Bits and Pieces

Of late I live with the perfume of gardenias. The scent is thick and sweet and seems to cling to my senses for hours. There is a large clear glass vase placed on the white tile island of our kitchen. She has it filled with the small pure white flowers.  The contrast of the flowers perched high within the transparent water filled vase and the white tile remind me of innocence personified.

Anyway, I can't escape their scent. Just outside our front door are two very large gardenias each covered in blooms. I spent all of yesterday in the yard hard at work with the mower, shears, trimmer and blower, and the scent of gardenias. Kind of pleasant but after hours of constant exposure I sometimes felt the need of a huge shot of insulin. 

As soon as the flowers fade and drop I'll take a pruner and give them a good haircut. I'm sick of sweet.

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My yard has gotten ahead of me. Overgrown in places with shrubs badly in need of attention. I've spent most of my free time, this last week, in a vain attempt at 'catch-up.' Perhaps you've noticed since I haven't flipped the lid on this laptop in several days.

There comes a time in every mans life when his limitations reach around and slap him squarely in the face, and mine stings. As much as I hate to admit it I must seek help. We had a long talk yesterday and have agreed to hire a yard service. It shames me. I'm still a fairly young man but life and old injuries have finally reached over and taken quite a good grip on my stamina. Sweet Wife said I should take a break. I guess my aches and pains were readily apparent last night.

I work six days a week, and if I'm lucky if I get half a day off on Sunday. As I type I think about the work that awaits. My leaves have gathered on my roof and the gutters need to be cleaned. The herb garden is kaput. I should replant. I've projects left unfinished. Yet, here I sit.

Sometime today I expect a young couple to call for an appointment. I'll walk them around our fairly large yard and ask their price and hopefully agree on a once a week service. It's an embarrassment I shall endure. I'll make no excuses, but the shame of failure, my physical limitations, will ride in my throat like a hard ball of ice.  

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My friend, Senior, just sent a text. A picture of a pan filled with bacon. He asked if I wanted a bite. I haven't as yet answered.

What a stupid question.





 *****

Later,

Stephen    

Bits and Pieces

This is the fourth day I've been without the company of my lovely Sweet Wife. Sure is quiet around here. She should be home tomorrow. Since her departure I've lost myself in books.

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I've made great progress on the rusty ammunition. I still have a few pieces of the 7.62x39 left then will move on to the 9x19.

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I lost my oldest Rosemary plant to the flood. Ticks me off. I'm down to one plant. I was out in the yard yesterday and found it dead. Rosemary hates wet roots. I love to cook as much as I love to shoot, so I view this loss like the thief of a favorite rifle.

Since I've mentioned rifles I need to break open the gunsafe and clean my M1A and take her out to the range and strain her barrel. I've haven't fired her in quite a long time. I'm certain she misses me.

*****

I hear rain. Its a soothing sound on an early Sunday morning. Here I am with a good cup of coffee, my Sunday newspaper, and a very quiet house, and the gentle sound of rain. Perfect if you're a hermit. I can even hear my stomach growl. Guess I should eat breakfast.

Back in the day my mother always made the same breakfast. Bacon and eggs served with grits, and if we were very lucky, redeye gravy and biscuits the size of your fist. Those biscuits were flaky and soft as an angles breast, and I'd drench mine with butter. I'd cut my biscuit in half and place two slices of folded bacon in the middle.

Lord I miss her. I haven't eaten a decent breakfast since I was seventeen years old.

When I was about twelve I'd fantasize I was a cowboy with a saddlebag filled with my mother's bacon biscuits and a canteen of sweet iced-tea. This childhood dream always ended with me riding down that lonely western trail with a grin of happiness. I mean, what cowboy wouldn't be happy with a saddlebag filled with bacon and biscuits as his pony trotted towards adventure.

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I read in the paper this morning that the author, James Lee Burke, has just published a new novel, Creole Belle. I haven't read a Burke novel in quite a long time and think I'll order this one in hardcover. I've mentioned before, on this blog, I'm not a fan of his politics but I do like and enjoy his writing style.

He's the best prose stylist this country has seen in many years. Just an FYI.

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Next weekend we have a gunshow in town.  One of my friends asked if I'd attend. Not sure. I'd like to but he forgets I must work for a living and my shop is open on Saturdays, the best day in my humble opinion, to attend the show. Then again, I might sneak down on Sunday. Deals are to be had on Sunday it's just the good stuff has been sold.

Besides, I always spend far too much cash when I attend. I always walk the show with little things in mind, like spare parts, or books.

I collect the works of Ragnar Benson. Gunshows are great places to fill any hole in your Benson collection. He appeals to those of us in the gun culture. If you haven't read his books, well, shucks, I feel sorry for you. He's not the best writer in the world but when your books are banned in California and other liberal jackass states you must be doing something right to piss off the government wussies.

As I've said, many of his books have been banned and many are out of print. His early works were published in low numbers and as a result demand high prices. I have many holes in my Benson collection. Then again I've duplicate copies too so if any of you out there have this habit and own a few Benson books and need one - give me a yell and we'll swap.

I had a guy once tell me he's deathly afraid to have any copy of Ragnar's books in his home, mostly due to the subject matter. I asked him to leave my presence. I don't suffer fools easily.

Anyway, if you're man enough, find a copy and spend an afternoon with a real man. Any of his books will do to bring you back into the club.

Later.

Stephen

Cast Iron

If you like cast iron skillets, as I do, try this site. When you arrive at the site you'll notice a side bar on the left, hit the 'links' button and enjoy.

I do like my old cast iron. When it's filled with fried bacon I love it....

Stephen

Bacon, By MadOgre

See, I'm not the only gun dude that likes to cook.