend yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner. My understanding is he shocked the heck out of her and she melted and said yes. I'm very happy for them. May the Good Lord bless them both.
I'd like to leave you a picture taken yesterday just after Little Bit had her hair done by her Nana. She was all proud, told me she was now my little Bohemian. I glanced at her Nana for an explanation, all she said was, she takes after you, she reads. Oh well.
You guys have a great day and I'll see you later.
Stephen
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving
To all my friends, may you have a peaceful and bountiful Thanksgiving.
God Bless you.
Stephen
God Bless you.
Stephen
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
A Long Day
My good friends it's been a long and tiring day. Like I've said, it's the busy season for me. I'm not sure if I'll post again until after Thanksgiving, maybe I will, maybe I won't. But either way please rest assured I will be back. I'm sure I will post a Thanksgiving wish to you all before Thursday.
Trust me, I will reply to all comments...have a good evening.
Stephen
Stephen
The Blog of The Week
My friend 45er is a cool guy. A gun blogger of the best kind, nice. He isn't full of himself and doesn't claim to be a self proclaimed expert on all things that go boom. My kind of guy.
His blog is severely ignored by many and this is a shame for his writing is sharp and at times down right funny. I even like the blog title, Barrel Smoke, cool name.
Do yourself a favor and take a walk over and say hello. I'm sure he'd appreciate the visit.
Stephen
His blog is severely ignored by many and this is a shame for his writing is sharp and at times down right funny. I even like the blog title, Barrel Smoke, cool name.
Do yourself a favor and take a walk over and say hello. I'm sure he'd appreciate the visit.
Stephen
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thanksgiving
It's almost time for me to run and get my Little Bit. Afterwards it's a quick lunch, then we shall hit the store and do our Thanksgiving grocery shopping.
I'm sure this will prove to be very expensive. I noticed (earlier) the markets are taking a big hit. This doesn't bode well for us as Americans. This inflation is eating us alive. Bet I pay a pretty penny today for all we'll need and I'm only shopping for two. Our son and DIL have announced they'll eat with her side of the family this year. Such is life.
Anyhow, I'll see you good folks sometime later this evening.
Until then.
Stephen
I'm sure this will prove to be very expensive. I noticed (earlier) the markets are taking a big hit. This doesn't bode well for us as Americans. This inflation is eating us alive. Bet I pay a pretty penny today for all we'll need and I'm only shopping for two. Our son and DIL have announced they'll eat with her side of the family this year. Such is life.
Anyhow, I'll see you good folks sometime later this evening.
Stephen
The Weekend
For once all group members were in attendance, even Pirate Jim, our medic. It sure was nice to have him back.
I'll make this short and sweet and give over a few boring pictures. We're dead set on the completion of our 'Boar's Nest.' Saturday we purchased 1/2" OSB to finish the ceiling. Used screws to secure it.
ShooterSteve finished his 12 volt wiring runs. Soon we'll install the fixtures and with the wire supplied by our good friend and aux member MDR at a very good price, we'll run power to the Nest.
Here's MDR's wire on site. The silver stuff is tape, and yes, it's a pain to remove but at least the wire, some very expensive stuff, arrived in fine condition. Thanks, Bubba.
We had to clear out some work space. Piled it all out on the deck.
Power, supplied by ShooterSteve.
Above, our medic, Jim and Senior Chief supervising labor.
ShooterSteve running wire.
Above, progress.
Almost finished with the ceiling.
This is my good friend, Duke, striking his John Wayne pose in the doorway.
Just a general shot of the kitchen area.
We had a good time. It was hard work, and sadly, we didn't burn a single grain of gunpowder. But, like I said, we really want to finish the Boar's Nest.
Hey, 'ya'll come back now, 'ya hear....
Stephen
I'll make this short and sweet and give over a few boring pictures. We're dead set on the completion of our 'Boar's Nest.' Saturday we purchased 1/2" OSB to finish the ceiling. Used screws to secure it.
ShooterSteve finished his 12 volt wiring runs. Soon we'll install the fixtures and with the wire supplied by our good friend and aux member MDR at a very good price, we'll run power to the Nest.
