Duke

My good friend and handcuff companion, Duke, beat me to the punch.

Please, sally forth and read.

I must deal with a few problems before I return to write something of substance. With your gracious blessings and patience I shall return soon.

Stephen

Oh, Baby

Come to Papa....

Sweet hot fresh straight from the grease goodness.

I want.

Recipe, here.

Stephen

Such A Little Flower

Salute.

Stephen

It's Personal

To my friends - Chicken, Lt Jacobson, Montana Mike, Bear, and Jitterbug.

You are not forgotten.


Stephen

Bits and Pieces

Of late I live with the perfume of gardenias. The scent is thick and sweet and seems to cling to my senses for hours. There is a large clear glass vase placed on the white tile island of our kitchen. She has it filled with the small pure white flowers.  The contrast of the flowers perched high within the transparent water filled vase and the white tile remind me of innocence personified.

Anyway, I can't escape their scent. Just outside our front door are two very large gardenias each covered in blooms. I spent all of yesterday in the yard hard at work with the mower, shears, trimmer and blower, and the scent of gardenias. Kind of pleasant but after hours of constant exposure I sometimes felt the need of a huge shot of insulin. 

As soon as the flowers fade and drop I'll take a pruner and give them a good haircut. I'm sick of sweet.

*****

My yard has gotten ahead of me. Overgrown in places with shrubs badly in need of attention. I've spent most of my free time, this last week, in a vain attempt at 'catch-up.' Perhaps you've noticed since I haven't flipped the lid on this laptop in several days.

There comes a time in every mans life when his limitations reach around and slap him squarely in the face, and mine stings. As much as I hate to admit it I must seek help. We had a long talk yesterday and have agreed to hire a yard service. It shames me. I'm still a fairly young man but life and old injuries have finally reached over and taken quite a good grip on my stamina. Sweet Wife said I should take a break. I guess my aches and pains were readily apparent last night.

I work six days a week, and if I'm lucky if I get half a day off on Sunday. As I type I think about the work that awaits. My leaves have gathered on my roof and the gutters need to be cleaned. The herb garden is kaput. I should replant. I've projects left unfinished. Yet, here I sit.

Sometime today I expect a young couple to call for an appointment. I'll walk them around our fairly large yard and ask their price and hopefully agree on a once a week service. It's an embarrassment I shall endure. I'll make no excuses, but the shame of failure, my physical limitations, will ride in my throat like a hard ball of ice.  

*****


My friend, Senior, just sent a text. A picture of a pan filled with bacon. He asked if I wanted a bite. I haven't as yet answered.

What a stupid question.





 *****

Later,

Stephen    

Standby

As soon as my muse surfaces this blog will return to normal. As it stands madam muse only weeps sad words and I've restricted her to the closet until further notice. Then again, she is a forceful and worthy foe and it's possible she'll kick my butt and the resulting dismal tale will be posted.

Perhaps I should rephrase the structure of my first sentence. Muse is here, she's just hardheaded and determined I dictate her words. Muse hates reluctance. 

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Stephen

The Wee Hours

Zero two hundred and I find myself in the kitchen building a bean soup for today's dinner.  Silence extends from my home into the darkness and it gives me time to think and dream on my feet.

I've noticed my hands give the sharp scent of onion and bacon and just now I get a whiff of fresh brewed coffee. Even though a book awaits my attention I think I'll draw a cup and take a walk, perhaps check the rivers tide.

Besides, the water and salt marsh smell nice this time of the morning, and if one stands quietly, the soft click of the fiddler crabs keep beat with the lap of the shallow waves.

Strange how the lack of sleep attunes our senses.

Stephen

Wrong Business

I'm deep into the AMC series, Breaking Bad.

Without a doubt I'm in the wrong business.

(Sarcastically stated)


 
Stephen

Big Hint

If, you are truly a member of the gun culture, you'll understand.


Check it out.

Also available for the Ruger 10/22.

You're welcome.

Stephen

Anger Management

I hit the new post button and then sit here like a stump on a log with a blank expression on my face, mind numb. I need to write, something. Perhaps I'll give you a local weather report, ready. It's hot.

