Bits & Pieces

Few days ago after a long hard day I settled back into my chair to give a good long thought towards a nap when she came into the room and said, "Ah, Honey, I agreed for us to babysit this weekend." Notice she didn't ask, say please, may I dear - just, I agreed.

Flipped her a look. She flipped it right back. Then, "It's Ariana."  The little six year old girl I mentioned earlier this week. Case closed.

I awoke this morning to the sweet scent of pancakes. Then I felt a presence next to my face. I peeked. There was a cute little face peeking back. She'd sneaked into our bedroom and was standing next to my bed with a yard long smile on a face full of pearl white teeth.

She followed me into the bathroom, then waited. She followed as I left the bedroom. Tagged me when I walked out the door for my paper. Trailed me back. At one point she latched onto my pants leg and refused to release me as I took coffee and paper into the family room. When I sat she climbed, without hesitation, into my lap and snuggled.

I have a new friend.

To tell the truth, it felt kinda good. During the last two evenings, I again, experienced the joy of a grandfather. And, to continue with honesty, it also brought back a deep bone bruising sadness.

We'll see where this leads.

*****

She's walked the street in front of the shop for weeks. Her hair has been all but shaved which leaves her the appearance of an escaped mental patient. She wears baggy and old BDU pants, the older woodland camouflage pattern, and a dingy white t-shirt. She drags a small carry-on flight bag when out and about her rounds. She's jerky, hesitate in her movements. I'm reluctant to guess her age but if pushed I'd place her at forty or so.

She talks to herself. She's dirty and smells awful. I should know, last Friday she finally rang my bell. In a moment of stupidity, I released the lock. I have a weakness for the young and defenseless. This weakness of mine extends towards all women in need. I can't help myself....I know, I'm an easy touch. So sue me.

First words out of her mouth, "Hey, call me a ride."

She didn't ask or say please, or may I use your telephone, just - do it.

Without invitation she pranced into my office, and when inside, took a seat in my spare chair. I nearly came unglued at the overpowering smell of body odor, a very distinctive unpleasant experience. So, as any good Samaritan I reached into my cabinet and retrieved one of my wife's Urban Survival Kits and placed it in her hands and explained a restroom waited across the street. Then, "You mean in that park."

"Yes."

"Call me a ride."

"No."

I stood to speed her exit. She reached for my desk phone and held it aloft and in the blink of an eye began to dial. She eased back into the chair and spread her legs and waited. Then she puts on a fake smile, and I assume when her call is connected, said, very sugar sweetly, "Hello. Who's this. Yes, put him on the phone. Hello, who are you."

I've pulled my bandana out and have it over my nose. She continued, "Well, then just ****you too."

She extends the phone to me. "Here, tell them I want a ride." Before I can respond she slams the phone down. Tears follow. "I was thrown out of my home. He hates me. I haven't a place to sleep. Oh, my Lord what will I do. Hey, you have anything to eat? I need a drink of water. What's your name? You're cute. Can I use your bathroom, I gotta pee. I want a knife like yours. You gotta spare knife I'm afraid out there and I'll cut their gonads off. I once cut my husband when he wanted to rape me. I showed him, I cut him deep."

This had to end.

As gently as possible I took her arm and walked her into the main shop towards the door. I placed a granola bar and small bottle of water in her bag along with the Urban Survival Kit and reminded her of the shower at the park.

Her, "Hey, can I make a quick twenty?"

"No."

"You're a butthole."

I smiled, said, "So I've been told."

*****

Other than the soft music of the radio the house is very quiet now. I should set this laptop aside and get to work on the yard, but I wait in hopes of rain and the perfect excuse to relax and read.

She'll be home from church soon so perhaps I should make her a nice lunch.

Maybe, that.

The friggin yard can wait...after all, it's my one day off.

Take care.

Stephen

    

Don't Call Me a Honey

She just left the shop, Cloey. She belongs to a friend and is four years old and cute as a button. I instantly fell in love.

Somewhere during the conversation I called her, Honey.

She turns to me, stomps her little foot and said, "Stop calling me Honey."

We laughed. I knelt before her and took her into my arms, then said, "Okay, Sweetheart. I'll never again call you Honey."

