Autumn

Autumn

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Sunday

The weather is cold and clear and I hear the wind and outside a squirrel barks its warning at some stray cat. These tiny sounds equal peace and quiet for me. They're soothing music, how the wind whistles and the clear cold day amplifies natures voice. There, hear that, a train on the far side of the river, its whistle, pushed by the wind, only now reaches me.

I stepped outside a few moments ago to take in the river and found it white capped and my neighbor's boat rocked under the wind from where he has it slung high under his boat shed. His citrus needs to be picked.

This would be a great day to burn a few hundred rounds at the range. Maybe break out my M1A as it's been a while since I've put the old girl through her paces. Then again with the cost of ammunition I'd flinch with each shot and say, "There goes another dollar."

*****

This morning, early, I eased from my dreams with the sound of my wife making preparations for Sunday school and church. I almost climbed from bed to join her. It's cool enough to wear tweed and it's been a while since I attended services with her. I know she'd like the company and indeed worries for my soul but the Good Lord and I still have differences. He is, I'm sure, aware of my respect for his word. Yet, I'm still not ready for the structure of same.

My church is located in the quiet places of His earth. My sweet wife isn't truly aware of the agreement I hold with the Lord. He and I do understand each the other and our agreement is written in blood. His and mine. One day, perhaps.

Now, with the above in mind, I should attend far more frequently if for no other reason than her happiness. When I picture her, alone on the pew, while other families gather together for worship, it pains my heart. I guess I've painted my reluctance in the color of selfish.

*****

I've finally whittled my 'to read' list to under fifty or sixty books. I purchased Monster Hunter Legion early this year and only last night began the novel. Larry Correia is a fine writer. My recommendation isn't worth a gram of salt so I won't waste your time with the same, but I like it. It sure helps kill a few hours.


*****

As I mentioned it's cold out and yet I should still break out my ladder and gloves and blower and climb onto our roof and blow the accumulated pine straw and oak leaves back to ground. The gutters need attention too.

But, you know what, I think I'll build another AR. Speaking of which I ordered a twenty inch fluted upper the 18th. I checked the vendors web site yesterday and its still listed as 'in process,' whatever the heck that means.

The weather gives good excuse to stay inside and fiddle. Then again, I bet when Sweet Wife walks in from the garage she'll make excuses why we should 'go somewhere.' She's like that you know...

Take care.

Stephen
  

16 comments:

  1. So nice to hear you kinda taking it easy, you have been working extra hard. Even with Your understanding with the Lord, it is still very much a welcomed event to have you by her side in church. It would help her sooo much. She has a terrible burden that I can't hardly imagine. You are both in this. Sometimes I think women aren't allowed to cry as often as needed. It can be as much of a relief as for a small child. In my prayers.

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    1. Thank you, Sweetheart. I shall try...no promises.

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  2. What kingturkeyoak said. Also, a personal note: I don't seem to be able to write introspective pieces like your, lately. Not sure why, but I find yours ... calming. Thank you.

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    1. You are so welcome, my good friend, and thank you for the kind comment. I have never been told my writing has a calming effect. Shucks.
      You know, introspection is nothing more than allowing your thoughts free rein...relax and put your thoughts into print. Close your eyes, now, allow your fingers to paint the sounds, smells, and those flashes of past events; your memories. Now, open your eyes and focus on an object, any object, a book or table and write about it...I've read your fiction, you have it. Don't try so hard...you are gifted. Let it flow.

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  3. I just finished a great book--The Dog Stars by Peter Heller. It had a lot of gun stuff in it that I didn't really understand. But I bet you would get it. I sometimes feel the same way about church-- but I still go. Love reading your introspective posts.

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    1. Thanks for the tip, Kristine, I take a look at the book. Ah, shucks, thanks for the kind compliment.

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  4. I don't join my lovely wife at her church as a kindness. The pastor and I have differences and I can't keep my tongue in my pocket any longer. Maybe when he's moved on.

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    1. I also have a bad habit with off the cuff comments during the service. Not proud of it. I've often left church with sore ribs. Thanks, my friend.

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  5. My husband's birthday was yesterday. He turned "something in my mid-thirties, it's not important enough to do the math," he truly doesn't care but I think he said it out of deference to the fact that I'm a handful of years older than he is, and we went out as a family to celebrate. Today was for he and I though. We went to lunch and then to the local pawn/gun store, which I plan on posting about later tonight, and then puttered around wally's looking for some almond and cinnamon extract for the jellies I'm setting up to make.

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    1. Seems you had a nice day..I'll await the post. Thanks, dear lady.

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    2. Saw the M1A which I had just been checking out, but think I'll stay with the old Garand. Haven't had one since military school, so it's time.

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    3. Brock, I understand. I have a beautiful old Garand and wouldn't trade or sell it for love nor money.

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    4. GG, stack ammo for the old girl as high as possible...and clips for its magazine.

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  6. Your reply to Rev. Paul . . .
    He's right, you know. And yes, your ability to 'see' inwardly, but most of all - to report, honestly.
    Funny . . but at first I read 'argument' with God, rather than 'agreement'. I think I was projecting.

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    1. Thank you, Cathy. Yes, the Lord and I have an agreement. We chat about it all the time. Most often, he whips my butt.

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