Good Morning Starshine

Writing, in general, is a pain in the ass. Unless, of course, time is on your side. And, silence.

I've just unlocked the front door of the shop. Soon, I hope, hoople-heads with full wallets will walk inside. I shall take their cash, smile and bid them a good day.

Perhaps later this afternoon time will become available and I'll write a piece worthy of your attention.

Until then,

Stephen

Zombified

And spell zombified anyway you'd like but it describes the last few days of my life, zombified, dead meat. May I ask as to your condition...

Our weather has turned. Its cool and breezy. High forties this morning, and yes the repairman fixed our a/c unit. Took him four hours and cost us one nice pretty penny. I flipped it in the dirt.

Business is very slow...I mean snake belly dust swallowing dead butt slow. Blame it on Uncle's tax grab.

Old man in here yesterday, "I swear, Stephen, if I'm given a terminal prognoses I'll pack my bags and drive to the District and find the headquarters of the Infernal Revenue and blow those sonsabitches to hell."

Me, "God bless you."

Excuse me while I try to refresh my coffers. I also will make every effort to respond to the comments you've so kindly left in response to my last few pitiful posts. If given peace and silence, and of course time, I will give my all to a longer written piece. Seems of late I live a very hectic life and this poor excuse of a blog is its reflection.

Until then.

Stephen

The First Cup

Please allow me the first cup of the morning, then we'll chat.

Or, at least I'll try.

Funny, business. One day you feel as if you need to stand outside and beg them to walk inside, the next find yourself screaming, "Leave me alone." Which I'd never consider. I love 'em all.

I hear a crow scream...Autumn has arrived.

Stephen

Two Good Days

She's in the kitchen, singing. I like that. She's happy and content after a nice meal. I made her favorite, my sauteed fish with an onion and wine sauce served with rice. Fresh asparagus steamed in olive oil, butter, red wine vinegar with just a tab of butter.

Business at the shop has been good for the last two days, too. Me, all smiles. The rain has given us a brief break. With luck our trench foot will heal.

Now for a quiet evening of soft music and a good book.

If the urge hits I might sneak over to Ebay, or some other site, and try to find a piece of old silver.

I face a ton of yard work tomorrow. After this weeks storms I need to climb back onto the roof and blow the pine straw and leaves and broken limbs back to ground - clean the gutters too. The grass needs to be cut and bailed. If you have need for hay, call me.

I feel so good I might accompany my wife to church in the morning. Really, it's possible. I'll call ahead and give warning. It's unsettling when the candles flicker and dim when I enter the sanctuary. I'd hate for some old lady to faint.

Then I wouldn't feel this good. 

Stephen
 

Rain

We have gray skies and it's cool and the rain falls hard. Now, it feels like December. I enjoy the soothing sound of rain.

I've less than two weeks to increase the bottom line of my business so please excuse me if my notes are less than frequent.

Time for another cup of coffee. Join me, why don't you.

Later.

Stephen

Cool Business

Our weather has finally turned cool. Forty four degrees this morning and I love it. We experienced fairly high winds yesterday with the result of lost power - at least where I live.

So, I cooked dinner by lamp light.

Not the best picture in the world and I know it's hard to see the lamp due to the glare. The lamp is old, kerosene, and I've owned it for at least forty years. I think I own at least ten more of the old girls...wick lamps come in awful handy when the weather turns foul.

It pays to limit your dependence upon electrical power.

Business is good which limits my time on-line. Hopefully I'll find a few moments later this afternoon to write and post, but please understand when one is self-employed and the opportunity presents itself one must stuff as many dollars in the mattress as possible...after all, I've democritters to support.

Until then, please, take care out there.

Stephen

Too Busy

Just too busy to write. Maybe later. Gray and windy here. We await the storm which will give us nothing but more wind and light showers.

Until later. Please, take care out there.

Stephen

Bits and Pieces

Our weather is broken into moments of rain washed away by interludes of heat and humidly. Its so old and tiring. I want the cool winds of Autumn that promise crisp mornings with the tang of woodsmoke and bacon.

Now.

*****

Business here at my little shop has been brisk. Not complaining, mind you, this is very good. One day last week I flipped the sign and didn't sit once for twelve hours. This leaves me little time for my pleasures. Just so you know....

Then, nada.  Go figure. Over the years I've had many ask, in their words, "What's your busiest day?" As if I had the ability to read human nature. So, I'd give the a day of the week, any day, as an answer and it would, of course, make me a liar. If I'd have said, Tuesday, they'd walk in the next Tuesday and the place would be as still as a tomb. Now I just say, 'yesterday.'

 

*****

Many of you will remember I had an accidental glimpse of my Heart a few weeks ago. Then, one or two afterwards.

Nothing since, and believe me, I've tried. I've waited for as long as forty-five minutes, parked away, out of sight and hidden as best as possible. I do not understand. I've neither seen her nor her father's vehicle and do not know how she is taken to school. I suppose it's possible I've been spotted and know for sure if this is the case he's had her transferred. I've since ceased my subterfuge as I'm sure this is only making her little life more complicated and painful.

I haven't spoken of this to my Sweet Wife for the same reasons. 

Our life without our grandchild isn't the same. The holidays approach. At our house Halloween will be dark, lights out. Maybe a turkey breast, if I'm in the mood, at Thanksgiving. Christmas, well for the first time in my memory might pass without a tree. Why bother. Unless, by some miracle of God, He reaches down and makes a great change to the soul of our son and his wife.

I shall break one of my promises here and now....

Just because I miss my Little Bit so very very much....

Papa loves you, Honey.

*****

I need another cup of coffee.

Sorry.

