Friday, March 30, 2012

Bits & Pieces

Isn't it weird how fast time flies when you're locked away at home. I've found myself walking back and forth between small chores I've ignored for months. I clean cluttered cabinets and drawers, sort through back issues of magazines and then find myself on the back deck where I sweep away the catkins and leaves that fall like rain at this time of year.

Afterwards, a chair speaks to me and I sit and watch, and breath, and smell, and listen. Squirrels tease me as they use my privacy fence as a boardwalk. They know full well it's their breeding season and I shall not shoot. Over the river an Osprey circles and drops for a fish and uses one of our two tall pines to land and eat his catch. It's warm out. The sun feels good.

Back inside I finally take the time to change the dead batteries of my handgun vault. They've been dead for two months and I was reduced to the use of my key. The batteries are a royal pain to change. It requires me to first unload the contents. Then take the vault and flip it upside down and pull back the foam lining and remove the battery tray. Simple. It took me almost an hour. Most of the hour was taken with finding my instruction booklet. I found it atop my bedroom gun safe...if it had been a snake....
Then, reprogram the keypad. Almost chunked it through the French doors. I told myself to have patience. It works, now.

I took a slow walk up our street this afternoon. I have this funny or quirky habit of noting all the citrus and other fruit trees in my neighborhood. Never know when this bit of intelligence will come in handy. I take note of other items too, but that's neither here nor there...anyhow, most of my neighbors fruit falls and rots. It kinda ticks me off. I know of a certain fellow that would put it to good use. Many times I come close to walking up and tapping gently on their doors to seek permission to take away their fallen fruits. One day perhaps. Think of all the poor Canadians that suffer for the lack of vitamin 'C.'

My son and daughter-in-law came over last evening with our grandchildren.

Little Bit eased her way into the family room, and without a word, slowly walked over and gently climbed into my lap and placed her head on my shoulder. I didn't say a word, just reached down and placed a kiss on her hair. She shuffled, tucked her arms under mine and cried.

It was a silent soothing display of tears. I held her and continued to place kisses. Not shamed to admit she had me in tears too. Then the others walked in and it seemed awkward for me. I tried to hide my face, man stuff you know. It didn't work. Nana just had to ask what was wrong. Little Bit just shook her head and dug in deeper. They left us alone, finally.

I said, "Honey, it's okay."

She shuffled again, then raised her face to mine and I wiped her runny nose and tried to dry her tears. Then, "Papa, why do you want to go to Heaven?" I waited a few seconds, gathering my thoughts.

"Sweetheart, Papa isn't going to Heaven. I plan to stay here as long as I can, I promise. I want to walk you down the isle some day. I know you don't know what I mean, but it's important to me."

"You promised me last time you wouldn't go to Heaven but you broke your promise and went back to the hospital and Daddy and Mom said you might go to Heaven and they took me to your room and you were sick again. You promised, Papa."

About then I wanted to say a few words to my son. "Honey, Papa can't control when and where and how I get sick. It just happens. I promised I would not go to Heaven, and I didn't, did I?'

"No. But you tried."

"Honey, Papa didn't try. Really, I didn't. I just became sick. I'm back now and I'm holding you and next Monday Papa promises to drive you to school, no matter what anyone says, I'll be there."


"Yes. And, I'll see you again tomorrow night. Do we have a deal?"

She smiled.

 I always keep my promises.


Comments Problem

Seems I cannot post comments either on your blog or mine. I remember a few weeks back Rob had this same problem. So, Rob, if you have the fix and can comment here...please, give me instructions on how to correct this problem.

Just to let you nice folks know I'm not ignoring you.

Update. As of Noon today the problem seems to have corrected itself...thanks.


Thanks & Welcome

To my new friend and follower, TK. My friend I promise to always answer all comments. It's nice to have you on-board. Take a moment and take a glance at my blog list. I'm sure you'll find some wonderful worlds to explore. They are all nice people.

To my other friends, please take a moment and visit TK's blog, here. He's needs our encouragement to write.

Again, TK, thank you and are now among friends.


Thursday, March 29, 2012

What's For Dinner

Thing is I'm not supposed to drive for the rest of the week and weekend...yeah, right. What 'they' don't know won't hurt them. Soon, I shall sally forth to the market and select ingredients for Shrimp Fried Rice.