Here's MDR's wire on site. The silver stuff is tape, and yes, it's a pain to remove but at least the wire, some very expensive stuff, arrived in fine condition. Thanks, Bubba.
We had to clear out some work space. Piled it all out on the deck.
Power, supplied by ShooterSteve.
Above, our medic, Jim and Senior Chief supervising labor.
ShooterSteve running wire.
Above, progress.
Almost finished with the ceiling.
This is my good friend, Duke, striking his John Wayne pose in the doorway.
Just a general shot of the kitchen area.
We had a good time. It was hard work, and sadly, we didn't burn a single grain of gunpowder. But, like I said, we really want to finish the Boar's Nest.
Hey, 'ya'll come back now, 'ya hear....
Stephen
I Wish I Had An Answer; A Request
I've just finished reading this. Please, if you believe in the power of prayer, help this little girl. I know you understand why it hit me so hard.
Thank you. I believe her name is Zoe.
Stephen
Thank you. I believe her name is Zoe.
Stephen
Good Morning
I've had a few computer problems this morning - don't know....anyway I will return as soon as possible with an update of our group's weekend.
As this is Monday, it's paperwork day for me. Hate it.
This morning while at McDonald's Little Bit pulled on my arm, asked me to bend down. She then whispered,
"Papa, what does 'donation' mean?"
I explained.
"Oh, it means peoples gives monies to help them when they're in the hospital?"
(We need to work on her plural pronunciation)
"Yes, Sweetheart. When little boys and girls get sick or hurt the money in those containers helps pay for their parents to stay nearby the hospital and for their care in recovery."
The line moves forward, I give my order, I remove my money clip from my pocket. Little Bit steps in and takes my clip before I even realize what's happening. She removes the top folded twenty dollar bill and has that sucker jammed into the slot of the donation container before I can whistle Dixie.
After this blatant robbery she turns those beautiful brown eyes up to me and smiles.
Me, in a state of utter shock, "Little Bit, that isn't funny."
The lady behind the register hasn't moved. The hoople-head behind uses good common sense and doesn't open his mouth.
Then, "Papa, I know it isn't funny. They hurt and need our help, and you're so sweet and it's almost Christmas I 'knowed' you wouldn't mind and that's why I love you."
Me and my big mouth.
See you guys later.
Stephen
As this is Monday, it's paperwork day for me. Hate it.
This morning while at McDonald's Little Bit pulled on my arm, asked me to bend down. She then whispered,
"Papa, what does 'donation' mean?"
I explained.
"Oh, it means peoples gives monies to help them when they're in the hospital?"
(We need to work on her plural pronunciation)
"Yes, Sweetheart. When little boys and girls get sick or hurt the money in those containers helps pay for their parents to stay nearby the hospital and for their care in recovery."
The line moves forward, I give my order, I remove my money clip from my pocket. Little Bit steps in and takes my clip before I even realize what's happening. She removes the top folded twenty dollar bill and has that sucker jammed into the slot of the donation container before I can whistle Dixie.
After this blatant robbery she turns those beautiful brown eyes up to me and smiles.
Me, in a state of utter shock, "Little Bit, that isn't funny."
The lady behind the register hasn't moved. The hoople-head behind uses good common sense and doesn't open his mouth.
Then, "Papa, I know it isn't funny. They hurt and need our help, and you're so sweet and it's almost Christmas I 'knowed' you wouldn't mind and that's why I love you."
Me and my big mouth.
See you guys later.
Stephen
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Cure
I like his idea. Send some those poor snowflakes on Wall Street into the wilderness for a few days and I bet you'd see a change in their attitudes.
Stephen
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thanks & Welcome
To my new follower, Basic Humanity. Thank you for joining my humble little blog. I promise to always answer your comments as quickly as possible.
Lots of nice folks hang here...don't be troubled by the smell of gun powder, we're all addicted, and for the most part, all members of the gun culture. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt.
You are now among friends...again, thank you. Please, to all my friends, run over and say hello. Basic, is a new blogger from Great Britain.
Stephen
Lots of nice folks hang here...don't be troubled by the smell of gun powder, we're all addicted, and for the most part, all members of the gun culture. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt.
