We're Still Here

And so is the storm. My Internet connection just came back online after an all night outage. We currently  have sustained winds of thirty-five miles per hour. Last night the weather service reported gust upwards of seventy with one unconfirmed burst of eighty-six.

With the morning light I see our yard is a mess. The rain is heavy and steady. I have no idea how much we've received. All the weather service reports are cumulations at our local airport and they are never the same we receive here in the city. I'll guess two to three inches.

Our power flickered all night but never, thank the Good Lord, went out. I still kept a couple of our hurricane lamps lit against the chance of such an occurrence.

We're very lucky, others not so much. Trees are down on cars and homes. It's sad. Many thousands of homes are without power. Now we face the backside of this tropical storm and we have a long day ahead of us.

One saving grace has been my little 'wind up' Eton radio. If you don't have one I'd highly recommend you purchase at least two. They're inexpensive and very nice to have when the power is out.

I've been awake all night and I feel the lack of sleep creeping into my sore body. I paced all night, took flashlight trips out into the rain several times. Every bump and wind burst had me up and out on the check for downed limbs, the condition of our roof, and my truck. The truck survived, so far, without a scratch. My morning paper even arrived dry.

I'd like to thank all of you, my kind friends, for your words of encouragement and support.

Time for my sixth or seventh pot of coffee. Hopefully I'll sleep sometime today.

Until later, and forgive my lack of edit on this post. I'm just too darn tired to care.

Stephen

Storm Upgrade

It is in situations like this, a tropical storm, when you truly find out if you are indeed ready for emergencies. For the most part, we are ready.

I just filled another five gallon container of gas from our reserves for use in our generator. I keep our reserve gasoline in a fifty five gallon barrel in our backyard. (don't tell tell our fire marshal, please) I keep this drum on four columns of concrete blocks with the rear of the drum slightly raised. It has brass fittings for hinge and cover and spigot. The gasoline is treated and I do rotate it between our vehicles.

My generator fires on the first pull. It too is ready for service. We have ample stocks of food. Kerosene hurricane lamps and flashlights with fresh batteries.

I understand the storm has been upgraded and the weather service now predicts wind gust to seventy miles an hour. My main concern are our trees. We have  a LOT of trees. As a matter of fact I'm worried about my truck. It's too big to park alongside our car in the garage unless I move a ton of other equipment and small items out into the rain. If I leave it parked on our street it will sit under two huge pines - not good. If I park on our driveway it will be beneath a large very old Live Oak. No win.

Our street runs downhill towards the river. I can see the river from my front yard. In a few hours water will be as that river on our street, fast and deep. The crabs will move up the streams of water into our yard. The herons and egrets will follow. My neighbors dock will be under water. My other neighbors home which sits on a point of the cove will probably have their living room flooded.   

We are in the path. We will have a direct hit. I hope its nothing more than a bad thunderstorm. I, of course, only wish it a light storm as this will last for several days as it hits, stalls, and then makes a hard northern turn and then back to sea, where, it shall then gain strength and head north towards my lovely friend kymber's home.

Now, I must confess I've been caught with my pants down when it comes to my chainsaws. I own three and all are broke. I just haven't had time this year to have them repaired or replaced. If a tree is pushed over under these hard winds I'm in for a world of pain. I hate, using the word hate here, to ask for help. I have friends willing and able to jump in and help when I need them - but it just kills my soul to ask. I will purchase a new chainsaw as soon as possible. Which will be next week, after the storm.

Standby.

Stephen

Rainy Day

A tropical storm is about to move over our area and provide us with the perfect day of books, coffee, and rest.

I went outside a few minutes ago and cleared away any item I thought might get jerked around by sustained forty-five mile an hour winds with possible gust of sixty miles an hour.

We expect a direct hit. Hope my trees hold under the pressure.

Should be fun.

Stephen

Whupped

This morning I arrived at work early, too early, but then I'm poor and do silly things like open before sunrise. Fifteen minutes later the phone rings and it's Sweet Wife on the other end. I said, "What's up?"

"Come home."

"Why?" A long pause on the other end of the line, then, "Because."

I don't take orders. She repeated her, "Because."  This, isn't good. I tried again, "Honey," (Sweet talk don't 'ya know) Why, pray tell, do you want me to come home?"

She lets out with a long sigh, "Because - we need to drive down to St. Augustine. You, my dear husband, need clothes."

Just kill me now.

I closed the shop. What the heck, I needed a weekend off. After a couple of hours we arrived at the local Gander Mountain. Hey, if I must shop for clothes it will be in a man's world. Period.

