Sunday

Here it is, my favorite day of the week. I've finished reading the paper. Had my pot of tea and eaten an English muffin. Time to rise and work just as soon as the tiny Carolina Wren outside my window finishes her song.

There, she's done. As soon as my lovely wife arrives home from church I will gently push her out the garage door and place a bucket of soapy water near her feet and a sponge in her hand and point towards my truck. It's filthy. I'm embarrassed to drive the thing. There are standards, don't 'ya know.

I'm sure she'll not mind the mixture of cold water on a fifty degree windy morning. She's made of tough good Georgia stock, fine breed those Southern peaches. I'll, of course, lend a hand. The tires could stand a bit of air. Oil level requires a check, and perhaps the coolant needs a topping off.  Don't worry, I'll stand by in case her wash water needs another shot of liquid soap.

As I wait for her I should make preps for our dinner. Remember the tease I posted, of course you do, the chicken dish...yep, that one. Thing is the dadgum chicken, a whole beauty, is partially frozen. My Georgia peach forgot to take it from the freezer. I'd left instructions, in plain simple English, over the phone. It a whole chicken...needs to be butchered, reduced to portions, but in its current state that's kinda hard. To give her credit she did remove a package of pork chops and they are nicely thawed.

I'm sure she'll not mind spanking a sparkle onto my dirty truck.

*****

The weight of procrastination sits heavily on my shoulders. So, I sit and wait her return and think of you.

I envy you, all my Northern friends with your deep cold snow and your houses all snug with the warmth of wood fires. The smell of freshly baked bread or biscuits with perhaps a bottle of honey, or better yet, a big bottle of real cane syrup proudly placed at the center of the breakfast table with fresh ground coffee all enjoyed by the light of your Aladdin lamp. I bet you've taken your grandmother's black and crusted dutch oven and placed it on the old wood stove and it simmers a wonderful venison stew.

Later you'll settle back with a good book, wool clad feet towards the fire. The dog nestled nearby and you'll listen as the winter winds howl you towards nirvana. Do you truly understand just how lucky you are to live so far from that imaginary Mason-Dixon line. Well, do you....

     
 Here I sit. The morning temperature now stands at fifty-seven degrees. The weather bug predicts sixty-seven under partially cloudy skies. The river is flat since the wind has died to nothing and a half. I suppose I should get outside and move my truck and get her bucket of water and sponge ready, maybe an old towel so she'll be able to dry the spots from the trucks finish....it just isn't cool to drive a spotted truck under this Florida sunshine.

You bunch of lucky people you...

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.

*****

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.

*****

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.

 *****

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.

*****

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