Let's Ramble

If it were possible to pocket a piece of summer; fold its essence within an envelope, I would. I'd remove this slice of season when needed, or better yet, when my mood suited. Like last night.

I'd just wheeled our garbage container to the street. A nice warm south wind carried the scent of sweet flowers and pushed the Spanish Moss. The moon was bright. The river flat and glassy. Perfect. Warm enough yet not hot. My kind of summer. A slice of summer children remember.

The adult me hates summer. I find its heat uncomfortable. But once in a blue moon I find a taste of my youth in the months of June and July. Seldom August. Yet, late summer nights often make me smile. Now, if I find a way to bag just a few moments of what I experienced last evening think of the possibilities of its use during those long cold and dark winters ahead.

*****

With the children out for summer vacation the street and park seem abandoned. Business has grown to a crawl. It's slow. Believe it or not the basketball courts are empty. Even the Urban Campers have ducked beneath the earth.

So, I clean firearms. My hands smell of gun oil. I should dab a bit beneath my ears. Stuff smells kinda good and has been noted to work out the wrinkles. We'll see.

Sweet Wife has never said but I'm sure she thinks I'm nuts for my weird habit of firearms cleaning during those nights of movies and certain television shows. Me and my little bottle of Break Free, bore-snake and shop rags, two or three handguns....keeps me busy. I've an old Colt Official Police that has been cleaned so often it absolutely sparkles. She sits upright on my mantle with a shotgun shell thru the trigger guard. I have the old girl filled with vintage rounds of .38....just seems right somehow. Old firearm, equally old ammo. She stands guard just above an ancient rabbit eared shotgun. My Colt came into this world before Hitler invaded Poland.

Told you. This is a ramble.

*****

Over at Gander Mountain this weekend I found the shelves filled with ammunition, well, other than what I wanted, but none the less, the place held tons of boom-boom. But, the prices were silly high. I mean, damn. I passed.

This price increase, I believe, is the new normal. Guess it's high time I dusted my loading bench and lubed the press.

*****

Now, if you'll please excuse me I've blogs to read and comments to answer.

Go thump a watermelon and smile.

Stephen


   

.32-20

All I want, at present, is one small box of .32-20, just one. Stuff is rare as hen's teeth. Can't find it. None, and it ticks me off.

See, the thing is I want to shoot. I miss the faint odor of gun powder. The thump of lead (the real stuff) as it slaps a target, and I sorely miss the fine company of my friends.

For far too long I've denied myself the therapy of the gun range and the fellowship of my friends. And, I've a new toy. It requires this most antique cartridge. The load is still manufactured - when component parts are available. Every source is badged back ordered, or out of stock.

Anyway, soon. Soon I'll take the fresh air and sling lead.

*****

As an aside...we're both fine. She's out of pain and the mass the doctors found in my lower body isn't....

Thank the Lord.

To all of you...my sincere thanks. You're good people.

Stephen

Almost

Isn't life wonderful.

I've missed you guys and gals. Not quite ready for the daily grind of the blog just yet, but almost. The last two months have been awful, to say the least. So far all is well.

Next Monday we should cross the bridge, hand in hand, into the light and begin, again, a normal life.

Thank you all for your kind prayers and good thoughts.

Stephen

Andy's Advice

She asked, "Did you bet?" I flipped a spoon into the sink, turned and said, "I'm chicken. I'm a tenderfoot. I need to study, read. Para-mutual betting and the horse races befuddled my tiny brain."

But, you know what...Andy Capp, the old clothe capped cartoon character, had a point....if you don't bet on a horse you'll never win. So, instead I bet on paper, all pretend and chicken like...and won the Preakness. On paper.

She said, "See."

She attended church this Sunday, as is her way. Her mornings are filled with energy and zest. The late day, not so much but she still holds a smile, all grace and dignity. She's much improved after a second and very late night visit to the ER. I hate the place. Two hours into the visit I made an escape and walked outside to find a democritter peeing on our car, the left front wheel. Serious. I didn't give him a chance to zip. Just think...one its kind sits behind the desk in the White House.

*****

Our weather is soft and warm. If she allows I will leave my current post at this laptop and spend the rest of the day with rake and hoe and shovel, and dig in the sunlight. The sea breeze should make an appearance soon and it will make for a plesant afternoon of work. I have a fig tree that begs for a permanent home and I believe I've found a perfect spot. I plant figs for the squirrels and birds...all I ask in return is they leave me one or two juicy bites.

*****

I must apologize, to you, my kind friends, for my lack of visits and comments on each of your blogs. I will try and rectify my lack of attention and focus. Now, if you'll excuse me I think I'll walk outside and dig a can of worms....I understand armadillos love 'em and I need to practice my shooting skills.

Stephen

Thoughts, like Vapor

As soon as my muse and gas like brain return to normal I'll try and set a normal pace for this blog. With her sick and in pain our lives have flipped to the erratic side of life.

As an example yesterday I sat in a local emergency room from zero five hundred until thirteen hundred....with a batch of drunks, druggies, loonies, and democritters.

She's fine. Scheduled for procedures in early June.  Hopefully by then the white shirts will have a diagnosis.

You will now understand my thought process, bad in the best of times, is now fleeting with occasional puffs of vapor.

Please know I have read and do appreciate all of your kind and thoughtful comments and prayers. I have gone days when this computer (or any computer) hasn't crossed my mind. Books, newspapers, and the Kindle have been my chosen escape. I will make every effort, soon I hope, to answer all comments.

Don't worry. With proper medication my Sweet Wife is functional, and at times, very happy. She continually tells me to have faith. She's stays quite busy with her flower beds. I did indeed sneak a few herbs into the mix. She welds the water can with aplomb.

In the  meantime I've decided to study the Daily Racing Form and take a ride on the ponies....busy mind and all that...

Again, thank you.

Stephen

 

Idle Fingers

Recently I became the new owner of a stash of older Crown Royal bags, sans cords. The old fella said he didn't want the bags, six or seven of 'em and I was welcome to take the warm and fuzzy sacks home. Okay, I said, and thanked him.

I've owned a few over the years. The bags are very handy for precious metals, ammo, small radios and as I've recently discovered, a fine storage container for my binoculars. So, last night I took the blue bags and a roll of 550 cord and sat back with shears and made pull cords. Tedious work. I enjoyed the experience. Just wish I'd taken pictures.

Anyway, nice work for idle fingers, so much so I dug out three very old sets of BDU woodland camo trousers. Very old trousers...willing to bet their older than a few of my readers. One or two pair had lost buttons, or torn knees, rips here and there. I dug out needle and thread and an old block of bee's wax and pretty soon the thimble clicked. Soothing work.

Wish I could find my old military issued sewing kit. Remember? A small folded piece of green canvas with flaps, basic stuff. A needle or two with bits of olive green thread...mine is lost to time.

Any man that lacks the skill to repair his clothing isn't worth his weight in salt.

 Gotta run. Accounts await my attention.

Hey, be careful out there.

Stephen

Just Because

Early today I escorted her to the awful place. There was the time wasted process of registration, then elevators and hallways from hell and I felt as if I'd stepped into a third world country. Straight backed chairs under awful starving artist art. I held her hand as we waited, and then she was taken from my sight.

I hate the unknown.

Rivers of people ebbed and flowed. I read, and I must confess, said a few prayers. Then again I tend to worry, I mean come on - she's awful important to me. As proof I sit here as she watches American Idol and I've been very good and for the most part held my comments in check. 

Just because...

Stephen