You are now among friends...again, thank you. Please, to all my friends, run over and say hello. Basic, is a new blogger from Great Britain.
Stephen
Thanks & Welcome
To my 100th follower, Molon Labe.
I promise to always reply to your comments as soon as possible. Please run over and say hello. He's a new blogger and will need all the help we can give him.
Again, thank you and welcome.
You are now among friends.
Stephen
I promise to always reply to your comments as soon as possible. Please run over and say hello. He's a new blogger and will need all the help we can give him.
Again, thank you and welcome.
You are now among friends.
Stephen
Bits & Pieces
Cool and very windy here this morning. I'm into my busy season so entries will begin to be few and far between in the weeks to follow. Please be patient with me; we make hay while the sun shines.
My friend Duke just stepped in for coffee and gab. Reports his mother-in-law has some complications. Hold her in your prayers, please.
Our group meets tomorrow so I'll be sure and take pictures if any situation presents itself for such...never know with a bunch of veterans. I've yet to send my loin clothe to the cleaners. Its a bit grubby....
Gotta run, need to jerk another cup of coffee. You guys should hear the wind here...now, this sounds and feels like Autumn.
Do any of you remember the line etched on Hemingway's grave stone, "For he loved Autumn the best..."
Me too.
Stephen
My friend Duke just stepped in for coffee and gab. Reports his mother-in-law has some complications. Hold her in your prayers, please.
Our group meets tomorrow so I'll be sure and take pictures if any situation presents itself for such...never know with a bunch of veterans. I've yet to send my loin clothe to the cleaners. Its a bit grubby....
Gotta run, need to jerk another cup of coffee. You guys should hear the wind here...now, this sounds and feels like Autumn.
Do any of you remember the line etched on Hemingway's grave stone, "For he loved Autumn the best..."
Me too.
Stephen
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Slings
Not sure what it is about me and slings, but I like them. I don't care if it's a shotgun or rifle I'll have a sling on it sooner or later.
I make my own. It's always during the quiet of the evening. I'll read a while, get antsy, set aside my book or Kindle and reach for my current project. Currently it's the little Rossi that came home with me last week. She needs a sling.
Years ago I began hand knotting survival bracelets from 550 paracord. It keeps my hands busy. So it was an easy step for me to make slings for those weapons of mine tucked away in the safe not fully dressed. I could almost feel their shame, naked as it were...
I've gotten in the habit of sling construction with the first knot attached to the rifle. I'll knot until I've reached the desired length. Some projects take days, even months. I might tie six knots, set the rifle aside and read an hour, grab the rifle and tie twenty more....there's no hurry. It'll get done, eventually.
Pick your nose while I pull up a picture of questionable quality...
As you can see the picture above was taken with my Dingleberry in low light conditions. Anyway, there's the Rossi and my sling. I might, not sure, retie a another layer over this one. The boys out there have named this pattern Cobra. A second tie will result in a (go for it) King Cobra. The single knot shown is sufficient for most applications. Just make sure the length allows you to throw a 'hasty' over your elbow for stable sight alignment. Here we go, another poorly taken photograph.
In process.
Above, an awful shot of my three (or four) year old bracelet I wear daily. I made it from three (as you can see) colors. I guess it holds close to forty or fifty feet of cord. Very useful in a survival situation, think tourniquet, shelter cordage, heck even fishing line if you break down the cords.
If you are interested in this quiet activity of mine run over to Youtube. It's loaded with 'how to's.' Just search survival bracelets and/or paracord. Have fun.
Stephen
I make my own. It's always during the quiet of the evening. I'll read a while, get antsy, set aside my book or Kindle and reach for my current project. Currently it's the little Rossi that came home with me last week. She needs a sling.
Years ago I began hand knotting survival bracelets from 550 paracord. It keeps my hands busy. So it was an easy step for me to make slings for those weapons of mine tucked away in the safe not fully dressed. I could almost feel their shame, naked as it were...
I've gotten in the habit of sling construction with the first knot attached to the rifle. I'll knot until I've reached the desired length. Some projects take days, even months. I might tie six knots, set the rifle aside and read an hour, grab the rifle and tie twenty more....there's no hurry. It'll get done, eventually.