I just conducted a search for my poor unused wok. It needs a workout. As do I. A nice drive will do nicely.
The recipe for this dish can be found, here.


Thanks & Welcome

Seems I'm behind in my duties. Five nice people have clicked my follower button for which I owe a thanks. So to Skip, Kathi, Stopsign, Sandy, & Falcondawn, thanks and welcome to my humble blog.

I promise to always answer your comments. It might take me a few hours, and on rare occasions, days, but rest assured I shall leave a reply.

To my long term friends I ask you each, please, take a moment and visit the blogs (those linked above) of my new friends. They are very interesting.

Again, thanks and welcome. You are now among friends.


Wednesday, March 28, 2012


In the hours before dawn the river is a wavy reflection of color cast by the city lights. Streaks of amber and ivory and red. A momentary and wistful display seen only at this hour. The fog lifts and with the mornings first light the painting disappears. It's the nature of light and life. Tiny reflections, fragile, easily disturbed.

People are much the same. They walk into our lives and cast their colors and give us reflections into their spirits and lift and guide us on our daily walks. Much as you good folks have done for me over the last two days.

You have overwhelmed me.

This morning I shall make every attempt to individually answer each of your comments. Seems the least I can do after such a wonderful outpouring of support during this difficult period of my life.

I hope each of you awaken to find a personal watercolor to begin your day. God bless you.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Another Chapter

First, I'm fine and appreciate all the kindness, love, and prayers. I write this from my bed with another beautiful view of the river at the Medical Center as Sweet Wife quietly reads and watches my every move.

Last evening, Little Bit asked if I'd take her to bed. I did. Just before we turned in for the night I began to experience pain in my right arm and shoulders. The pain extended across my chest and into my jaw. It hurt. I tried to sleep. Little Bit offered to rub my shoulders. After a few minutes a instinctive bell rang in my otherwise hard noggin. I rose and asked my wife to please jump on the net and research my pain. Ten minutes later she called 911. The rest is history.

It came as a complete shock to me. I'm not what you'd picture as a candidate for a heart attack, being an active six foot one man, not overweight at two hundred and twelve pounds (now) and careful of my diet....for the most part. Seems I had a bad blood clot that moved to my heart and cut the blood flow to one artery. Just goes to show, you never know when the old man with the black cloak and sickle will come and rap at your door. Heed the pain. The staff here said quick action saved my life. You have ninety minutes from start to finish.

Two stents later, two hours prior to my birthday, and my problem, for all intent and purposes, was over. Well, at least for the most part, according to the nice doctors and nurses, I've a few minor adjustments to make in my otherwise normal life. I feel better. Quick action and very practiced paramedics and surgeons saved my life. I'm now in ICU. I hope to be released tomorrow....God willing. He has saved my life again.

Guess the Good Lord isn't finished with me.

I awoke with hundreds of email, texts, with well wishes from all over this wonderful country and Europe. Once again, thank you all so very means the world to me. You've touched my heart.

This chapter is closed.

God bless you.


Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Facts; Zimmerman

This is best post I've yet found on the Zimmerman case. Please, read.

H/T Craig


A Little Bit Sunday

It's been a long day. Last evening I opened my mouth and stuck my foot firmly inside with a promise to Little Bit; a trip to the zoo and a local park. This morning, a few minutes after she had finished her breakfast, she said, "Let's go, Papa."

Our local zoo is world class, hence, parking is dear and the park attendance overflows. It only took us five attempts, and two hours, to catch a ride on the zoo train. Careful what you promise little girls.

The one exhibit she really wanted to see, above all others, was the butterfly gardens. I must admit, it was nice. She asked for my phone before we entered and took dozens of pictures. Here are a couple she selected for your enjoyment. Oh, before I forget, she told me to remind you she really took these pictures..."Tell 'em I really did it on my own, Papa." She's checking over my shoulder....

Little Bit, as she waits for her train ride. The river beyond.

 Here she is as tour guide...notice her map. Her finger points the way. We just followed.

After the zoo we stopped at our local market. Again, Little Bit always takes the lead. She checks the expiration dates on the milk.

