Bits & Pieces

I still haven't eaten breakfast and here it is near noon. My morning has been spent deep into first of the month accounts, ink to checks. I've just returned from a dash to the bank. I gave over a wad of cash to cover all those slips of paper now under stamps. At least, by the grace of God, I have digital funds still to my credit. Safe in the black.

If the day arrives when the accounts show red, I'm out of here. As it stands Sweet Wife wants me to retire, in her words, right now. Not gonna happen.

After I left the bank I drove a gentle pace back and noticed a new pawn shop has established itself very near my business. I came (picture my fingers) this close to a visit. I'm fully aware of my weakness for silver and firearms and I knew if I stepped inside I'd walk out light of wallet.

*****

Don't you just hate it when you pull a fresh cup of coffee and a customer rings the doorbell and you set you nice hot cup aside to chat and forget it and (run on sentence under development) then reach back for the nice hot cup of coffee and take a big gulp and its as cold as a Chicago hooker's butt in January. Well, don't 'ya....

*****

I mentioned somewhere above I have a weakness for silver. Please allow me to rephrase. I like tangible investments.

Just before the onset of this depression (refer to as you will) I pulled clear of the stock market and ran hard towards precious metals and other practical investments. I buy on the dips and we've had a dip in silver for the last few days. When silver closes below thirty dollars, I'm in like flint.

I have a reputation in this area as a fella willing to hand over cash for tangible investments, those in the form of firearms, silver. I rarely if ever see gold walk into the shop. But silver, yes indeed. Much of it in the form of  ninety percent pre-1964 coin, or 'junk' silver as its known in the trade. I like it.

I also like silver rounds. Bars are fine too, I just prefer the rounds. Especially Engelhard Prospector one ounce rounds. Just my thing...no other reason, silver is silver after all.

Ordered a few last evening as Sweet Wife napped.

Engelhard has ceased the production of The American Prospector which tickles my fancy....I enjoy the hunt.

Just an FYI.

*****

Hey, I really need to get back to work. Take care.

Stephen


 

Welcome Aboard

I owe a long overdue thanks and welcome to three new followers. First to my friend, Wellseasonedfool writer of the blog with the same title. Second to a man whose work I've followed for years, Carteach. This morning I had another hit and would like to welcome, Dean L., author of the great political blog, Nonsensible Shoes.

Gentlemen, thank you and welcome. I promise to always reply to your comments.

To the rest of my friends, these three men write very interesting blogs. For all things firearms related, click Carteach, he has years of experience and there is a wealth of information stored in his archives. For fun and a laugh, give our friend, Wellseasonedfool a try, and like I mentioned above, run over to Dean for our kind of politics.

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

Stephen

The In Between

If you've ever served the public you are aware business arrives in waves, surges. As much as I love monetary infusions it's those brief lulls I like the best - the in between of silence. Like now.

If I sit still and cease this tapping of the keyboard my mind is filled with ticks. I have three clocks in the shop. Two in my office and a third on the main floor. One is located directly behind my head upon a low shelf. Its an old Westclock of cream with a gold band around its face, a Big Ben model of unknown vintage. I give her a twist twice a day, gently. She's load.

Between me and the main floor, just above and in front of my desk hangs another large faced clock, a gift from a now deceased friend. I don't like it, yet there it hangs with its moment by moment indications of time. Its face has birds instead of numerals. A House Wren is forever preached at 1600. I'm locked between the Audubon monstrosity and the grace of the classic Westclock.

So here I sit between the tick, tick, tick. If I listen carefully the lone timepiece from the shop's floor intrudes too. Its white dial is fed daily by signals far away. It keeps perfect time. She keeps a steady beat, the drummer to a band of three, as each marks the moment to the end of my life.  

Stephen

My Day Off

I promised, yesterday, I'd write today. Made a liar of myself. This is my day off and here I am at work. I just can't catch a break. Business has been steady since I opened the door.

So, in the meantime click, here. You will not be disappointed. This young man can write.

Chris has also written a book. When I have a chance I'll download it to my Kindle. I recommend you do the same.

Big hat tip to, Tam.

From under the rain in Florida, stay safe out there.

Stephen

A Blast From the Past

Want to read a fine investment article...one that deals with firearms and ammunition as a hedge against inflation? Good, sally forth.

I've preached the same practice for years. My friend, carteach0 hit one out of the park. The blog post was written a few years ago but stands the test of time. Trust me.

Stephen

Home

I arrived home a few hours ago. Unloaded the gear, nice long hot shower, quick nap. The guys and I had a nice but wet weekend. I'll write about it tomorrow.

For now I shall enjoy the company of my lovely wife. I also have three Cornish game hens that require my attention.

To my two new followers, thank you. I will post a proper welcome soon.

Keep an eye on Duke's blog. He will soon blog with a review of a pop-up target we tried our best to destroy. Should be an interesting article.

Until tomorrow, take care.

Stephen

LightHeaded

I was late for work this morning.

Sleep eluded me until just after 0300. I'd barely closed my eyes when I felt a light touch and reality again slapped me in the face.

Record time with the shave and toothpaste, a slap of Old Spice, and I'm out the door.

Inside the shop I flipped switches and filled the till with cash and jerked a cup of coffee and with newspaper in hand I settled back to read. Granted I was a bit woozy, distracted, and chalked it to my lack of rest but I also felt as if I'd forgotten something important.

Five or six minutes into the newspaper I reached for my coffee and it hit me. My belt seemed wrong. I reached around. I forgotten both of my spare magazines. Trivial granted. Still, it bugged me to death.

It must be understood I've carried concealed for many years, probably longer than many of you have been potty trained. So long in fact I felt as if I'd left behind my right leg.

No worries. Tomorrow I will sit around a camp fire and relax, and shoot, and chew the fat with my friends.

Besides, my piece holds twelve rounds. If I can't hit the target (or some booger) with twelve rounds I might as well take a seat on the sofa and watch ball games with the rest of the hoople-heads. 


Lord, I'm getting old...

Stephen