Isn't Life Wonderful

(Dedicated to Sarah and Mike.)

This morning I awoke to a wonderful world. God has given us a nice cool cloudy morning and the pollen has my allergies on full alert which keeps my nose on a regulated drip. When I jerked my first cup of the day I dripped a long line of coffee across the wife's white tile floor. Both The Drudge Report and Fox News report possible hostilities in the Ukraine. Much of our nation is under a cold blanket of white and Susan's old goat died. She reportedly cried for three days. She emailed and said her will to live and work the land of her organic free range homestead had come to an end, and asked what price should she paint on the for sale sign.

Take it easy. Relax, for Pete's sake.

Millions across this great country are without work, or purpose, and find the meaning of life pointless. 'Ole Harry Sanders, out in his desert cabin, found dried mouse turds in his beer. It's said he almost commented suicide over the waste of it. Marriage has become secondary to the thrill of momentary lust. The lack of funds, money problems and corporate layoffs, have taken a great toll on otherwise rock solid relationships. Hundreds of thousands have lost their healthcare and suffer pain needlessly.

Want my advice. Smile. Cheer the heck up. Pet your dog and kiss your wife. Take your grandchildren, or your pet, for a walk. Enjoy the snow, or the rain, or the gray black satin city streets and while you're there, reach over and give your neighbor a handshake. God is good - He's given you life.

Granted, we live in a changed America. Yes, we have beyond a shadow of a doubt the most inept destructive presidential administration in our nation's history, but trust me, we'll walk out together, hand in hand, from the other side.

I receive, as Little Bit is fond of saying, 'whole lots of email.' Many I truly enjoy. Others, not so much because the latter are inevitably filled with lost hope and most of all, fear. They begin, "Mr. Stephen, Harry lost his job and we just don't have enough money to buy beans and bullets and our bread has grown moldy and what should we do? Oh my Lord we're scared and the world is about to end, please help us." I paraphrased, of course. Bless their hearts.

(I write this tongue in cheek but I take your letters seriously, and with respect, and treat all confidentially.)

Hey, folks, chill out. Smile. Take a deep breath and relax. Trust me, if the world ends tomorrow a bag of beans will not help you one little eddy bit. Several years in the past I gathered together a group of friends. It took me over four years but eventually I found several nice families with like minded world views much like mine own. I restricted my search to hardened military minds, men of violence. My first advice to these men, are you ready for it - 'Don't Live In Fear, Live Prepared.' Today each of these men, some combat vets, are gentle, intelligent, fun loving, men. They walk through life with a smile on their faces and live life to its fullest.

Why, because they are not afraid. They take life's lumps with heads held high, and because they know the rest of the group has their backs and God will provide. They don't complain. They don't whimper and cry for they know tomorrow will be another beautiful day under His beautiful benevolent care.

No person need walk through life in constant fear, it isn't healthy. Just because you're a Prepper (or Survivalist) do not allow the lifestyle to badge you paranoid. You have friends, family, and if you are a believer in a higher power - God and His church.

Paranoid gives birth to fear and fear is a sneaky old bitch. It warps the gray matter and whispers bad advice. It'll make you climb trees for sleep and one morning you'll awaken to find you've lined the walls of your home with canned tomatoes and you'll have coated your underwear with lead and when you glance into the mirror find loaded magazines dangle from your ears instead of those pretty diamonds Jesse gave you for Christmas.

Hey, relax. I'm here. I too suffer from depression and I still function, sort of. I'll be your friend. If you must, write me. I'm well aware times are difficult and the unemployment check is late or is about to reach its expiration date, but please hang in there - you are loved. You will find a new job.

Which brings me to this: those prepping supplies will wait. When money is tight - take a friggin break. It isn't necessary to buy twenty extra rounds of ammunition. Leave off on the beans and pressure bandages. Stockpiling that extra one hundred gallons of gasoline can wait until next Spring. Take care of your children and families. Pay the mortgage and utilities, the end of the world as we know it will be placed on hold, I promise.

