Nothing About Nothing

She's at church and I'm sitting here twiddling my toes with the Sunday morning paper read and tossed aside. I need to climb in the shower and dress as we've plans to hit a new local fresh market. I want a mess of beets, just because, and other ingredients for a gumbo I plan to build this afternoon, maybe a few cuts of meat too. 

Sometime today I need to address the issue of accounts which should be loads of fun. I place the payment of bills on par with a toothache.

But, you know, for now I think I'll just pour another cup and read blogs for a while....I warned you, this post is nothing about nothing.

The cat wants out.

Dammit.

Stephen

Pitter Patter

One cold windy Saturday afternoon the two of us were settled snugly with books and soft music, quiet, other than an occasional snap and crackle from the fireplace. I was deep in a biography of Hetty Green and Sweet Wife her Sunday school lesson.

I was content. Well as content as could be with the constant pitter patter of friggin squirrels at a dead gallop back and forth over our roof in their ceaseless fight over mates - breeding season, don't 'ya know....

Bounce, bang, flutter. Smack, another acorn. I'd listen as the nut gathered speed and rolled into the gutter with a tinny ping. Back to book. Repeat.

Me, "I've about had it with the darn squirrels."

"Oh, I think they're beautiful. It's just their play time." Typical, from her.

I tried, I really did try to ignore them. Pretended the squirrel antics nothing more than a minor distraction from my book. Ever so often she'd glance in my direction, with the look - as if to say, mind yourself, boy.

Bam, scamper, squeak, flutter....over and over and over. I threw the book aside and rose and walked straight into our office and grabbed my little pump Rossi. Back in the family room I went for the French doors that give to the deck...."Stephen." Like that. Just, "Stephen." All stern like, voice of authority. A rebuke.

"What?"

"No."

"No, what?"

My Sweet Wife said, "You - Will - Not - Harm - Those - Wonderful - Creatures - of - God."

I stepped outside and shot five within thirty seconds.....hand on Bible. The tree was loaded with furry fat little pieces of tasty meat. Five shots, five down. Flipped out my pocket knife and field dressed those tasty little suckers quicker than you can wink.

She didn't speak to me for an hour.

I had a nice quiet evening, with Hetty.

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

Fix It

Glance towards the top of this page - do you see the Navbar? Neither do I. So, how in the name of all that's Holy do I replace it? I like the ability and ease of just reaching and clicking on the New Post button. Instead I'm forced to open a new window in Dashboard.

It's a pain. So, all you geeks out there, take a sip of your morning coffee and please forward your vast knowledge and help me correct this oversight of Blogger.

Thanks.

Refreshments and targets await....

Stephen

For the Scent of It

A few nights past I built our evening fire of oak and hickory. The wife and cat took their usual places on the hearth and fried their backsides close to well done.

I mentioned I enjoyed the warm brambly smell of the wood but preferred the scent of real Irish peat, or as they say in Ireland, turf. My lovely wife said, "I've never had the pleasure." I sipped my tea and gave it some thought. Were does one find real cut from the earth Irish peat....

Amazon, of course. It is possible to order directly from Irish suppliers, but at a very high cost. I've taken the frugal path.

My order should arrive in a few days. It's been forty years since I've had the sweet scent of Ireland surround me, and that was in Scotland.

I hope she enjoys the experience.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

There is a nice chill in the air and the sun is bright and the live oaks dance with the mornings breeze. I love it.

On last evenings forecast the weather critter made a comment of possible snow flurries in the early hours of today. Sweet Wife turns to me and in a voice filled with little girl wonderment said, "Oh, I'd love to see snow." She's girly that way...

I smiled, replied, "It'll never happen. Besides, you'd need to wake awful early."

"Then wake me."

So this morning after my shower I sneaked a peek outside. Noted the temp. It was kinda dark so any trace of tiny ice particles were impossible to find. I turned back towards the bed and gently traced a finger down the side of her face. I gently bent and placed a soft kiss to my lovely wife's forehead and said, "Honey, come on or you'll miss the snow." 

She moaned, shifted slightly and softly said, "Leave me alone or I'll smash your face with the stupid alarm clock."

*****

Had all the guys over to the shop last night. Well, almost all of them. Couple of our friends wussied out and stayed home under their wives protection. Senior arrived with a new AR build, a pistol version of high quality. Pirate Jim flipped out his new movie carry piece, a five shot .38 by Ruger. The little sucker was as light as a feather. (BTW, when ever you attend a theater pack heat, shut down your cell phone, and for goodness sake mind your manners. Here in the deep South rules are important, otherwise you're likely to find yourself with a pistol stuck in your nose. If you don't believe me just read the Tampa newspaper.)

Now, where did I leave off....oh, Duke arrived early and we sat and chatted about all things food related. I like to cook and he loves to eat. I still need his mother's fresh beet recipe.We spent a pleasant hour in quiet conversation. All of us had hoped we'd have another drive-by. I noticed the guys frequently checked their handgun loads. Senior smacked home a full magazine, Pirate Jim, ever so often, would spin the cylinder on his little Ruger and I made sure my Para was close to hand. Duke pulled and laid several handguns within easy reach.



The boogers failed us. Maybe next month.

*****

Guess who I was able to hug for just a few minutes early Christmas Eve?

I'll tell you all about it...

Later.

Stephen

Baby Steps

I shall ease back into this blog with baby steps.

*****
Kymber, yes, it arrived and thank you very much.


*****
Isn't the passage of kidney stones one of life's defining moments.

Think, floor in a fetal position begging for death. Sadly today I feel the second on its way, asking for birth.

*****

Two days ago a carload of democritters did a 'drive-by.' Eight shots. Three down. I have one of their spent nine mils in my pocket. I retrieved it from the side of my shop. No, they were too fast for me to get off a shot. Trust me, I tried.

One of these days....

*****

I've missed you guys.

Stephen