Tomorrow is Sweet Wife's birthday. She'll be twenty-five. (I bet she smiles if she reads this post.) Anyhow, a few days later we celebrate our anniversary. This weekend is my gift to her. She needs a break from her routine. It's been a rough year and her tears have left tracks on her cheeks which will take years erase.
I will post from Cedar Key between nap sessions. It'll be the first trip in many years without our Little Bit. She'll be missed.
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Last weekend I joined my friends for a day out at our Boar's Nest. Spent some time on the range. The little (and very heavy) Detonics Pocket 9 functioned flawlessly. I'd been told she would have an awful recoil, a hurt your hand kick. Bullhockey. Her weight absorbed and she fired like a dream. I like her. She'll now replace my backup carry piece in my satchel.
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I did order a spare magazine for her which are as rare as hen's teeth. Took me a while to find one but finally came across a little shop out in Kalifornia. Place called Gunclip Depot.. The final tally was a wee bit over forty dollars. Hate it when people refer to a magazine as a 'clip.' If you think you're a member of the gun culture and walk around calling a magazine a 'clip,' go buy a pair of clogs and walk a poodle......
I also wrung out my new to me Para P-12 .45. Again, flawless performance and quite accurate. Not a single hiccup. Well worth the money paid. I love a good gun deal.
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A few days ago my good friend, Duke, came by the shop and gave me a gift of a bag of his fresh homegrown tomatoes. Most of the bag held yellow tomatoes. Sweet, with a sharp fresh acid taste....remember the tomatoes your grandparents grew in their backyards...yeah, that kind. I took the yellow tomatoes and made a big salad last evening. So good. Thanks, Bubba.
I still have a few left over and hope to pack them down to Cedar Key. They're too good to waste and I'm the kind of fella that enjoys a good tomato with nothing more than a shaker of salt.
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Business is slow this morning. Excuse me while I jerk another cup of coffee.
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I took a walk this morning. Must have been around three. I have many sleepless nights of late. Anyhow, I eased down to the river and walked out to the edge of my neighbors dock and listened to the crickets and a school of mullet flip and flop from the water. I stood there, hands in pockets, for close to twenty minutes then slowly walked back and took a seat on our front porch and listened to an old owl sing a haunted song until the light of dawn.
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When you hear of people speak of lonely it's not easy to relate. I believe I understand, now. Sometimes lonely hasn't a cure. It can become a permanent part of ones life. As of yesterday I'm sure my loneliness became fixed, branded on my soul.
Within the next few weeks I shall make a decision. Is life worth living without a heart....or should I simply thank God for what I have and toughen my soul with the loss and plug forward empty of happiness.
I'm weary.
P.S., Sweet Wife will be 'over' fifty tomorrow. The twenty-five was a joke....
Stephen