Before bed, last evening, our temperature thingamabob reflected seventy-two degrees. It's gonna be a long summer. Yet, this morning just as the sun peeked hello, I stepped outside to a fairly cool breeze loaded with the refreshing scent of salt and marsh and pine mast.

I need a vacation. We have, as it stands, set aside the last week of June for our time away from our busy lives. We'll drive over to the Gulf and take a seat next to the water. I'll pretend to read, maybe set out a fishing pole, but in all honesty, it'll be nap time. A whole friggin week.

So far this morning the shop has been very quiet. I've had a chance to walk around the parking lot and gather all the democrat tracks. Only two beer cans and one plastic bag. Must have been a quiet night, even the moon fleas took a break.

I had planned a range day for tomorrow....what's that old adage, 'the best laid plans....' Seems all my close friends have met resistance. Probably for the best as ammo isn't cheap and the supply is low.

QUIT BUYING AMMO.

Bunch of dumba$$eS.

Supply and demand, think about it. It's a tricky business. Allow the market to cool. Then, watch as the shelves restock and then, and only then, reach over and grab your need and stack it deep...but, slowly. It'll also cost less.

End of sermon.

Sorry. I'm not in a great frame of mind.

Late yesterday as I walked from the market back to my truck I found a penny. I bent, grabbed and stuffed it in my pocket. Seconds later as droll seeped from my open mouth I came back to reality. Seems I'd lost myself to the memory of my Little Bit. Penny hunting was our thing....our fun activity as we ran errands. She'd squeal in delight with every hint of copper.

After I'd reached for the coin and stood in place like an idiot at a liberal convention, lost in the thought of her, horns tooting me back to awareness, I damn near lost it...white hot anger took control of my otherwise calm controlled demeanor.

I must confess, and this isn't easy for me....but I wanted to beat, someone. I had such an urge to reach out and just choke the first person within range. I literately shook.

It's taken a great deal of self control on my part to not drive to her home and kick the door down. I'm not a violent man. Yes, I carry a firearm. Yes, I've been in the crap, but since....I've tried to live in peace. The evidence of such is my restraint and unwillingness to write of my military days, as you might of noticed.  I've worked very hard to control my emotions of which my Little Bit and my Sweet Wife played huge parts. When that little girl came into my life she changed me. I became a better man and now she's gone.

In slightly less than two weeks it will be one year since I've held her in my arms.

I hate I've written of this pain. To allow my emotions laid bare, yet this is my journal, my testimony to her. Hopefully one day far in the future she will read this and understand her Papa tried.

Stephen
 

For Only

Fifty seven Euros its all yours....

Really

Tell him I said, hello.

Stephen

It's Like This

Ever so often my books reach deep inside and hook their claws into my soul and refuse to release me. When book hook occurs my universe shrinks into nothingness - I simply disappear.

I apologize for my neglect of all this white space.

Not that I should feel the need for justification of my actions, but hey, you're my friends.

*****

As it stands my plans for next weekend involve gun powder and hot lead. Should be fun. Notes will be taken.

I need to dig out a few safe queens and put 'em thru their paces. Come on down and join us...bring ammo.

Stephen

Zero Dark Thirty

Tick, tick, tick. Stupid clock. Time in one's life is so finite and I hear mine, marked, as it slips from my fingers.

Nightmares broke my rest and then without conscience thought I find myself in the kitchen, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs and coffee.

I do hate when she's away.

Nightmares, too.

Stephen

With Love

From my heart to yours, Happy Mother's Day.

I lost my mother when she was forty-four....so if you don't mind, I'll share my love with your mother, if but for one day. God bless.

Stephen

Firearm Adapters

This little handgun, with adapters, would make a great addition to your Get Home Bag.

Adapters.

That is all.

Stephen

Blog Bomb

Just for slaps and tickles I'd like all my friends to skip over and say hello to Jess. He deserves a few more readers.

Let's tag this under the file of, spread the friendship.

H/T, to Tam.

Stephen

Welcome Aboard

Please join me in a big thanks and welcome to, Coop, and Refus King. My friends, I promise to always reply to your comments.

Pull up  a chair and I'll jerk you a cup of coffee. Relax, you are now among friends.