I'll skip the park session. By then I was worn out, foot sore and ready for a long nap. Didn't happen, still I'm happy she had a nice day. It's her last night of Spring break and tomorrow begins another session of school. I think she's ready.

Tonight, she'll be curled safety in my arms.


Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Wee Hours

Sleep wasn't in the cards for me last night, nor this morning. Strange how that works. I climbed from my nice warm bed and roamed the house, skimmed the interwebs, drank milk. Didn't help. So I went out to the garage and begin to sort ammunition.

I have one corner of our garage dedicated to old and fairly new ammo cans, not quite as large a pile as in years past. I've relocated quite a bit of it...for obvious reasons. Over time my home stash had spread out and had become a pain in my path. I began to sort and clean and re-stack. The owls kept me company, their hoots soothing, as I worked. It was peaceful. 

During my labors of organizing this disarray imagine my surprise when I come upon a cardboard box filled with over a thousand rounds of 5.56. A wonderful gift of treasure I'd completely forgotten. I stood there like a statue for several seconds, and could not for the life of me remember when and how I'd acquired this unexpected extra thousand or so rounds.

Then, I find a plastic bag and pulled it from the stack and find inside about fifteen boxes of defense shotgun loads...double and single ought buckshot. I'd forgotten it, and again, have no idea how I acquired it. Thank goodness I had a couple of empty ammo cans.

I lost sleep but at least I'm richer for the experience.

Have a great day. Think I'll make another pot of coffee. 


Friday, March 23, 2012

Thanks & Welcome

To my new friend and follower, K. My friend, I promise to always answer your comments. To all my other friends, please visit K's very well written blog, Planning And Foresight. It's filled with great information for the survivalist.

Again, thanks and welcome K. You are now among friends.


The Castle Doctrine

Let it be known I'm not in the habit of writing a post about current news events. I've read a few blogs over the last few days taking sides, one way or the other, over the death of Trayon Martin. As many of you know we have a wonderful law, yes, wonderful law, here in the state of Florida. It's called The Castle Doctrine. Not, Stand Your Ground, BTW. For more information, click here. Something about this story, stinks.

Our Castle Doctrine has now been cast under a light of evil by the leftest media. This same media fails to mention all the innocent lives it has saved over the last few years. Mark my words, not only is our carry laws under fire but so is our Second Amendment. Write your congresscritters.

I did find one very well known and intelligent blogger with whom I Please, take a moment and read.


Dotgov, Update

Seems 'someone' or 'something' didn't like the fact I'd posted the logo of The Department of Justice on my post of yesterday. They removed it.

So as to not poke the bull, again, I replaced their replacement. They had replaced it with an exclamation point. I didn't like it.

Sorry, Dotgov. I'm fully aware you guys ignore the First Amendment, but trust me, it's still alive. I should know, I took an oath to protect it.

It's been said you folks are all good men and women. So are we.


Bits & Pieces

Spring is in full bloom here in the River City. Temps in the low 80's. Nice to be outside, and here I am inside. Shame a fella must make a living.

My Little Bit has been absent all week. I mentioned she is taking her Spring break with a couple of her cousins, both little girls about her age. They're having a blast. I miss her. But soon, very soon, she'll be back and will spend the weekend, through Monday night, with us.
Her parents and little brother, Sport Model, came over last evening and I fed the little booger raisins and yogurt. I wanted to make sure he filled his diaper. His father needs practice at changing same...

Killed an Armadillo last night. Went outside to bring in the cat. Flipped on the outside lights and the digger was in my herb garden. One shot to the head with a CB short and the sucker jumped cartwheels for ten minutes. I hate Armadillos, they undermine my house and fences. Guess I've shot ten or fifteen over the last two years. If any of you guys want some extra protein, give me a yell. I ship UPS.

My friend, Duke, came by a couple of days ago and left me two big bags of his pink grapefruit. I'd made a snide comment on his blog about my love of citrus after he'd posted a picture of all the fruit he'd picked. He took me serious. I've eaten grapefruit for the last two nights. Thanks, Bubba. You grow a mean and sweet grapefruit.