If the evil whispers in your ear and suggest it would be a wonderful idea to take your battle rifle and walk towards the school grounds with ill intent - please pause a moment and sit and write me an email. I will listen. If this same evil has painted your life into a corner and believes it's best if you offer your God given life as a sacrifice, please remember I will be here - allow me a moment to suggest otherwise. Walk outside for just a second and take a deep breath of our Lord's clean air and look at that sky, isn't it beautiful. Listen to the birds sing. Hold a child in your arms. Bake a batch of cookies. I promise - life is wonderful and tomorrow the cherry blossoms will bloom.

Be happy.

Stephen

       

     

Blah...

Blah....it's how I feel. Just plain old simple, blah. I've been on my feet all day, they hurt....blah. I'm home and can't read because of this stupid idiotic music program my wife loves and I can't say a word....blah, blah, blah.

I'm too tired to work on my projects...blah. Get it.

Maybe I should take a seat in the garage, raise the door and sit and just listen, perhaps the owls will sing, one to the other. If I'm lucky there will be a salt marsh breeze off the river with the scent of mud and marsh grass and fiddler crabs. Maybe a stray raccoon will amble inside and keep me company; it happens, they beg for food. There's a chance a possum will join them...I have hand fed a possum. It was little and took the food delicately from my fingertip as if a gift from angels.

Here I sit with the smell of turpentine and distilled alcohol. It's warm out here under the oaks and the stars bright. Spring in Florida. Next weekend I will sit next to a fire truly under the stars and if I'm lucky I will hear the song of whippoorwills and coyotes and watch deer feed by headlight. If God is good He'll provide rain which will dance a magic tune on the old metal roof of our bunkhouse and I'll sleep as if death has taken me. Rainfall on a tin roof should only be experienced by those appreciative of the Lord's wonderful outdoors.

Others will sit about the fire. My friends. Good men. We'll talk well into the night...cigars will glow after a good oak grilled chunk of beef. Steaks fit for men. Coffee, always. Gentle talk, as is fit for the quiet of the woods. I will sit quietly, as is my way, and listen to these men of leather and iron. I'll listen as they clear their throats and sip the coffee and lie about adventures so many years in the past, and true tails of world traveled weary men in service to our country. I'll listen with half an ear but my vision will be captured by that night sky from where I sit in my chair under the pines and oaks, and I may even drift quietly out into the darkness to the waters edge and lose myself and escape this world of blah.

Sorry, I tend to ramble...

Stephen

Olongapo in My Dreams

It's been an awfully busy morning. This heat wave we're under is about to sap my energy. It forced me to drive to work with my truck windows lowered, and to top it off, I had to switch out my long sleeved wool cover shirt to a nice light short sleeved Columbia. This sun....what can I say, it's awful.

I'm fairly certain my left arm has a tan, you know, since I have a habit of riding with my arm on the trucks window sill...bug splatter and sunburn is always the result.

Sorry, tear drops in my milk...

Please, cherish your winter. Its so very fleeting.

*****

This morning two old timers came into the shop. I can never remember the two of them in here together, which is good, because they hate each other. Both retired Navy men. Old farts and a half. Within five minutes they put on their game faces and squared off for a rumble. Each had served for a period of time in Olangapo Subic Bay. Both are well aware I too served there as part of a detachment of the 'Screaming Green Meanies.'

The place was awful. Olongapo reeks of grilled monkey and dog meat cooked over little street side fires tended by either old women or girls, or at least those young women still too young for the street trade. The town of Olongapo is separated from the base by a brownish river aptly named, 'Shit River.'

Long story short as business is brisk...

These two old fellas had one heck of an argument about the town. One loved it for its ready supply of girls, night clubs and the awful skunk beer, San Miguel. It has the taste and flavor just this side of horse tinkle...but I'm not a beer drinker.

Old timer number two hated the place for its abundance of pick-pockets, murderers in the form of Hucks, the prostitutes, poverty and because he'd been stuck there for months and missed other ports of call.

I took a neutral stance.

They almost came to blows. I held 'em back. Old timer number two flew out the door in a pretty darn good rage.

Me, "What the heck is his problem?"