Pick your nose while I pull up a picture of questionable quality...
As you can see the picture above was taken with my Dingleberry in low light conditions. Anyway, there's the Rossi and my sling. I might, not sure, retie a another layer over this one. The boys out there have named this pattern Cobra. A second tie will result in a (go for it) King Cobra. The single knot shown is sufficient for most applications. Just make sure the length allows you to throw a 'hasty' over your elbow for stable sight alignment. Here we go, another poorly taken photograph.
In process.
Above, an awful shot of my three (or four) year old bracelet I wear daily. I made it from three (as you can see) colors. I guess it holds close to forty or fifty feet of cord. Very useful in a survival situation, think tourniquet, shelter cordage, heck even fishing line if you break down the cords.
If you are interested in this quiet activity of mine run over to Youtube. It's loaded with 'how to's.' Just search survival bracelets and/or paracord. Have fun.
Stephen
Thank You & Welcome
To my new follower, Herbalpagan. I promise to always reply to your comments. You've just made my day.
My new friend has a blog here. Please, run over and give her a warm hello.
You are now among friends. Again, thank you and welcome.
Stephen
My new friend has a blog here. Please, run over and give her a warm hello.
You are now among friends. Again, thank you and welcome.
Stephen
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Enough Is Enough
Now I'm telling 'ya, if these fools do this and mess with my Thanksgiving morning Macy's parade, I'm all for kicking some butts. Enough is enough.
These people need my size 11.5 boot up their collective rearends.
WARNING: Take the children from the room, one of the democrats uses foul language.
Stephen
These people need my size 11.5 boot up their collective rearends.
WARNING: Take the children from the room, one of the democrats uses foul language.
Stephen
Modern Day Redneck and The Bathroom Wall
If you're a blogger and would like your blog, or just name, advertised here's a great way to do it....click here.
This is a promotion by my good friend, Modern Day Redneck. The project is for a worthy cause. Trust me.
The cost is only $10.00. It's worth it if for nothing more than getting your blog some advertisement. He'll be crafting your sign by hand and he does quality work. He has a large following on his blog, and his farm is visited on a monthly basis by Dallas, Texas locals. The signs will be posted next month. Please, lend a hand and on behalf of my friend, I thank you.
Stephen
This is a promotion by my good friend, Modern Day Redneck. The project is for a worthy cause. Trust me.
The cost is only $10.00. It's worth it if for nothing more than getting your blog some advertisement. He'll be crafting your sign by hand and he does quality work. He has a large following on his blog, and his farm is visited on a monthly basis by Dallas, Texas locals. The signs will be posted next month. Please, lend a hand and on behalf of my friend, I thank you.
Stephen
It's The Little Things
This morning on our drive to school.
"Papa, turn the radio off. I only want to hear my Papa talking to me."
"Excuse me?"
Her, with a miniature adult stern look thrown my way. "Papa, I said to turn off the radio. I mean it."
Back at her, "Young lady, mind your manners."
"Papa," She crosses her arms, turns slightly in her seat. Lowers her head a bit and again with the stern look. "You should always do what I tell you."
I think about her response for a second. Not liking the direction of this conversation.
"Little Bit, perhaps you should rephrase what you've just said to Papa."
Silence. Then, "Oh, okay. Please."
Much better.
All men should know their limitations.
Stephen
"Papa, turn the radio off. I only want to hear my Papa talking to me."
"Excuse me?"
Her, with a miniature adult stern look thrown my way. "Papa, I said to turn off the radio. I mean it."
Back at her, "Young lady, mind your manners."
"Papa," She crosses her arms, turns slightly in her seat. Lowers her head a bit and again with the stern look. "You should always do what I tell you."
I think about her response for a second. Not liking the direction of this conversation.
"Little Bit, perhaps you should rephrase what you've just said to Papa."
Silence. Then, "Oh, okay. Please."
Much better.
All men should know their limitations.
Stephen
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
To Help Kill The Long Hours of Winter
For the five or six readers that frequent this blog which have been bitten by the reading bug and have a great desire to scratch the itch, go here.