Stephen

Busy

I'm busy, busy, busy this morning. I'll be back as soon as possible. I will also post a thanks and welcome to my two new followers when I can catch my breath.

You've just got to love Father's Day for business.

Stephen

The Pimp

First, please understand I deal with many lower class people in my business. It's just a fact of life. The door to my business, though locked, can't discriminate. Their currency spends too.

Yesterday was busy and when the doorbell rang I barely bothered with a glance and simply reached and hit the release button for the lock. I gave out a quick, good morning, and returned to my work. I should have known. It was The Pimp.

He comes around a few times a year when his cash runs shallow and the girls just can't seem to market their product in a timely fashion. This mini-depression hasn't helped matters either. The Pimp runs a string of girls from the Beaches area of River City to the upper West side slums. He was once in partnership with his late father until that man became more interested in his wares and died of complications from overindulgence of same.

The Pimp likes to sell me handguns. I drive a hard bargain, and he knows it.

The Pimp isn't your typical stereotype. He's a skinny white man, fairly young, not quite six feet with shaggy short hair. He has a foul mouth. I don't like him.

Back to his visit.....unlike other occasions after entry in my shop, on this visit he remained silent. Perhaps it was the other customers, not sure. I gave him a nod and a quick flick of my finger and he quickly jumped and walked over. I said, "What is it today?"

He reaches into his left hand pocket and pulls out a little nickel Raven P-25. Then, "Hey, motherf@*^er, what 'ya give me for this?"

If ever a man needed a shotgun mouthwash, this dude is at the top of my list.

I asked my other customers to excuse me and reached and took The Pimp by the shoulder and showed him the way into my back office. I gently explained to him this is my business and I liked desecration in all things related to private firearms sales, and this was indeed private. There wasn't a doubt in my mind the little pea-shooter was probably acquired through illegal means. At least it still had its serial number. Truthfully, I don't give a damn, but I did have a hooplehead in the shop.

He nodded, as if he understood, and said, "Hey, man, give me a hundred dollars."

I laughed. He wiped his nose, ran his hands through his hair, and then came back with, "Ah, man, come on. It's worth it."

Me, "No it isn't. It isn't worth more than half book price. Even then they're hard to move (I fudged the truth a bit here) and I must make a small profit on it."

He thought about it a second, gave off a funk scented fidget, wiped his nose again, shuffled, then, "What 'ya give me for it?"

I gave him my figure.

Many people in the gun culture look down their collective noses at little handguns like this Raven. For good reason I might add. They weren't the best for quality, many thousands were produced from 1970 until about 1991, and the company ceased production of the P-25 in 1984. Yet, they have value and purpose in certain situations.

The .25 caliber is nothing more than a gut buster. It works, if the handgun functions properly. I'd already checked it out. The magazine (they are always loaded, of course) held five rounds. The trigger worked. The slide moved freely. The finish was nice and bright, and believe it or not, they move quickly. The secret is to purchase them at as low a cost as possible.

Back to The Pimp. "Hey, motherf*&#ker, you be trying to rip me off."

I'm a patient man. Shame of it is my best friend, Duke, had just left the shop. He would have liked The Pimp too. After The Pimp's last exchange I calmly explained to him if he called me that again I'd bust his kneecaps. Like that.

Again, I gave him my figure. Said I didn't have time for his silly games. He held out his hand. I gave him a fraction of his asking price.

Then, "Hey, man, I gotta another one I'll bring tomorrow. It's a forty, man. I'll really work with you on that one, okay."

I said, "Sure. But, be careful when you walk into my shop. I may not be in as good a mood as I am today."

Pimps - they're the same the world over.

Stephen

Too Busy

I'll post a few items later this afternoon or tonight. I'm just too busy today, which is good.

Please, standby.

The air is rich with the smell of money....

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

Perhaps I've mentioned this is my busy season, from now until New Year's. You've probably noticed  a drastic reduction in my post over the last few weeks - it shall continue, I afraid.

(an hour later)

See. I'd barely finished writing the sentence above when the door bell rang....which is fine, it's money. But, those that just want to come in and chat, bug me to death. Don't get me wrong, I like them, most of my customers are nice people, the vast majority tied, in one way or the other, to the gun culture. There are the 'Fudd's' too, good folks, just one sided, and then the 'wanna-bees,' those with a wish to be hard asses but are in fact vastly unqualified to handle weapons....they give me pause, which leaves me silent while they are in my shop.

Excuse me while I pull a cup of coffee.

My son just sent me a text asking the worth of a 1929 penny. I replied, a penny. Okay, perhaps with its copper content, five cents. Give me a break. Some dude wanted to sell it to him and I know he'd pay far more than its actual worth. The boy can't afford it.

Yesterday our weather turned. In a two hour period the temperature dropped twenty degrees with high winds and rain, a steady cold rain. This morning, clear with wake up temps in the low fifties. Nice.

As you know I drive my granddaughter, Little Bit, to school each morning. We always stop for a hot breakfast. This morning a 'fake' Santa walked inside for his reindeer food.

Little Bit, "Papa."

"What, Sweetheart."

She's giving Santa the once over; a careful study indeed.

"Papa, that's the ugliest Santa I've ever seen."

Me, "Well, Honey, he just had a rough night."

"Papa, he's not real is he."

"No, Honey, I'm afraid he isn't. He was probably hired by Santa as a temporary bell ringer for the season."

Silence. She rubs her nose. Takes a bit of her food. She keeps him in a steady gaze. Let's out a long sigh...

"Papa."

"Yes."

"Santa just needs to quit hiring the homeless, or at least makes them takes baths."

She has a point.

Stephen