Old timer number one, "Oh, he's okay. You know we've known each other for years. Attend the same church. See, here's the thing. When he was stationed at Subic he met and married one of those pretty little street girls, know what I mean? Yep, he sure did." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "Well, one day at church, way back when, he introduced his wife. Nice little lady, 'bout four foot nothing. Later that week we bump into each other at the Publix."

He reaches and flicks his ear, smiles, then turns and gives me this evil smile. I'm liking this stuff.

He continues, "Me and him chat a bit and I mentioned he had a nice wife, good stock those Asian ladies. I didn't think really. Went on in a joking manner I'd met her before. He asked where. Said back at Subic in '71. Told him her and I had quite the evening together. I know, stupid of me, but still."

Me, "Ah, man, you didn't." From this guy though, it didn't surprise me.

"Yes, I did and I'll forever be sorry. It was just a stupid joke. Thing is I believe he feels guilt. After all these years, with him in knowledge of my, and now your, service in that cesspool of a town, and knowing we know what those girls did for a living, and then he ups and married one...well, it just about kills him."

I can understand.

"See, thing is, she's been a fine wife and mother. She's a citizen now. Bright lady. Attends church, but he just can't get the image out of his mind she had loved hundreds of other sailors all those years ago..."

Me, "So now you guys fight."

"Yes. He was once my best friend until that day at the Publix."

Stephen

Meat On A Stick

I have a hankering for a tasty well done chuck of meat on a stick. This meat must be self-cooked over an open campfire and I want this chunk of flesh to taste of oak with undertones of winter cold and just a hint of cold river kissed wind.

If the flavor lingers well into the night I'd be well satisfied. An evening of laughter, jokes, friendly back slaps, and if I'm lucky, gunfire by flashlight. Then, coffee and pastry accompanied by the haunting yelps of coyotes.

Has anyone a match...

Stephen

Boom-Boom

In about an hour my truck will point its nose towards a long day at the range. Many shall gather and limber their trigger fingers and inhale the wonderful scent of gunpowder.

Later this evening we'll build a fire and tell tall tales of days gone by, and for sure, enjoy deep long lasting friendships. Excuse me as I've ammo to load.

Wish you could join us.

Have a great day and I'll give a range report tomorrow.

Stephen

The Old Man's Promise

The phone call came early this morning. 

"Stephen, you know Percy died."

"Yes, mam,  I'm very sorry."

"Well, he promised you this gun, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to drop it off today."

Percy had been a customer for well over twenty years. He wasn't the most likeable man in the world and as far as firearms, well, he didn't think much of them. Percy liked to fish and as an aside to his hobby crafted some of the finest handmade surf rods in Florida. When it came to reel repair he had the touch of a watchmaker. Yet if push came to shove his greatest passion was literature. Books, we  had in common. Thus, our friendship.

One day, years ago, he said, "When I cop a squat at the gates of heaven I want you to have my rifle." Percy had a way with words.

I'd never seen his rifle. Didn't give it a second thought. Until this morning.

I was busy when she parked and rang the doorbell. She asked if I'd walk outside and carry the bundle inside for her. She had it packed within two black trash bags. I removed it and found a beautiful Savage model 24 over and under chambered in .22/.410. The date code indicated she'd left the shop in 1960. Good 'ole Percy.

"He wanted you to have it. He made me promise to give this rifle to you."

"No, mam."

"But....."

 I smiled at her and gave her a rub on her shoulders. She's such a tiny little lady. "Tell 'ya what. Let's break out the Bluebook and check its value."

She didn't argue. I paid for Percy's gift.

Later, we spoke of Percy and his last days. I asked after her health and if the adjustment to a life without her husband had been difficult. She replied, "At first, yes. Now, well, I haven't the time to think about it. The garage needs to be cleaned and my goodness his junk is stacked knee deep. When I find them old bullets I'll bring them to you too."

I smiled and said thanks.

Then, she said,  "You know, he left that old pistol in his sock drawer. I don't know if its loaded or not. I took the awful thing and stuck it into a paper bag. When I get the time you want me to drive it over?"

Please, don't judge me.

I said, "Yes, mam, that would be just fine."

"I'm scared of guns, Stephen."

"Understandable, Mrs. Campbell."