Again, thank you and welcome.

Stephen

Colonel Jeff Cooper

May 10th, 1920

September 25th, 2006


Stephen

Headache Times Two

Busy, busy, busy....it's taken me all morning to answer comments. Believe it our not I've only had two cups of coffee. Two. It's almost criminal. 

What's wrong with my world.

Before I forget.

Happy Mother's Day.

Stephen

Welcome Aboard

I liked to say thanks and welcome to the lovely, MissK. She's a sweet Canadian freedom and gun loving blogger. Please, take a moment and say hello.

MissK I promise to always leave replies to your comments. It sometimes takes me a few hours, or days, but I promise you will hear from me.

Again, thank you and welcome. You are now among friends.

Let's face it....you've got to love Canadians.

Stephen

Hey Man

Late this afternoon the bell rang. I looked out, sighed and went ahead and released the lock. A scruffy urban camper walked inside with his gear which consisted of four or five brown plastic grocery bags.

Without preamble I get this, "Hey hey hey, hey man the word is you be buy coins and stuff, you know like these here collectable coins and hey hey hey, hey man, the word is you pay good. Hey man, check it out."

He reaches over and offers a desk plaque. Its two thick pieces of clear plastic with a fake wood backing which sandwiched two uncirculated coins, a single 1971 Eisenhower dollar and a penny. The sign read John Tunney and was from a local small bank.

I glanced at the piece and asked, "What's your price?"  Always, always, make them reveal their price. Big smile, then, "Hey hey hey, hey man, listen here. That's a real silver coin. A dollar man, hey hey, how's about twenty dollars?"

Me, "No."

"Hey hey hey, hey man what the hells wrong with you? This is silver man, pure silver. They quit making these here silver coins in 1975. Don't you know nothing man...I mean hey hey hey, hey man the word is you a good  man that pays good money, hey hey come on man."

It's important to understand I felt sorry for the fella. He lives a hard life. I'm sure his nest was in the park just across the street from my shop. Hand to mouth existence. Life is indeed difficult for this man even under the best of conditions. Yet, I am a business man. On pure silver I pay twenty percent of spot. Ninety percent currency I pay half of melt value. Fair. If you do not like my offer, it's simple, take your property and walk. 

I took my cell and flipped it around and as he tried to read I explained the difference in silver content of U. S. currency. I pointed to the screen and said, "See, it contains forty percent silver and at current spot its melt value is just a bit over seven dollars. The penny is worth a penny. My offer is four dollars and you can keep the penny."

He took a quick step back and as before, "Hey hey hey, hey man this is bullsh*t and you're ripping me off man, hey hey, hey man, come on give me my twenty dollars."

As most of my friends will testify I'm a very patient and semi-quiet man. It takes a lot to tick me off. I also believe I'm a fair person willing to give most a break. I offer straight deals. It was the words, ripoff and my money, which set my meter to zero. I came around and put my face very close to his and said, "Get out."

I said it very calmly. Did not raise my voice nor hands.

He lowered his head and mumbled, "Sorry man, hey hey hey, hey man, really I'm sorry. It's just I need cash man."

I backed off. Reached in my pocket and peeled off four dollars and placed the cash and his coins back into his hands. I remained silent and pointed at the door.

He left.

There but for the grace of our Lord..... 


Stephen

Lock & Load

I'm bored to death with work. I need to shoot, something. Perhaps I'll lock the shop and climb into my truck and find some zombies to tag.

I might even drive over to my friend, Duke's house and see if I can drag him away from his firewood pile.

 Last year Duke recorded a great double on fleeing democritters which I recorded as a single since both critters pants had dropped to ankle level. Fair is fair.

 We might stop and grab, Senior as our driver. He performs well behind the wheel. I'll try and keep a rifle out of his hands as he has a tendency to fire full auto which is a true waste of a now precious resource. So we'll put his more fire controlled wife, Glock Mom on shotgun duty. She's a far better shot than her jittery husband.

First though, we'll need to drop by the courthouse for tags. This is serious business. To tag a Zombie critter one must jump, after of course you confirm a solid hit, from the moving vehicle and place the tag just so on the fallen critters ear and then snap a picture for the state. Tag placement and clear photos are then submitted to the local courthouse. When validated ten points are awarded. Fuzzy snapshots are voided.