When you arrive, glance left and hit chapter one. This is Craig Cavanaugh's writing blog.
Give it a try and enjoy.
Stephen
Bless Her
I'm a man. I fought and bleed for my country. I'm a member of the gun culture. I've been called a 'hard man' by many. I seldom if ever tolerate unmanly behavior in other men.
But this, my friends, was hard for me to watch because, I've had, far in the past, the same thoughts that - well, watch and you'll understand.
Stephen
But this, my friends, was hard for me to watch because, I've had, far in the past, the same thoughts that - well, watch and you'll understand.
Stephen
The Blog Of The Week
I've had this idea bounce around my noggin for a few days now; why not spot-light one blog a week. Not just any blog, but one I feel doesn't receive the recognition it deserves.
I read a tremendous number of blogs daily. So much so I find myself screening out those that do not update on a regular basis. With this in mind I feel it's important that I bring to your attention those blogs, not only well written, but kept fresh, with lively stories, ideas, and with a personal touch. Give me something of your life, and for pete's sake, not one dimensional.
Cut and paste isn't original. One post a month and you've lost me. Fail to reply to my comments and you've hurt my feelings; I may indeed return but the enthusiasm to join in your subject or debate has been nullified.
My friend and fellow grandfather, Flier389 qualifies. His blog, Granddad's Corner, is witty and intelligently written. Once in a while his lovely wife, Kathi, will post a recipe, which is close to my heart.
Please, run by and say hello and tell them Stephen sent you.
My friend deserves an audience.
Expect this 'Blog of the Week' to become a regular post and hey, let me know if you like this idea of mine, and if you feel there is a blog out there of which I'm unaware - let me know. I've a headache this morning and need some cheerful responses.
Thanks,
Stephen
I read a tremendous number of blogs daily. So much so I find myself screening out those that do not update on a regular basis. With this in mind I feel it's important that I bring to your attention those blogs, not only well written, but kept fresh, with lively stories, ideas, and with a personal touch. Give me something of your life, and for pete's sake, not one dimensional.
Cut and paste isn't original. One post a month and you've lost me. Fail to reply to my comments and you've hurt my feelings; I may indeed return but the enthusiasm to join in your subject or debate has been nullified.
My friend and fellow grandfather, Flier389 qualifies. His blog, Granddad's Corner, is witty and intelligently written. Once in a while his lovely wife, Kathi, will post a recipe, which is close to my heart.
Please, run by and say hello and tell them Stephen sent you.
My friend deserves an audience.
Expect this 'Blog of the Week' to become a regular post and hey, let me know if you like this idea of mine, and if you feel there is a blog out there of which I'm unaware - let me know. I've a headache this morning and need some cheerful responses.
Thanks,
Stephen
Monday, November 14, 2011
Bits & Pieces
Where to begin.....it's been a long and rather peaceful weekend with minor injections of activity thrown in here and there. Little Bit came to stay with Papa last Thursday night. She stayed through Saturday afternoon. Her Nana left Friday to drive out of state to attend to Nana's mother, so Little Bit took care of Papa over the weekend.
Veteran's Day was nice. (Note, here Little Bit has instructed me to explain to you she's 'making' me tell you, her fans, exactly 'how it was.')
Little Bit had a burning desire to watch the movie 'Puss n' Boots. She instructed me on my dress, no red shirts, and exactly how to brush my hair (she finally climbed onto the vanity and took brush in hand) and after passing inspection we loaded up and took off for lunch and a movie.
We drove across the river to a local Cracker Barrel. A neat restaurant that features country food and decorated with antiques that hang from almost every available surface. Once we were inside our senses were assaulted with Christmas decorations stacked and blocking the aisles....just a bit early in my estimation. Anyway, we finally get a table and order our meals. I opted for their classic bacon cheeseburger while Little Bit wanted mac n' cheese. My burger arrives. Little Bit looks at me and said, "Papa, don't eat the bacon."
"Why?"
"Because, Papa, it'll make you sick and if you gets sick I'll be all lonely and Nana will cry and then you'll go to the hospital and get shots and stuff and I don't want to be all alone and then who will I play with..."