She's such a sweet little lady....

*****

If you, dear reader, would like to learn more about this wonderful firearm, a highly collectable piece, visit, here.

Stephen

Almost

I stepped outside this morning to a windy and cold day. I pray it will last as Spring knocks. Soon the Coots will turn their wings northward and I've noticed our hickory has fresh green buds. Our winter is so very short.

As I gathered the heavy Sunday paper I turned to the river and its whitecaps and mentally soaked in the cold breeze and could almost taste the briny scent of the marsh. The windchimes clattered. I smiled. I'll miss the chilly season. Winter is a brief lover to southern climes.

I've finished the morning paper and my two cups of coffee and must now rise and tidy the kitchen. My lovely wife will soon arrive home from church. If she were to find a mess in the kitchen she'd frown and give me, 'the look.' I'll not disappoint her.

Today we shall drive downtown. Minor errand. I try and avoid downtown trips. As we live within a city divided by a river there are several bridges from which to choose and accomplish our task. All lead to confusion. I hope to infiltrate and fall back quickly.

Wish me luck.

On another note; please forgive my lack of attention to your blogs. I live (at present) a very hectic life. These last few months have presented many challenges. Some good, others not so much. The latter holds sway. I DO read your blogs. Many I scan. None the less, all of you make me smile, and at times, weep. Just know and trust your lives are important to me as you are and shall always be my friends.

Smile, the purple sash is upon the cross. It's almost Spring.

Stephen


 

The Gang & The Gunshow

Just now home from church and fried chicken. Sweet Wife is happy. This is the third time in a month she's tricked me into attending a brick and mortar church.  I've been a good boy- didn't say a word during any of the services. I simply slipped my Kindle out and read, elbow or no elbow.

*****

Yesterday was fun. Our group gathered at a local gunshow. The cast of characters included, yours truly and my Sweet Wife. (At first she declined. Then she was informed our good friend, Jacked Up Glock Mom planned to escort her husband, Senior Chief, so Sweet Wife quickly changed her mind.) Along with our other best friends, Pirate Jim, and Rebel, we had a six pack.

Two of our group missed out - Duke, away on vacation, and Shooter Steve. Shooter Steve is a newly wed and has yet mastered the ability to check his email so missed out on a great gunshow and lunch. He's young and I'm sure in time he'll learn.

We gathered at the door of the venue at 0900, after of course, we disarmed. Ironic isn't it...one must first unload their concealed weapons to attend a gun show. So I walk inside with two full magazines attached to my belt.

The ladies went left, the guys right.

Gunshows smell good, at least to me. The scent of oil and wood and leather fills the air. I love the racks of old firearms and the bits and pieces of gear and spare parts, cleaning rods and brushes and countless AR grips. Old slings and trench knives with the odd sun bleached olive drab ammo pouches.

We took our time, ambled along. The prices were very high, almost ridiculous. I've attended many shows in my lifetime, more than I can count, and I've never seen prices reach such levels. Most, I dare say, high retail.  My expectations of a deal died quickly. My want list was small when I approached the door, it quickly shrank. The list included a lower, a few spare AR parts, perhaps some ammo along with .50 caliber ammo cans, and books.

I scored on three out of five. I did find a Ragnar Benson.

As you can see above, I also found a Spikes lower. I did find a few PMS lowers but the dealer was a pawn shop owner and was awful proud of his inventory, so I passed.

My good friend, Pirate Jim, stumbled across a nice M1. He's a collector of vintage military rifles. Its a fine disease. He paid and took his new baby home. Sweet Wife said of Pirate Jim, "He's so sweet. Look how he's holds his rifle. Just like a baby." I thought, 'Well heck yes, why shouldn't he.'

Above, Pirate Jim stands next to a display of gun culture themed books.

At one point Rebel and I came upon a display of private arms. I've noticed over the last few years dealers will proudly display 'private sale' signs on their booths. Loop holes be damned. I've also noticed their booths are knee deep in business. As we checked out this dealer's inventory Rebel spotted a nice little Revelation pump .410, the prefect little squirrel weapon. He and the dealer bickered a bit and Rebel walked away with a fine little Mossberg built shotgun. Pump .410's are fairly scarce. Revelation was a Western Auto store brand.

