Just My Two Cents

But I firmly believe the show Pawn Stars has jumped the shark.

Excuse me while I return to my novel.

Stephen

Slick As Possum Fat

That's my face this morning...smooth, slick, hairless. Other than my close cropped beard my cheeks glow.

I've thrown those silly little orange tipped plastic razors in the trash. I've gone old school. Say hello to my old friend, a vintage 1938 Gillette Safety Razor.

She's a three piece made of solid brass and nickle plated. I like the fact it came off the assembly line at the tail end of the depression and just a few years prior to the second world war. She has heft. She's solid and fits well in my hand.

I recently found a ready supply of blades. Russian blades - sharp double edged, thin, wicked little suckers, and if handled improperly will skin the hide right off your face. But, if placed gently gives you a fine close shave.

I like Russians.

Anyway, back to my Gillette. When I take her to hand and glance into the morning mirror I like to think of the man that once owned her. Was he a man of the land or sea...I like to believe a farmer. A sturdy man that provided for his family during the dark years then signed on the dotted line when the war was brought to our shores. I like to think he survived the conflict and returned to his farm to walk the fields in peace. The old Gillette probably gave many years of service as his children grew into adults. I hope it was his grandchildren that finally took Papa's old razor, afterwards, and placed it in the estate sale.

Now, seventy odd years later it gives me joy. She has had her nickle plate refreshed. She still holds the double edged razors nice and tight, and when the lather is applied, slides like a dream down my cheeks.

Sometimes the old ways are best.

Stephen

How's The Weather

It's friggin hot here....

How 'ya doin.' I know, I know - been a while hasn't it. Thought I'd take a vacation from computers for a few months and all I get is grief.

We're fine. Busy, but fine. She twinkles, as normal....is very active in her church, and knock wood, healthy. I'm here at the shop keen on growth after the awful bitch slap this country has suffered at the liberals hand.

Otherwise, life is one huge bore. With afternoon temps in the high nineties and 'feel like' ranges over one hundred degrees I figure the darn grass can just go grow itself and leave me the heck alone. One day I just fired the John Deere and engaged the blade and told the sucker to roam at will.

Neighbor didn't think it funny when the mower crossed the street tracked down his poodle....

All my friends have abandoned me. My best buddy, Duke, as many of you are aware, bought a horse barn and decided to spend the summer shoveling poop. Didn't even ask my permission. Senior runs between here and his farm in the Carolinas, not sure which, its either one with a North or South attached, but anyway I understand he's enrolled in a tractor driving course. Little red cones and all...

One shooting buddy and his wife purchased a new home and is busy in the retrieval of all his buried loot....those darn tubes tend to shift and drift after twenty years underground. I'll wait until he's long packed and gone and then sneak over for that fine old surplus piece under the rose.

ShooterSteve found a job with night hours....he's happy as the employers asked him to wear a uniform and pack a firearm. Between us I think he pretends its some kind of swat job. Yes, his bullet is in his pocket.

 
My friend Rebel is just Rebel....he spends his days reliving Woodstock.

 I really miss my friends. Soon as this heat wave turns to cooler days and nights I'd like to once again gather the bunch and take 'em out for some serious range time.

Until then I just hope they don't hurt themselves...

Stephen