Wish us luck.

My trigger finger has a deep itch.

(I write the laws to suit my purposes.)

Stephen

Next in Line

My reading habits seem to be stuck in a rut. The next few evenings will be spent with Simon Garfield's, 'We Are At War.'

I need to ask our friend, drjim, to please identify the 'wireless' in the upper hand left corner of this dust jacket.


Stephen

Note

When I walked in here, my office, I had a post about QSL cards in mind....

Business will not allow.

We have a beautiful day, warm and sunny.

I've also noticed my shop has been invaded by a swarm of sewer flies...nasty little sonsofbitches....

Later,

Stephen

What's For Dinner

Tonight it's chicken.

For the recipe, click here.

Although, I'd prefer yellow rice.

Stephen

This, Sign

I stepped from the car to stretch my legs. Sweet Wife had asked me to stop so she could grab a few items on our way home. I was tired of the wait.

Then I noticed this, thing, this sign.

I'm not sure why it bugged me. My first thought was, big deal. Other nations of our world have posted signs in several languages for many years. In truth our country has been a lone holdout. It's only within the last thirty years (other than South Florida) the practice has become commonplace.

Yet, if my grandfather were alive today he'd flip. Yes, big overreaction....still. I hate it.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Stephen

A Tidbit

She's gone. Walked out a few minutes ago for her Sunday service. Quiet now. The rain has been pushed eastward by a westerly cold front. The house, for at least two hours, is all mine.

I've promised to drive her north after her church service. There are flowers to be placed on her father's grave, antique shops to explore, and a seafood lunch. Should be a nice day.

Our drive will take us along the river which gives over to the sea. We'll cross many marshy creeks and tidal flats.

 I like the drive. There are always hawks and eagles to count. Perhaps we'll stop for a bag of boiled peanuts, a cold Coke, if she likes.

After a few minutes at the cemetery we'll have lunch. I shall insist on my side of fried oysters covered in deep red hot sauce. The tangy salty taste should hold me for a few hours. Then, the stroll of shops. She loves to 'antique.' I don't mind as long as the little caves hold a few manly items.

Things that catch and hold my interest are - bits and pieces of war memorabilia, books, old radios, stock certificates, any firearm related pieces, high quality knives, and vintage male clothing (last year I found a great world war two leather jacket), old hand tools, and believe it or not, unique cook books.

Her, all the other stuff.

I spent most of yesterday with my two shortwave radios. Reception (skip) was awful. Cuba, no problem. Europe, not so much. Even with my slinky antenna deployed on my Grundig I felt my time wasted. Sadly when I set out my beautiful Zenith Trans-Oceanic I discovered my thirty-one meter button stuck. Darn near cried.

More on the radios later.

The birds are singing to me. Their music soothes the soul.  Many years ago we both awoke within seconds of each the other and stayed in place within our warm bed. It was a clear cool Sunday morning, much like today, and quiet in the house. The birds, just outside our bedroom window, were clear and loud, their songs almost translucent.

She turns to me and asked, "Isn't it beautiful."

"Yes," I said. "But not uncommon on a Sunday."

She gave me an explain yourself expression. So I said, "It's God's plan.The birds always gather to sing us a beautiful song each and every Sunday morning."

As I've written, my straight face is world renown...

But, you know what.... prove me wrong.

I close to the music of a Mocking Bird, bright and clear; a tidbit of joy.


Later.

Stephen

Rain

Early this morning the alarm screamed at me. I turned and hit the snooze button and waited. I had a tremendous headache and the sound of rain and wind was unmistakeably clear.

On Saturdays I open the shop an hour early which meant I had only minutes to rise and shower and drive the distance. I fought the urge. The headache increased in its intensity.

I've taken the day off. My guilt is heavy.

This is our third day of solid, and I mean, continuous downpours. Some areas of our county have recorded ten inches.

After I climbed from bed I had two text, from my group friends, asking if I felt our Boar's Nest might not be in danger of flood waters. Even my friend, Senior, camped in South Carolina sent concern. I replied, not sure.