Last weekend, after I closed Saturday afternoon, Sweet Wife and yours truly took a drive. Since I hate the interstate highway systems we took a nice long secondary road trip. One of the odd aspects of the drive was the number of people on the shoulders of the road with stands packed with household items for sale. I guess its a sign of the times. I lost count of the number of people and their homemade posters touting their junk.

Then we came upon a flea market. If you are a Survivalist (or prepper) the flea market is a very valuable resource. I'm proud to say I walked away with only a couple of purchases.....a pound of shelled pecans, a bottle of water and a couple of sore feet. I did come across a beautiful piece of Wagner. A ten inch skillet of pure smooth cast iron. I still kick myself for not shelling out the forty two dollar price tag, certain I could of bargained it down a few dollars, because when we arrived home I hit Ebay and the prices listed there were all well above a hundred dollars. Sweet Wife said, "You don't need another skillet." She had a point. But, still....

The above picture is for my friend, Modern Day Redneck. Click to understand. Like I said, if you are a Survivalist and need cheap garden tools, flea markets are good bets. I came across one vendor with nothing but farm tools. He had one pile of shovels that numbered in the hundreds. Hoes (not the street variety) stacked deep, and tons of other items sure to please any wannabe backyard grower. 

One vendor sold only surplus military gear, some of it issued, most copies. Prices were steep. I passed. It's expensive to try and pass yourself off as a real veteran. Side note here: You'll notice true vets do not wear their hearts on their sleeves.  It's tacky. Just saying....

The one item I always seek at flea markets are ammo cans....didn't find a single one. That is strange. I can always use a few more. 

Did you notice that either Blogger or The Department of Justice removed the logo from my post of yesterday.......

Anyway, I've got to run. The Pimp just parked and wants inside.....I'll let you know.


Thursday, March 22, 2012


Yesterday I checked  Sitemeter for the first time in over three months. One hit stood out from the rest. A brief hello from the Justice Department. Nothing out of the norm. I get frequent visits from big brother, but this visit was unique.

The search words were - 'homemade shotguns.'  Their time onsite was less than two minutes.

Dear, if you guys give me fair warning of future visits I shall do my very best to help you fellas out. I'll write an article in hopes you gain valuable advice on the construction of your very own homemade shotgun. I understand they're awful popular these days. As a throw away weapon, they're versatility during home raids
is priceless.

Just give me a yell.

Yours truly,

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

'Nuff Said

I mean, isn't it the truth.



I went to the Dashboard to check the spam box and without clear thought, deleted most of the comments under my The Pimp post.

I'm sorry.

Feel free to come by and whip my butt.


The Pimp

First, please understand I deal with many lower class people in my business. It's just a fact of life. The door to my business, though locked, can't discriminate. Their currency spends too.

Yesterday was busy and when the doorbell rang I barely bothered with a glance and simply reached and hit the release button for the lock. I gave out a quick, good morning, and returned to my work. I should have known. It was The Pimp.

He comes around a few times a year when his cash runs shallow and the girls just can't seem to market their product in a timely fashion. This mini-depression hasn't helped matters either. The Pimp runs a string of girls from the Beaches area of River City to the upper West side slums. He was once in partnership with his late father until that man became more interested in his wares and died of complications from overindulgence of same.

The Pimp likes to sell me handguns. I drive a hard bargain, and he knows it.

The Pimp isn't your typical stereotype. He's a skinny white man, fairly young, not quite six feet with shaggy short hair. He has a foul mouth. I don't like him.

Back to his visit.....unlike other occasions after entry in my shop, on this visit he remained silent. Perhaps it was the other customers, not sure. I gave him a nod and a quick flick of my finger and he quickly jumped and walked over. I said, "What is it today?"

He reaches into his left hand pocket and pulls out a little nickel Raven P-25. Then, "Hey, motherf@*^er, what 'ya give me for this?"

If ever a man needed a shotgun mouthwash, this dude is at the top of my list.

I asked my other customers to excuse me and reached and took The Pimp by the shoulder and showed him the way into my back office. I gently explained to him this is my business and I liked desecration in all things related to private firearms sales, and this was indeed private. There wasn't a doubt in my mind the little pea-shooter was probably acquired through illegal means. At least it still had its serial number. Truthfully, I don't give a damn, but I did have a hooplehead in the shop.