I gently remove my bacon, tears filled eyes on my part over the loss of meat candy, shove it aside and eat my plain old burger. I waited for any opportunity to present itself to sneak it back into my meal....but no. She reaches over and takes my bacon. Just took it, and then proceeds to eat it.
"Little Bit."
"What, Papa."
"You just ate Papa's bacon. Why did you eat Papa's bacon?"
"Because I'm young and you're not and it won't hurt me. May I have a french fry."
At one point I had to escort her to the rest room. Next to the restroom were a couple of water fountains and hung next to the fountain was an old page taken from a long ago outdoors magazine. Now, I ask you, do you think any business in the Northeastern United States would dare decorate a wall with this old ad...
I gave deep thought and consideration in means of removal. I mean I love it and know it'd look good on my shops wall. I at least have an idea now. I still have many old magazines with ads similar to this one, slap it in a frame, and well, you know.
Here's another blurry picture of Little Bit and the Kleanbore picture.
She said she doesn't like this picture but here it is none the less....sorry for her messy hair, we had high winds and Papa's not very good with a brush.
After lunch we had a hour or so to kill. Went and purchased our movie tickets, afterwards I asked her what we should do to pass the time. I wanted to take in the Gander Mountain (sporting goods) next door. She said, let's walk.
We did. So outside and across the parking lot we went, she scouted good penny picking ground along the way, found two. She held my hand and pulled me towards a lake next to and behind Gander Mountain. Here, we have lakes and ponds by the thousands.
She sang and skipped and stalked ducks. It was a nice cool day with just a bit of wind.
I was able to convince her to take Papa to Gander. She said I could only stay for ten minutes. She said, Papa, you have enough 'ammunitions.'
She has a point.
Above, taken this morning. If you've ever, and I know you haven't, wondered what color of eyes I have, take a good look at her. We had a great weekend.
Change of subject. My good friend, John, took a trip to North Georgia this weekend and came through for me on flint.
These are two beautiful examples of Georgia pink flint.
Each are about two inches long and should help me in the knuckle busting department.
Oh, forgot one minor detail while in the movie. It was quiet, I mean quiet in the theater prior to the start of the movie. I'd purchased Little Bit the smallest Coke on the menu...it was about half a gallon. That along with her chips and a bottle of water for me, another half gallon size (only size available, kid you not) came to $26.00. Tickets cost me $17.00, senior and child prices....do the math. Anyway, after we're seated she begins to suck down the Coke. I leaned over and said, in barely audible whisper, "Honey, don't drink so much or pretty soon you need to go 'peepee.' We were the only couple in our section of the room, way up top, where I like it. She jerks away from me, looks up with little tears in her eyes and moves away.
I asked, "What's wrong?"
She leans back towards me and said, "Oh, Papa." In a soft hurt whisper. "You've embarrassed me, now I want to go home." She begins to cry in earnest.
It took me a good ten minutes to calm her down and assure her our conversation had been private and not overheard. Took her into my arms and kissed and loved her and, thank God, she was back to normal in time for the movie.
Later, on the ride home she again addressed the issue of Papa's infraction.
I promised I'd never say, 'peepee' in public again. Here she is on the ride home. She'd taken my right arm wrapped her arms around it and placed it on the seat and used a truck blanket as a pillow. She passed out within minutes. Ever driven twenty five miles through city traffic with only your left hand...
Enough. I won't go into detail about Sweet Wife's return home and how she wrangled me into Christmas shopping yesterday....needless to say we punched a hole in our list. And, spent far more cash than we should have. Grandchildren you know.
Stephen
Veteran's Day was nice. (Note, here Little Bit has instructed me to explain to you she's 'making' me tell you, her fans, exactly 'how it was.')
Little Bit had a burning desire to watch the movie 'Puss n' Boots. She instructed me on my dress, no red shirts, and exactly how to brush my hair (she finally climbed onto the vanity and took brush in hand) and after passing inspection we loaded up and took off for lunch and a movie.