Her, big smile. Then, "Good. I like Sweetheart. You can call me Sweetheart all day long."

I want a little girl. So bad.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

You'll never believe what Sweet Wife has on the television...go ahead, guess.

*****

Between work and my duties to keep my lovely wife entertained - I'm tired. My feet are sore and I just don't feel all that great. It's been a very long day. After the morning service Sweet Wife arrived home, loaded me into the car, and instructed me to drive.

I said, "Yes, Dear."

I'm a lethally quick study.

 Our first stop was a friend's yard sale. Since we arrived on the second day of the sale all the good stuff, read firearms, had fled the room. I was able (buy phone purchase) to walk away with a Coleman stove and a couple of spare parts. I did grab a large bag of 'fat-wood' kindling. Sure perfumed the car. Told Sweet Wife we should leave it inside as a permanent fixture. She smiled.

Anyway, my friend needed the help and I truly hope his little girls have a big smile this Christmas. He offered his four year old to us whenever we needed company. I told him to be careful as I need a child around and just might not return the little bundle of love. We shall take him at his word and then I'll just spoil the girl before/if I return her.

We then did a bit of this and that and after a pecan sticky bun and a cup of coffee at Paneras we hit the market. Sweet Wife wanted another pot of chili. After a quick hair cut I arrived home and built a pot of my world famous kick 'ya in the butt goodness.

The lady just finished a bowl. Now here's the thing; she's satisfied, warm and has her girly Hallmark program on the tube...soon she will fall asleep and I'll have a quiet evening until bed time. Hallmark will take a ride...

*****

Since we're dead into the Christmas holidays business has increased so I will open the shop six days a week through the rest of December. As they say, make hay and all that stuff. As it is my feet are sore so by the end of the month I'll probably be crippled...but with a smile.

Take care.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

Some years bad-luck just settles in and takes a huge bite out of our butts - bad-luck chews and chews until she's had her feel, and we suffer for her bloated and greedy ways.

Our Boar's Nest suffered from last weeks flood. This weekend we gather to assess the damage and clean and salvage those items not ruined forever. I had left my old Army cot, a beautiful military issued sleeping bag, vintage Coleman lanterns and stove, and antique kerosene lanterns in the building. According to FEMA this was an historic flood. The highest waters ever recorded for the river where we have the Nest built. Our stilts were not sufficient, high enough, for the flood.

In our storage trailer we have stored prep items and thousands of rounds of ammunition. Most of the ammo is packed within ammunition cans, and much of mine, in sealed battle packs. I hope its all dry, and if not, we'll unpack it and allow the ammo to sun dry. Most military ammo has sealed primers. I sure won't throw it away.

The reports I've received from locals is if you were in a boat riding the flood it was possible, while sitting in said boat, to reach and touch the top of the Boar's Nest. Bad stuff.

We'd just installed new insulation. Hopefully we'll be able to salvage some of it. We're not sure if the insulation wicked the water, if so, it too is gone.

Pictured above is one of two very old American made lanterns I left stored in the Boar's Nest. I think I remember it sitting atop one of the storage cabinets. Hope my memory serves me well, I'd hate to lose it.

The building itself I'm sure is fine. We'll clean out the mud, replace and repair. Adversity shall be kicked in the butt.

*****

My Sweet Wife is depressed, badly. I'll not spell out the reasons, hell, you know the story. Anyway, I've noticed of late she has been spending hours with a laptop deep into research. I never asked why simply because it kept her busy and her eyes were free of tears.

A couple of nights ago she came to me and said, "I want to adopt a child. I want a little girl no one can take from us." She continued, "There are hundreds of children out there begging for a home, a family, and they need love."

I didn't bat an eye...maintained my composure. Wiped my nose, scratched my head. Then, "Okay."

She smiled. And, once again, all was right with the world. She fell asleep that evening without a tear.

So, we'll try again. The process begins today. You, I'm sure, might have noticed I haven't written as much of late. Now you understand why my blog has taken a hit on the number of blog pieces posted. For the last few nights we've been deep into web research on adoptions.

We've raised a child, a boy. He didn't turn out so well. We've asked ourselves why, where did we go wrong, and we just cannot find an answer. This time, we'll ask a little girl if she wants a loving mother and father. If she'd like to be our little girl, our daughter. There is a void in our lives and it needs to be filled, we need a child to love.

