Gold Fever

For many years I made monthly purchases of gold bullion coins. Usually a single American Eagle or Krugerrand but wasn't beyond sneaking the occasional Chinese Panda and odd Australian coin into the mix.

Then gold soared over nine hundred dollars an ounce and I turned to silver. I haven't purchased gold in over two or three years. Can't remember exactly how long it's been, doesn't matter, as the gold bug has taken another bite out of my butt.

I hit Ebay late this afternoon and shopped for a gold coin ring. It's for Sweet Wife. Our anniversary is next month and I'd like to find her a nice tenth ounce Krugerrand with either a fourteen or eighteen caret setting. Kill two birds with one stone.

She likes white gold, doesn't really care for yellow gold. If she doesn't like the ring, well shucks, I'll just put my new gold coin in the safe....

Stephen 

The Survival Doctor

I came across this website while at AR-15. Check it out.

Snippet:

Someone on the Homestead Survival Facebook page asked me, if there’s no way to get to a doctor, how does a person get rid of pinworms? Good question. There are plenty of home remedies, but there’s little objective proof they work.

Yes, he's a real doctor.


(stupid bold font)


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

Bits & Pieces

This post will probably take at least four hours to write. It's just the nature of things and business of late. Not sure why but the shops traffic has increased dramatically. It's a good thing, as Martha Stewart likes to say.

Our morning weather, this week, has been on the cool side. I really enjoy it. I've a habit, each morning, of jerking my first cup of coffee and taking it outside the shops back door under the oaks to soak in the peaceful atmosphere of squirrel play and birdsong. The fresh air adds flavor; perhaps that's why the first cup of coffee always taste best.  

Yesterday Little Bit made me promise to take her to Starbucks for breakfast. We chose this morning to do so. Inside she quickly discovered they only offered pastry. Their drink selections were, of course, limited. Finally, after making the folks behind us restless, she chose two tiny pink and chocolate doughnuts and a very small container of organic apple juice. She didn't like their limited breakfast menu. She looked at the cashier and told her, "Why don't you serve pancakes, this sucks."  Don't piss off little hungry girls...

I didn't say a word. I did chuckle.

We sat outside. It was cool. She didn't like that either. We gathered her 'breakfast' and drink and proceeded to my truck. She didn't like that one darn bit, either. Finally, "Papa, this was a very bad idea and don't you ever make me eat at Starbucks again."

I said, "Yes, Dear."  Sometimes the grass isn't always greener.

Last evening Sweet Wife came home with her laptop. Not a good sign. She gulped down our simple dinner and, without a word, set her laptop and two of our spare monitors on the kitchen table and didn't move until 0400 this morning. 

This doesn't bode well for the bond markets. Just saying....

Now, I've a request. SciFiChick, a lovely lady, needs help. Please, take a moment and click the link and run by and read her post. If you feel you can spare a few dollars, any amount will help, hit her donation button. I know times are hard and cash is very dear, but any amount towards the cause will be greatly appreciated. Even a kind comment and prayer will bring a little light into her life. Thank you.

Want to read a good book...I thought so. Then find a copy of 'Jesus Out to Sea,' by James Lee Burke. He's the dude in the above picture. James is probably the best prose stylist in America today. I don't care a bit for his politics, but none the less, the man can write. Jesus Out to Sea is a story collection, short stories that grip the gut. Trust me.

I'd link the book but haven't the time. The shop's bell rings and waits for no man.

Until then,

Stephen

It's The Little Things

This morning when she walked from her father's house she was as cute as a button. She wore her school logo sweatshirt, her dark blue skorts with very colorful leggings. Her school shoes had a shine. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she carried a pillow pet. Purple. She walked directly to my leg and gave it my morning hug.

It was a morning for questions.

In the truck and down the road, "Papa, did you remember to bring my snacks?"

"Yes, Honey, Papa remembered."

"Rice Krispie Treats," I said yes. She squeals in delight. It's the little things...

When I turn the nose of the truck towards the sunrise, she takes her rose colored sunglasses (really, rose tinted) and puts them on and takes my arm and places it on her pillow pet, just so. I asked why she liked my arm, just so. "Because it makes me feel good, Papa."  I love this child.

Along the marsh the ducks and geese, as is their morning routine, move from the lake towards the river and we count their numbers. "Papa, why can't birds fly in reverse?"

"They can, Little Bit."

"How?"

"They just point their noses in the opposite direction."

"Oh."  Then, after a few moments of thought, "Papa, that's just silly." 

I agreed.

Soon we approach the second of two bridges, a special bridge. The pavement at the foot of the bridge has a slight rise and forms a 'fun' bump. When the bump is hit at the proper speed it gives one that slight 'belly drop' sensation. Little Bit loves it. Thing is, she always covers her face and never actually watches as we ride over the bump.

"Here it comes. Get ready."

She places her face deep into the pillow pet and begins an endless series of giggles. "Go fast, Papa, go fast."

Afterward, as her squeals of delight fade, "Papa, why does it make my tummy feel good?"

"Because, Honey, there's a little man in your tummy and when your tummy floats he reaches and tickles the bottom of your belly button."

Silence. Then a smile.

Then a frown.

In one rapid outburst, "Papa, what is debt? Because Daddy said he's got to go into debt and him and mommy fought about it last night and he made me go to my room and I didn't like it cause they screamed at each other and I cried, Papa."

Sigh.

"Little Bit."

She has her head back on the pillow pet, her friend, with her arms locked around mine. We're close to our destination. It was, such a nice morning.

"What, Papa."

I explained debt, and continued,  "Do you know why Daddy must go into debt?"

"They had a leak in their bedroom last week when it rained, Papa, and the rain leaked real bad and came down on their ceiling fan and the fan took the rain and slung the water all around in a big circle in the bedroom and soaked their bed, and they made me sleep on the couch and they took my bed, Papa, and I didn't like it."

She took a deep breath. She gives me her big brown eyes, and waits.

"So, you were able to camp out." She blinks. Then, "Oh, yeah, I did."

"Don't feel bad about Daddy sending you to your room, Sweetheart. When parents argue they forget about their children and seem to always ask them to go to their bedrooms. You're not in trouble. Mommy and Daddy just have a problem which will cost them a lot of money. Don't worry about it. Papa will help."

"Papa."

"What, Honey."

" Thank you, Papa, but I still need to know why birds can't fly in reverse."

I'll think of an answer, soon.


Stephen

This Old Gun

This pretty piece belongs to my good friend, ShooterSteve. I thought you nice men and lovely women would like to try and identify its make and caliber.

Above, the small handgun used for size comparison only.

Above, look closely at the hammer. See the pin.

The first person to identify the pistol gets one big 'attagirl' or 'attaboy.'

Have fun.

Stephen

Tomorrow, for sure

I'll post something. It's been two hard days filled with doctor visits and family hanging around my house driving me nuts. Love 'em, but enough is enough.

Spent the afternoon with Little Bit. She wore me out. I'll tell you about it in the morning if I have time. Now, I believe I'll listen to my old radio for a while then hit the sack and try and find dreamland.

By the way, Little Bit owes me ten 'slurpee' kisses and fifteen hugs...

I do have a gun post in mind. Another mystery challenge.

Later,

Stephen