Ah, Sunday morning and coffee. The newspaper is read and Paula Deen is on the tube. I foresee a lazy day ahead.
Maybe, just maybe we'll take a ride, take in the flea market. I'd like to find a couple of citrus trees for my front yard. Perhaps a Satsuma orange, a Ruby Red grapefruit, and if I could spell Quamquat, one of those too. Yes, its a citrus, little fruit.
Little Bit went home last night. Her father is under the impression he has a right to spend time with her too.
It's warm here, 70's, frigging hot.
In a couple of weeks our group will spend the weekend out at our Boar's Nest. We'll work digging a trench for a power line. Hopefully the weather will cooperate and turn cold. It'd be nice to build a fire in our old woodstove and scent the building with pine and oak.
Evenings there, after the days activities are finished, are spent on the deck under the light of kerosene lamps, and if we're lucky, the song of coyotes as the deer browse at the edge of the swamp under a cold clear canopy of bright stars. We'll talk well into the night. We chat of future plans, family, food and firearms, our lives. As it is with a group of veterans we'll share past experiences, old wounds, and heal a few nightmares. We'll tease, poke and jab at each the other, all in fun of course.
If we're lucky, Duke won't do his nude 'rain dance' around the campfire.
Should be fun.
Sweet Wife has shot one of her 'looks' my way which means it's time for me to get my butt in gear and take her to the flea market. She seeks cast iron 'loaf ' pans. Those little suckers which are used to bake small loaves of fruit or nut breads. I told her good luck. The old ones are rare.