He nodded, as if he understood, and said, "Hey, man, give me a hundred dollars."

I laughed. He wiped his nose, ran his hands through his hair, and then came back with, "Ah, man, come on. It's worth it."

Me, "No it isn't. It isn't worth more than half book price. Even then they're hard to move (I fudged the truth a bit here) and I must make a small profit on it."

He thought about it a second, gave off a funk scented fidget, wiped his nose again, shuffled, then, "What 'ya give me for it?"

I gave him my figure.

Many people in the gun culture look down their collective noses at little handguns like this Raven. For good reason I might add. They weren't the best for quality, many thousands were produced from 1970 until about 1991, and the company ceased production of the P-25 in 1984. Yet, they have value and purpose in certain situations.

The .25 caliber is nothing more than a gut buster. It works, if the handgun functions properly. I'd already checked it out. The magazine (they are always loaded, of course) held five rounds. The trigger worked. The slide moved freely. The finish was nice and bright, and believe it or not, they move quickly. The secret is to purchase them at as low a cost as possible.

Back to The Pimp. "Hey, motherf*&#ker, you be trying to rip me off."

I'm a patient man. Shame of it is my best friend, Duke, had just left the shop. He would have liked The Pimp too. After The Pimp's last exchange I calmly explained to him if he called me that again I'd bust his kneecaps. Like that.

Again, I gave him my figure. Said I didn't have time for his silly games. He held out his hand. I gave him a fraction of his asking price.

Then, "Hey, man, I gotta another one I'll bring tomorrow. It's a forty, man. I'll really work with you on that one, okay."

I said, "Sure. But, be careful when you walk into my shop. I may not be in as good a mood as I am today."

Pimps - they're the same the world over.


Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Thanks & Welcome

A sweet young lady clicked my follower button and I'd like to thank and welcome her. She's the Bullseye Babe. She's new to our gun culture, a young woman tender to all things gunny. Let's give her a hand and a big welcome. Show her how nice I know you all are and take a moment and run over and say hello.

My new friend, I promise to always answer any comment you leave. And, Bullseye, when you visit scan down my blog list and you'll find many other nice ladies with a penchant for firearms. Trust me, you'll find hours of wonderful reading loaded with great advice.

Again, thanks and welcome, you are now among friends.


Too Busy

I'll post a few items later this afternoon or tonight. I'm just too busy today, which is good.

Please, standby.

The air is rich with the smell of money....


Monday, March 19, 2012

Thanks & Welcome, and a Note

First I want to say, thanks and welcome to my new friend and follower Jim Boatman. Jim, I promise to always answer any comment you leave. It might take me a few hours, and in rare cases, days, but trust me I will reply.

Now, I shall make a huge effort to finish my taxes today. I feel like a monkey on a rope and the banana is just out of my reach. I hate tax season....using the word, hate, here. So, having said that, expect little in the way of new post here for a few hours. In the meantime, let's all hope the Fair Tax is passed. At least in our children's lifetime.

Again, Jim, thanks for hitting my little blue button. You are now among friends.


Sunday, March 18, 2012

Little Sebastian

For those that asked....

There will always be gun shows. Beside you probably own or know of every thing under the sun related to guns. But our little ones will not always be little, nor will they always be around. I am hanging on tightly today to mine. Sebastian died Friday afternoon at almost 30 weeks. My daughter delivered him, without pain meds, while on pitocin to speed up the sad event, Saturday morning at 3:11 am after almost 12 hours of active hard labor. Two stillbirths and 13 miscarriages, my heart aches for my daughter and her husband. My arms ache for the curve of a sweet little body to rock, hold, and caress. Perhaps the most devastating moment of all was when four year old Natalie was told. She burst into tears, crying, begging that she did not want Sebastian to go to Heaven, she wanted to hold him and kiss him.Her cries continue to devastate all of us. I will be eternally grateful for all the prayers that went up to Heaven for his little life. He has impacted so many despite his very short life. Stay with the babies.Today, every day possible. Nothing else is more important.
Beth - Mammaw B


Decisions, decisions

I'm expected to attend a local, and large, gun show today. Problem is, I'm also expected to stick around the house and wait for my son to bring over the grandchildren for a long afternoon visit.