Above a display of .300 Blackout barrels and lowers. Local manufacturer. Senior Chief's next AR build.

At one point, as I filled out a 4473, Rebel walked over and asked if I wanted a piece of action in a bulk ammo can purchase. Said, yes. The dealer wanted ten dollars each. We checked each seal, stacked the cans, and smiled all afternoon. I walked away with five.

I'll take a step into dangerous territory - ready....never, ever, take your wives to a gunshow.  As I've said, I took my time to stroll up and down each aisle. I was happy...then, the women began to complain. They're hungry. Their backs hurt. Their feet were sore. I've yet to take in half the show. Guess what.

We ignored them. Above, Pirate Jim and his new baby. Displayed on the table, Rebel's .410.

Then, the women came back and slapped us. Above, my Sweet Wife. If you look closely you'll see she has a little AR-15 ink pen, a gift to me. She's clutches other secret booty. I've found it best to hold tight to my wallet.

And, above, my wallet next to a sack which holds a .22 conversion kit. Notice the price.

The women finally won. The gang followed Rebel's jeep to lunch. During lunch the rain's began to fall.

I'm rich with friends.

Stephen

Good Morning

Just a short note to say, good morning, my friends. As you know my shop is open Saturdays, and today, I hope, will be busy. 71 degrees at wake-up. Gonna be a hot day.

After work I have plans. I need to shop for a new pair of sneakers. Basic black. None of those weird 'basketball critter shoes for me. Just black, low sneakers. I need a new pair and Monday is my scheduled nuke stress test. Keep your fingers crossed for me, please. Then, or maybe prior to the shoe shopping trip, I want to take a close look at the Subaru. I've done my homework. Even paid for a years subscription to Consumer Reports (which I might never use again) and this looks like a good deal. If.....

We will have our grandchildren this evening. As I write Little Bit is probably watching cartoons with her Nana. Should be fun. Oh, Little Bit whipped my butt at Monopoly last evening. She's learned the trick of houses on her properties. She also asked if we had enough change saved for a silver swap. So, this afternoon we shall also run by my friends Gold and Silver shop and Little Bit will choose either coins or bars for her next purchase. She keeps her silver in Papa's safe.

Minor note: I have been by everyone's blog over the last two days. I didn't leave many remarks but please note I cruise the internet between work. It's hard some days. Just wanted to let you know I do indeed read your blogs...I appreciate each and everyone of you nice people.

Now, please excuse me while I jerk another cup of coffee. Until then.

Stephen

Watercolors

In the hours before dawn the river is a wavy reflection of color cast by the city lights. Streaks of amber and ivory and red. A momentary and wistful display seen only at this hour. The fog lifts and with the mornings first light the painting disappears. It's the nature of light and life. Tiny reflections, fragile, easily disturbed.

People are much the same. They walk into our lives and cast their colors and give us reflections into their spirits and lift and guide us on our daily walks. Much as you good folks have done for me over the last two days.

You have overwhelmed me.

This morning I shall make every attempt to individually answer each of your comments. Seems the least I can do after such a wonderful outpouring of support during this difficult period of my life.

I hope each of you awaken to find a personal watercolor to begin your day. God bless you.

Stephen

Help Me, New Friend

I'm the kind of man, and blogger, with a big hang-up when it comes to manners. I like to give thanks when required and often when it isn't. I truly appreciate it when someone takes the time and effort to hit my follower button. Having said that, I had a nice person become my 96th follower today. Unfortunately, either due to a blogger mistake (which is likely) your name escapes me.

Please leave a comment so that I can thank and welcome you properly....otherwise I'll feel bad each time I see the number '96.'

And, it'll haunt me forever.

Stephen

The Bug Out Weekend

Our group had a nice weekend out at the Boar's Nest. For those of you new here, the Boar's Nest is the name we've tagged our bunkhouse/kitchen/storage building we constructed on pilings on a river bottom. It is our BOL. We spent a few hours slapping insulation on the ceiling and a few other minor chores then hit the range. In between we ate and played poker as the winds and rain kept cadence on the metal roof. We slept well.

