Blah...

Blah....it's how I feel. Just plain old simple, blah. I've been on my feet all day, they hurt....blah. I'm home and can't read because of this stupid idiotic music program my wife loves and I can't say a word....blah, blah, blah.

I'm too tired to work on my projects...blah. Get it.

Maybe I should take a seat in the garage, raise the door and sit and just listen, perhaps the owls will sing, one to the other. If I'm lucky there will be a salt marsh breeze off the river with the scent of mud and marsh grass and fiddler crabs. Maybe a stray raccoon will amble inside and keep me company; it happens, they beg for food. There's a chance a possum will join them...I have hand fed a possum. It was little and took the food delicately from my fingertip as if a gift from angels.

Here I sit with the smell of turpentine and distilled alcohol. It's warm out here under the oaks and the stars bright. Spring in Florida. Next weekend I will sit next to a fire truly under the stars and if I'm lucky I will hear the song of whippoorwills and coyotes and watch deer feed by headlight. If God is good He'll provide rain which will dance a magic tune on the old metal roof of our bunkhouse and I'll sleep as if death has taken me. Rainfall on a tin roof should only be experienced by those appreciative of the Lord's wonderful outdoors.

Others will sit about the fire. My friends. Good men. We'll talk well into the night...cigars will glow after a good oak grilled chunk of beef. Steaks fit for men. Coffee, always. Gentle talk, as is fit for the quiet of the woods. I will sit quietly, as is my way, and listen to these men of leather and iron. I'll listen as they clear their throats and sip the coffee and lie about adventures so many years in the past, and true tails of world traveled weary men in service to our country. I'll listen with half an ear but my vision will be captured by that night sky from where I sit in my chair under the pines and oaks, and I may even drift quietly out into the darkness to the waters edge and lose myself and escape this world of blah.

Sorry, I tend to ramble...

Stephen

The Calendar

The last few dates of our kitchen calendar have been inked with, 'you shall sleep alone.'

Meaning me. She recently broke the news she plans to drive her mother to Atlanta for a medical procedure and afterwards on to South Carolina for our nephew's wedding.

Early this evening she asked if I'd please attend.

Me, attend a wedding. Now that's funny.

I don't do weddings, nor funerals. I attend rifle and pistol ranges, campfires, fishing holes, and any campsite with an old iron pot hung over a fire. I also attend, and will sign the guest book, to any gunshow. If hard pressed I'll attend county fairs, but only if it has a farm animal exhibit. Chickens and cows are cool. I have also been known to attend church, my granddaughter's school Christmas play, and boxing matches. But that's about it. I don't do crowds filled with poodle walkers and especially those known to attract metrosexuals.

She doesn't return until the second of September which gives me four full days of bachelorhood. I've plans. I should sit and put a few thoughts on a sheet of paper and make a list of those firearms I haven't shot in years and pull them from the safe. There are even a few for which have never had their pretty triggers tickled by my finger....the poor lovely lasses. They too shall be included along with select amounts of precious ammunition.


Our group meets next week at the shop and I'm sure I can recruit a few, if not all, to attend an early September range session. Perhaps make it a full day with the hours afterwards spent around a campfire with a skillet of bacon and a big pot of hot coffee and maybe even a good cigar.

Not sure though...a couple of 'em have been known to attend weddings and such silliness. One or two even wear those boy scout style shorts in public. This younger generation, I tell 'ya...

My friend and fellow group member, Senior has plans to mow the range grass and weeds to a manageable level. I've agreed to lend a hand as he's kinda busy these days with his late father's estate. We'll see. 

I know Duke will be present on the firing line. He'll of course bring along his wonderful and heavy range bag filled with various morsels. I always set my gear close to Duke's. We're buddies, he and I. He's a sucker for fresh homemade peanut butter cookies. If you place a paper plate filled with the aforementioned goodness, on the bench, he gets very distracted and will often step a foot or so away from his range bag. Just saying....I baked a batch tonight and will whip out another the night before we gather to burn powder.

I should also remind myself to not forget the Tannerite.

Weddings are for chumps.

Stephen

I Need

I need to write, something.

Business is good but leaves little time for the blog. Many, I'm sure, have noticed my lack of comments on your blogs. Trust me, I haven't forgotten you.

After work this evening I must gather, sort, and pack my gear for the group weekend, after a quick market trip for a very large custom cut T-bone steak. The steak should ride in marinade for two nights and when I arrive at camp it shall be gently kissed by oak coals. Let the rest eat burgers...

Selections have been made for the range. At present I've selected two rifles and two handguns but these numbers might change according to my whims. I hope, hope, hope my order of .32-20 arrives from Midway before Saturday morning. Much depends upon it. I checked and haven't a single round in my stores. I'm a slacker.

The weathercritter has guessed rain for Saturday night. Fine with me as long as it holds until we kill the fire and hit our sacks. Rain on a tin roof pleases me.

If, I spot a deer I shall have a breakfast of venison loin. Deer range over the fields after darkness gives them the false sense of security. I have a nice bright flashlight. I know, I'm a bad boy. Get over it.

Sorry, gotta run.

This is me writing, something.

Stephen