If I indeed attend the gun show I'll miss my chance to say goodbye to Little Bit. She'll be gone all week, her Spring break. She is to spend the week with my son's aunt and the aunt's two little girls, Little Bit's cousins. Decisions, decisions.

The clock ticks, and I wait and think. Should I give in and take a chance on the gun show holding my attention thereby forcing a showdown with my grandchild, sure to end in tears, or should I just blow off the gun show entirely.

Think I'll stay home. If I were to miss one hug or kiss, with full knowledge I'll not see her lovely little face for a week, would kill my soul.

Life is but a series of good and bad decisions. I trust I've made a good one.

Besides, she'd kick my butt.



How many of my five or so readers have ever read the works of the writer, Michael Wallace? The reason I ask is I received an email from Amazon this morning. It was a pitch to purchase this writer's 'Righteous' series of novels.

I'm not familiar with his work, and Amazon has the Kindle editions on sale today, and today only, for .99 cents. Fine, but I would hate to make a purchase and find his writing style not to my taste. Yes, I've read the Amazon description and it lacks in substance.

Thoughts? Thanks.


Saturday, March 17, 2012

Thanks & Welcome

To my French brother in arms, Manfred. My friend, I promise to always answer any comment. Please, make yourself at home.

Manfred writes the blog Armes et tir passion. Click and visit. It is, of course, written in French but just reach up and hit the translate button. He has a passion, as his blog title states, for all things gunny. Please, he'd enjoy a few American followers.

He has tagged his web with the above flag, the French Red State Flag. Should give you an idea of his mindset.

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


Happy St. Patrick's Day

Even though I'm a direct descendant of the soft land of Ireland (second generation) I seldom celebrate the day. I do however enjoy the attention it brings to my forefathers.

It has been said, the only thing holding the Irish back from ruling the world is liquor. No truer words were ever written.

I hope you have a nice one. Hey, easy on the booze tonight.


Friday, March 16, 2012


Are everywhere it seems these days. I truly hope some liberal watches this video. It's a hoot.



It Only Takes A Moment

This morning I had a great comment left by eiaft on my carry piece post. Please, take a moment and read it here.

It could very well save your life. It only takes a moment in time, one simple failure with your carry piece, and you'll find yourself holding the hand of death on a very long walk.

Please, read the article. It's well written.


Carry Habits

We all have a favorite carry piece. Mine's a Glock 27 chambered in .40 S&W. She's my parasite; always attached to my belt at the small of my back. She gives me piece of mind and protects the ones I love and any other innocent person I'm around during my daily grind.

She comes to my hand easily and the front sight finds its target without hesitation. We belong together, which leads me to my bone headed mistake of yesterday. I overslept. In my rush to get out the door I forgot her. Stuff happens. Six or seven miles from home I realized my mistake but didn't panic. I simply reached into the console of my truck and removed a Glock 17. Miss Glock 17 fits my holster like a glove even if her barrel shows a little leg, she's happy in my Galco.

Life moves forward and all's well with the world.

It's behooves us all to change our carry weapons from time to time. Every other blue moon or so I awake and think, why not carry my Smith 29 or my Ruger, or perhaps, for slaps and tickles, I'll reach into the safe for my Beretta 92. Since I wear belt holsters and have one for each of my handguns it isn't a big deal. It's good to become familiar with a different carry piece; get to know her feel, its balance, how it comes to hand on a draw. Let's face facts, it could save a life when in certain circumstances you're stuck with a handgun you've never fired. And, it's kinda fun to play and dance with an unknown once in a great while....

Think about it.


Thursday, March 15, 2012

I'm An Old Fart

It's official for me.

If you remember when only sailors had tattoos, you are an old fart.
If you remember when civil rights meant equal rights, not reverse discrimination, you are an old fart.
If you’ve never uploaded naked photographs of yourself, you are an old fart.
If you know how to spell, you are an old fart.
If you ever waited to hear your favorite song on the radio, you are an old fart.
If you remember when being radical meant hating the government, rather than relying on it, you are an old fart.

Sally forth and read here. 