I've found six or seven little girls, on the Florida agency web-search, I want to bring home, now. To read their on-line descriptions, and see their little faces, is enough to break your heart. Those little girls need my arms around them, and I need their hugs in return. I want another little girl to raise. To protect. One of mine own.

Thus begins a very long process.

Oh, by the way, it's a secret. Don't tell anyone.

Stephen

The Addiction

An addict, as defined by Webster, is one who has a confirmed habit.

Today a good friend came in and we chatted for a while, he more than me. Asked about his family. Said they were fine, healthy. Then he said he had a problem with his youngest daughter. I'll call her Missy.

Went on to explain, Missy, liked to text. I said, so what. Then he pulled out his phone bill. It's the current months charges. My friend and his wife both had about three hundred minutes of text usage. Missy had nineteen thousand minutes. That's 19,000 minutes.

Do the math. She's twelve years old.

I understand she takes a shower on occasion.

He asked what he should do. They've tried everything. I said, first throw the phone in the trash. Second, buy her a few books and then a rifle.

It wouldn't work. She's an addict.

Stephen

Good Morning

It's a cool and beautiful morning and here I am stuck inside.

Before I forget my best bud, Duke, has written a fine piece on firearms training. Please, click and read. It's a fine article.

I've a busy day ahead of me. My day nurse arrives in a couple of hours then its off to the infectious disease doctors office where he'll slice away a few pieces of my body. Should be fun....and limit my range of motion for the rest of the day. My patience runs thin.

Did you guys see where a brave seven year old girl kicked and fought a man as he attempted to abduct her in a Walmart....good for her. I sincerely wish I had been on site when this took place. This world is full of sick individuals, animals; the gene pool needs a reset button which is located under my trigger finger.

I need a second cup of coffee.

I'll try and write a clear headed post later today...

Stephen

I Wish I Had An Answer; A Request

I've just finished reading this. Please, if you believe in the power of prayer, help this little girl. I know you understand why it hit me so hard.

Thank you. I believe her name is Zoe.

Stephen

From The Beginning

I guessed her age at about nine, maybe ten, khaki pants with a white shirt, short hair slightly windblown. The bus had just pulled away.

My shop is located on a very busy street across from a large city park. Her school bus stops on the corner.

My last customer had just walked out the door when I saw her walk to the corner and slump against the chain link fence.

Thirty minutes later she was still there. I know why it bugged me. She isn't much older than my granddaughter, and my little one is my heart.

So, I stood guard, walked outside. I conceal carry. She was safe.

Every few minutes she would stand and walk to the edge of the street and glance first one way then the other. Hoping, waiting. She, at least to me, appeared worried.

I have a bench in front of my shop. I tried to appear like an older man just taking a nap, when all I really wanted to do was walk over and give her a hug and tell her it was fine and I was sure mom or dad would be there soon,  but you and I both know I couldn't do that.

Forty two minutes later she was crying when the dusty gray car turned in and she climbed in the back.

At least for a while she had been under my personal protection.

Some parents are just assholes.

(Note: re-posted as requested)

Stephen

A Beginning Ramble

I guessed her age at about nine, maybe ten, khaki pants with a white shirt, short hair slightly windblown. The bus had just pulled away.

My shop is located on a very busy street across from a large city park. Her school bus stops on the corner.

My last customer had just walked out the door when I saw her walk to the corner and slump against the chain link fence.

Thirty minutes later she was still there. I know why it bugged me. She isn't much older than my granddaughter, and my little one is my heart.

So, I stood guard, walked outside. I conceal carry. She was safe.

Every few minutes she would stand and walk to the edge of the street and glance first one way then the other. Hoping, waiting. She, at least to me, appeared worried.

I have a bench in front of my shop. I tried to appear like an older man just taking a nap, when all I really wanted to do was walk over and give her a hug and tell her it was fine and I was sure mom or dad would be there soon,  but you and I both know I couldn't do that.

Forty two minutes later she was crying when the dusty gray car turned in and she climbed in the back.

At least for a while she had been under my personal protection.

Some parents are just assholes.

(Note: re-posted as requested)

Stephen