We drove across the river to a local Cracker Barrel. A neat restaurant that features country food and decorated with antiques that hang from almost every available surface. Once we were inside our senses were assaulted with Christmas decorations stacked and blocking the aisles....just a bit early in my estimation. Anyway, we finally get a table and order our meals. I opted for their classic bacon cheeseburger while Little Bit wanted mac n' cheese. My burger arrives. Little Bit looks at me and said, "Papa, don't eat the bacon."
"Why?"
"Because, Papa, it'll make you sick and if you gets sick I'll be all lonely and Nana will cry and then you'll go to the hospital and get shots and stuff and I don't want to be all alone and then who will I play with..."
I gently remove my bacon, tears filled eyes on my part over the loss of meat candy, shove it aside and eat my plain old burger. I waited for any opportunity to present itself to sneak it back into my meal....but no. She reaches over and takes my bacon. Just took it, and then proceeds to eat it.
"Little Bit."
"What, Papa."
"You just ate Papa's bacon. Why did you eat Papa's bacon?"
"Because I'm young and you're not and it won't hurt me. May I have a french fry."
At one point I had to escort her to the rest room. Next to the restroom were a couple of water fountains and hung next to the fountain was an old page taken from a long ago outdoors magazine. Now, I ask you, do you think any business in the Northeastern United States would dare decorate a wall with this old ad...
I gave deep thought and consideration in means of removal. I mean I love it and know it'd look good on my shops wall. I at least have an idea now. I still have many old magazines with ads similar to this one, slap it in a frame, and well, you know.
Here's another blurry picture of Little Bit and the Kleanbore picture.
She said she doesn't like this picture but here it is none the less....sorry for her messy hair, we had high winds and Papa's not very good with a brush.
After lunch we had a hour or so to kill. Went and purchased our movie tickets, afterwards I asked her what we should do to pass the time. I wanted to take in the Gander Mountain (sporting goods) next door. She said, let's walk.
We did. So outside and across the parking lot we went, she scouted good penny picking ground along the way, found two. She held my hand and pulled me towards a lake next to and behind Gander Mountain. Here, we have lakes and ponds by the thousands.
She sang and skipped and stalked ducks. It was a nice cool day with just a bit of wind.
I was able to convince her to take Papa to Gander. She said I could only stay for ten minutes. She said, Papa, you have enough 'ammunitions.'
She has a point.
Above, taken this morning. If you've ever, and I know you haven't, wondered what color of eyes I have, take a good look at her. We had a great weekend.
Change of subject. My good friend, John, took a trip to North Georgia this weekend and came through for me on flint.
These are two beautiful examples of Georgia pink flint.
Each are about two inches long and should help me in the knuckle busting department.
Oh, forgot one minor detail while in the movie. It was quiet, I mean quiet in the theater prior to the start of the movie. I'd purchased Little Bit the smallest Coke on the menu...it was about half a gallon. That along with her chips and a bottle of water for me, another half gallon size (only size available, kid you not) came to $26.00. Tickets cost me $17.00, senior and child prices....do the math. Anyway, after we're seated she begins to suck down the Coke. I leaned over and said, in barely audible whisper, "Honey, don't drink so much or pretty soon you need to go 'peepee.' We were the only couple in our section of the room, way up top, where I like it. She jerks away from me, looks up with little tears in her eyes and moves away.
I asked, "What's wrong?"
She leans back towards me and said, "Oh, Papa." In a soft hurt whisper. "You've embarrassed me, now I want to go home." She begins to cry in earnest.
It took me a good ten minutes to calm her down and assure her our conversation had been private and not overheard. Took her into my arms and kissed and loved her and, thank God, she was back to normal in time for the movie.
Later, on the ride home she again addressed the issue of Papa's infraction.
I promised I'd never say, 'peepee' in public again. Here she is on the ride home. She'd taken my right arm wrapped her arms around it and placed it on the seat and used a truck blanket as a pillow. She passed out within minutes. Ever driven twenty five miles through city traffic with only your left hand...
Enough. I won't go into detail about Sweet Wife's return home and how she wrangled me into Christmas shopping yesterday....needless to say we punched a hole in our list. And, spent far more cash than we should have. Grandchildren you know.
Stephen