H/T Joel


Cute Girl

Watch her control of the weapon. I'm impressed by her too. M11 SMG on full rock and roll.

H/T to Manfred


Bits & Pieces

Beautiful Spring day here...bright and sunny with temperatures in the high 70's. Awful weather.

Still hard at work on my taxes.

My good friend, Duke, just left the shop. He came and we chewed the fat on many subjects from farm stands to AR part kits. I made a comment I wanted a stripped lower receiver which brought a half hour discussion about lowers. I want forged, paperless, private sale if possible. Might take in the gunshow this weekend and try and find one.  Lord knows I've enough parts to build another ten or so AR's. Just lack a good lower. Yes, I could sign a few papers and purchase one, but why...

I would like to apologize to all of you nice folks that have left comments over the last two or three days, and the time its taken me to answer. This isn't my normal routine. I leave here each night, drive home and basically pass out. I just haven't the strength and stamina of only a few months ago...anyhow, please rest assured I will answer comments as quickly as possible. I didn't even open my laptop last bed by 2100...dead to the world at 2102. Sorry. I must admit I feel better.

Now, to all those that have requested a Little Bit update....

This morning at the McDonald's breakfast table.

Little Bit is busy eating her meal and at play with the game consul. This cute little girl (I guess about three years old) walks in with her grandmother. We always say hello, good morning. Like that.

This cute little girl's name is, Elizabeth. She's as pretty as a Spring flower. For some unknown reason Elizabeth walks over to me, and without hesitation or by your leave, climbs up and into my lap and wraps her arms around me, places her head on my chest and clings.

I heard a gasp, glanced to find Little Bit's mouth wide open her eyes big enough to drive a Mack trunk into and park, and her face just this side of red. Then, all hell breaks loose.

"Papa, what are you doing holding her? You're my Papa."

Now the tears flow fast and furious. I'm caught totally by surprise. This little bundle in my lap, with her arms wrapped tightly about me hasn't moved. I look over to see her grandmother is all smiles.

"Little Bit, please, she's just a little girl."

"So am I, and you're my Papa, not hers." In a VERY loud voice...the old farts at the next table, morning regulars, are tinkling in their pants with the fun of it. I feel a warm red glow begin to flush my face. Little Bit has gone from leaking tears to a nice heavy flow.

Elizabeth purrs and states to all within earshot that I'm warm and smell good.

Little Bit leaves her seat. She screams at the little girl, "Leave my Papa alone, now."  Guest of the establishment stand and watch...many look towards me as if I'd just made some awful rape attempt on the children's person. I'm truly at a loss for words.

This, has gotten way out of control. I'd never seen Little Bit act this way before in her life. She's gasping for air, and her cries are so hard and came on so quickly I truly hadn't had the time to react or even speak on my behalf. Little Bit is now screaming, "Put her down, Papa. Put her down."

Grandmother comes to my rescue. Thank God. She gently reaches and takes the child from my lap. Pried the little girls arms from around me and carries her to their table. Now, Little Bit climbs into my lap. I hold her, take a few paper napkins and as tenderly as I can, wipe her runny nose and dry her tears....she sobs. It hurts.

I look at Elizabeth's grandmother and mouth, sorry. She nods and right back at me, it's okay.

We leave. Back in the truck it takes me a good long ten minutes to help Little Bit compose herself. I held her. After she's back to normal we drive away and I park on the campus of her school. After a few minutes of reassurance that I indeed love her and she's the only little girl in my life we proceed to the drop-off point.

Just before she steps from the truck she turned and said, "Papa, don't ever do that again." She smiles at me, throws a wave and yelled back, "You do smell good."

Some days are like that...sad, and sweet.


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Stolen Pleasure

The doctors office called today. They told me they searched the office and exam rooms for my Kindle. It wasn't there. Like I didn't know this before I even asked them to look around.

Told Sweet Wife and she said, "Well, your birthday is just a few days away why don't you order a new one and I'll make it your gift."  She's like that...sweet.
So, tonight I did order a new one. They've updated the Kindle Keyboard. Free anytime connectivity, 3G. Of course the price has been updated too. Seems I can reload the new one with all the books in my Amazon account, nice.

It'll be a nice 34th birthday gift....