If so we'll deal with the problem. Mother nature doesn't ask our permission. 

I shall take the day to relax. There are books to be read, silver to shine, meals to prepare, and a couple of handguns in need of bore wipes, and of course, your blogs that require my attention.

Guess what....I have webbed toes.

Stephen

Just Keep Your Mouth Shut

It's probably the best advice I can give...myself.

Why doesn't this surprise me. Give special attention to the 'call us if you know someone that hates the government' stuff.

How long before they offer a reward for our heads.

Stephen

Bits and Pieces

It's fairly dark outside. Another Nor'easter has slipped into our area with a gentle kiss. Light rain, warm, and sometime today the winds will shift into high gear. Kinda nice.

I've been distracted of late. Books and work have been my constant companions for the last few days. I'm so weary of routine.

Many years ago as I accompanied my wife into a series of antique stores I came upon a shelf of old tube radios and one in particular held my attention. Long story short I swapped a few federal reserve notes and brought it to the shop and placed it for display.

A few weeks ago I took the old girl home. She's a Zenith and came off the line way back in 1951. (Side note...the rain has increased and is pounding the roof like lead shot.) Anyway, the little Zenith plays well.

Like I said, took it home. Then, one evening, I went into the family room and gathered a book from my pile and began to read. Sweet Wife walks in and takes a seat and asked, "Where did you get the new radio?"

"You remember, from that antique store." Then retold the story. She said, "Well, turn it on."

It was as if we'd stepped back into time. A couple, relaxed with an evening filled with soft music.

I must admit it was very pleasant. We've spent the last few nights under the same conditions which often turn into hours of nice conversation. We discuss and solve nick picking problems and relate stories of our childhood or simply place our heads to pillows and listen to the music of old. Often, from outside the window, the owls sing as if a member of the band.

Give it a try...

*****

Last Saturday, after I closed shop, I went home to find Sweet Wife knee deep in sweat, pale and aggravated. She was also in my kitchen....my kitchen. My kitchen had been rearranged.

When I stepped into my kitchen she almost fainted. Quickly, "Honey, please just listen. Don't get mad, please, allow me to explain. You see, I thought the counters were messy and needed to be cleaned and also all those little bottles and things near the range seemed out of place and I also thought all the tools and things in the drawers needed to be organized....." She takes a deep breath, then continues, "And, I didn't think you would mind. Okay?"

The look on her face was all I needed to hold my smart mouth in check. She'd worked desperately hard at this kitchen reorganization and I wasn't about to hurt her feelings over such a simple matter. Later, I secretly replaced a few items, moved this to over there and shifted my assortment of wooden spoons. Otherwise, I let matters rest.

I'm not certain when but sometime that afternoon as I stood before the flame, sauce in pan, she came over and asked, "Well?"

"It's fine. I can live with the change."

She glanced up and the joy on her pretty little face was all I needed, but she did say, "Oh, thank you Lord."

Guess her prayers were answered.

It'll take time but sooner or later I'll get my kitchen back in order...with a subtle touch, of course.

*****

My friend, Duke, just left the shop. He came by a few hours ago and we sat and chatted about this and that and found solutions to most of the world's major problems. We're like that....

He said his tomato plants are almost blue ribbon quality. I can't wait for the harvest. I'm sure he'll share. With his fresh tomatoes, a head of garlic, some rich soft cheese and a good olive oil and salt and pepper with chopped basil and a nice chunk of bread - well let's just say I'll be in heaven.

There's nothing like a good caprese on a hot spring day.

*****

My last customer was driven in by the rain. Yard guy. As we chatted I asked, "What's on your agenda for the rest of the day?"

Him, "I'm gonna spend the day at the gym. Need a good workout." Then, "How about you. You ever work out? You seem all muscled up."

I smiled and said, "Yes, matter of fact I do, several times a day I draw my carry piece and present it to that wall (used my finger to illustrate) and repeat." I furthered explained, "It's a great exercise for muscle memory."

I can keep a wonderful straight face.

He puts on this little strange look and turns and takes in the wall.

"Ugh, yeah, I guess it comes in handy....excuse me."  Walks out.

The rain also gives forth the great unwashed.

Stephen