Saturday, September 1, 2012

My Friend, Senior

One of my best friends, Senior, has ventured forth in the world of the written word. He has a new blog, aptly titled, Senior's Mess. He is a retired Senior Chief from our great United States Navy. He's also, if I haven't as yet mentioned, a very close personal friend.

Senior is a blessed man in that he's the husband of the lovely and sweet, Glock Mom, and the father of two wonderful little boys. As a matter of fact I tried to bring the boys home this afternoon. They're seven and six and I love them a whole bunch...

I'm sure many of you know we have a group of like minded individuals; a support group made of many of our close friends. We're a rather large group. Whatever this old world throws our way we have each others backs, or six, as we said in the military. Another friend within this group is our good friend, Duke.  We were all gathered today to support another friend, Poor ShooterSteve. He took on a beautiful woman in marriage...even when we warned him. Rambling here...let me cut this short.

Go visit my friends new blog, please. He's a nice guy, and he packs a gun. Be warned.

Now, you have four of us.


Was the thought that came to mind when I sat down, early this afternoon, at a friends wedding party. The lawn chair was hot, the wind beyond warm, the air still and thick with humid vapors. I hate hot. Here it is One September, where if still in my beloved western mountains I'd have been out in the cool rain filled forest hunting Grouse.

Anyhow, I'm too darn worn out and ticked off and HOT, still, to write. Where is the Fall weather. I'm sick of the wait. I want cold....cold and wind and apple cider and the scent of oak on a slow burn in my fireplace. I want cool windy days. I want to see some friggin leaves drop and coat my yard like a carpet of yellow rust.

Here I sit with our air conditioner set at sixty-nine degrees and I want to see frost on the pumpkin.  I'm sick of three hundred dollar a month electric bills just so I can sleep, when sleep arrives. Stupid ceiling fan whirling away - what a waste.

Here we were, all gathered to honor a friend and his new wife, and all I can think about is perhaps a cold beer, slipped inside my trousers, might feel better than it should.

Perhaps I should leave the room.