Pictures in random order.

Above, my friend Duke popping targets.

Rain, all weekend.

Duke, making his famous beans.

Our dinner table. Oil lamps and handguns optional.

My good friend, Senior Chief, and husband of Jacked Up Glock Mom, in silent prayer breakfast won't upset his tummy.

Our friend and new aux member, Russell decided to test some storage wheat. He mixed it fifty-fifty with all purpose flour and made pancakes for the crew. I think Duke ate a baker's dozen. They were excellent. Thanks, Russell.

Then a night of poker. All in all, great fun, some hard work, but lots of great friendship.



Stephen

Cool Dreaming and Firewood

I'm ready for cooler weather and the warmth of a wood fire. We're lucky, Sweet Wife and I, as we have two fireplaces in our home. Working fireplaces, not those cheap metal inserts made more for looks than function, but quality brick and mortal 'kick your butt with roasting heat' fireplaces. 

One is located in our formal living room and the other in our family room. The family room fireplace is primary. When cool weather hits our area its usually in late October.  I have standing orders, from Sweet Wife and Little Bit, when she is in residence, to have a fire laid and ready to light when she arrives home from work. I always follow orders. We burn a lot of wood. Firewood here in North Florida isn't cheap. A good truck load (less the a standard cord) can cost me a couple hundred dollars. Ouch. I'm cheap, well, perhaps frugal is a better description of my spending habits.

So this weekend when I spotted a nicely stacked pile of freshly cut Live Oak on the side of the road, I jumped.  I had beat the city yard waste truck, and it was free for the taking.

The wood was the result of a trim job, probably as a safety measure for hurricane Irene.  Live Oaks are big. The limb had been cut in rounds, and trust me, they were heavy. Each piece weighed between 60 and 90 pounds, a rough estimate for sure, but close enough. I tried to limit my selections to pieces measuring less the 21 inches, the limit for my Troy Built.

Free firewood is money in my pocket. Times are 'tuff all over, this is evident from my daily blog reads. Seems everyday I read where more and more people are losing their homes and jobs, or know of a neighbor in the same predicament. It's depressing. Many of these bloggers have become my friends. I read their posts and feel helpless. One jumps to mind and I shall not mention his name, he's a proud man, and to ask for help is beyond him. I've veered of course....sorry.

Anyway, back to the firewood. I loaded six or seven rounds (doctor's visit imminent) took it home and prepped for splitting the wood down to usable sections. Guess what...darn things were so heavy and green my log splitter wasn't up to the task. It'll season and I'll try again. Did get one to pop, Little Bit cheered.

Take what you can folks. There are terrible times ahead. Swallow your pride, too. Friends help friends. 

Do you hear me, my friend.  

Stephen

Ramblings of a Long Weekend

Sorry for the silence. It's been a very long weekend filled with friend activities and yard work. Even finished reading my book 'Monster Hunter', by Larry Correia, which was a very good read btw.

Sunday morning was a road trip with some of my best friends. It proved a failure other than a fine breakfast and a hard workout. The picture was taken in a neighboring state 'way out there.' Due to our failure we'll try this again next month when I'll write a more in depth article on our mission.

This will be short, business calls. I also need to catch up on my blog reading. I see my friend Arsenius has taken on the challenge of teaching himself the art of canning. Good for him.

Now, here's a picture of Little Bit at her Nana's baby grand piano. As I snapped this photo she said, "Papa, sit down and I'll teach you how to play."

The little girl is, if nothing else, an optimist.

Take care.

Welcome and Thanks

Over the last few days many nice people have clicked the 'follow' button. I've gone from six, I think, to twenty five in just a few days. Thank you all very much and welcome. I will do my best to make your visits a pleasant experience.

May I introduce my Sweet Wife and grandchildren.

My grandson, Sport Model in his grandmother's arms. He's not quite nine months old. This photo was taken at my son's home. Perhaps one day he'll stand still and I will post a picture of him and his sweet wife.

Little Bit and her Nana.

Again, thank you so much for your friendship and support.

Stephen