Now that all my favorite blogs have the Liebster Award I can relax and move on. The shine has worn off.
I was reading was passes for a newspaper in this city when the phone rang. It was my best buddy, Duke, checking up on me. He was worried because he hadn't seen any updates on my blog. He'd also noticed I hadn't commented on any other blogs last night. Between him and my Sweet Wife I can't get away with any mischief. God has surely blessed me with some fine friends. He has some tough duty today. He must make arrangements for hospice care for his sweet mother in law.
I've received word that my sweet kymber has sprouted wings and is on her way down here for a bit of sunshine and to kick my a$$. It should be fun.
I'll admit it, as I said early this morning, I was wrong. I should have stayed home under house arrest. I was fine until I reached my shop. I flipped on the light in my office, took a chair, and next thing I know an hour or two has passed and my desk was covered in papers. The mail beneath my door slot was two feet high. Dust was deep too. Took it upon myself to clean the place. Big mistake. I felt something slid down my leg. It hit the floor with soft, 'plop,' Part of my wounds bandage and packing had fallen out. Said, 'screw it,' and kept at it.
Later, at Publix, I began to sweat, my steps faltered. Said to myself, 'man up.' I finished my task and hit the road. When I arrived home there was a trailer in front of my house and two men were cutting and removing leaves from my yard. It was my friend, Senior Chief and his helper. My yard looks great. Thank you my friend. His sweet wife, Jacked Up Glock Mom, had also sent along a loaf of fresh baked bread and a get well card. See what I mean about good friends.
When Sweet Wife arrived home last night she stopped and said, "Something smells good." I'd made fajitas. When she'd finished her second she looked at me and said thanks, then commenced to chew me out for my efforts. No respect...
I need to sneak out into the garage today, remove clutter from my reloading bench and clean a few weapons. I've a couple of AR's and two or three handguns in need of my care. If I can't shoot I can at least dream. Besides, I love the smell of Hoppe's number nine. I once wrote the three best odors in the world are, of an early morning, Hoppe's, coffee, and fresh fried bacon. If there happens to be an old wood cookstove in the kitchen, all the better.
Last night I tried to watch that prepper show on History. It was okay, nothing special. You'd think the people interviewed would at least clean up their yards. After the first segment I said the hell with it and went back to bed. When they introduced the weed muncher the show jumped the shark....and what survivalist/prepper would agree to national television coverage of their preparations, their bugout plans, and armaments. Came across (and this is my take, don't be offended) as white trash on parade.
Time for me to answer comments. See you nice folks later.