Inside Sweet Wife takes me by the hand and leads me to the men's footwear department. She selects a pair of boots for me. She's like that, she decides and I say yes and place the items in the cart. No if, ands, and buts about it, she selects the articles - I just pay for them. She did grant me permission to select the brand I normally wear. I mentioned how kind it was of her. She smiled.

Then it's time for sandals. I insist on the most masculine pair I can find. She smiled and said, "Fine."

Then, socks. Six new pair. I only wear Merino Wool...she approved. See, I get my way when I put forth effort. But, she's like that too. She lets me win a few.

She takes the cart and heads further into the store. I allowed as how I was taking control and needed to check out the firearms department. She gave me ten minutes with further instructions to meet her in the men's clothing department. I said, "Yes, dear." I showed her who was boss.

They had 'purty' guns, too. Even had ammo boxes on sale, for twelve bucks. She said to put them back. Explained how the dirt on the boxes might mess up her/my new trousers and shirts.

Then, I noticed three pair of boy shorts in the cart....shorts. You know, those pants they've taken and whacked off just below the knees. The things metro-sexuals tend to wear around town. Three pair. I did notice they were 5.11's. Had 'tactical' stitched on the rear....tactical for Pete's sake....olive drab, navy blue, and khaki 5.11 shorts. Who knew, and she had them in the cart.

She had also chosen, with my permission, two  5.11 shirts. One even had the brand printed on the front, black no less. She said I'd like them. She's sly she is, she tells me what I'll like and what color I should wear. Said it makes me look, manly.

I grunted. Tim Allen has nothing on me...

The monkey cart now held, one pair of boots, sandals, three pair of shorts tactical boy things, six pair of socks, two shirts. She then shoved me towards the trousers. Sweet Wife said one of my favorite set of pants had a hole worn where my spare magazine clipped onto my belt. Tacky, she said. You need new ones. She's like that too, tells me when I should purchase new trousers.

At least she allowed me to stick with the 5.11's. Waste size 36. I insisted I knew my own waist size. She argued. Said you've lost weight and you should drop down one size to a 34. I said no...she took them from my hand and replaced them. Women, they just don't know when to give in to a man's superior intellect. I showed her. (Later, at home, the size 34 did indeed fit.)

Asked, please, may I have that nice black piece of 5.11 luggage. It was a cool bag. Thought, what would it hurt to ask...she said, "No."
 
So I showed her and replaced the silly green 5.11 belt she'd thrown in the cart to wear with my cool tactical new boy scout shorts. Thin darn thing wouldn't even hold up under the weight of my Glock if you'd begged it. Stupid nylon junk.

Later, while I placed all of Sweet Wife's items before the check out boy, the belt magically appeared and I paid fifteen bucks for it.  She's sneaky as all get out. I gave her the eye. Then told her I'd never wear the darn baby girlie-boy belt.

She just smiled.

Then said, "Sure you will, next month on my birthday we're driving down to Cedar Key for a long weekend. It's your gift to me."

We'll see.

Stephen

5.11 hasn't paid me one single nickel for my wonderful endorsement of their products. If they choose to do so, please email and I'll send you my mailing address. I'm poor and will accept any payoff or bribe you offer. I prefer gold or silver bullion. Thank you.

Sporting Shotguns?

Isn't this just so nice of them....

The men in black will ask how you feel before banning your shotgun.

I bet George Orwell is laughing is butt off.

Stephen

Scripophily

Is the study and collection of stock and bond certificates. It has been a half-hobby of mine since 1973 when I first entered the world of investments when the New York Stock Exchange was still an American company. This was back in the days of brokers and long distance screams of terror when my novice investments didn't quite pan out.

I've always had a great interest in the history of Wall Street, and as a result while browsing among the dust and cobwebs of an old building one day, I came across a box filled with canceled stock certificates. Beautiful pieces of history, art really, with dates back to the early and mid depression years. I asked the owner of the box his asking price. He replied, "Take them. They ain't worth spit." He was wrong.

Take a look.

Yesterday one of my customers came in and gave me an envelope and without so much as a word turned and walked out. I thought, 'now that's weird.' I opened it and inside I found this:

My friend had given me one of the last certificates issued by the old Winn-Dixie food store. A few months after its issue date the company went out of business and later reopened under new ownership. This is a twenty-six share certificate. 

I now understood why he didn't speak. He was a Winn-Dixie executive prior to their bankruptcy. He'd lost his life savings during the crash of a once proud Southern company.

See, a piece of art stamped and colored by history.

Like I said, I don't actively seek out stock and bond certificates these days, but then again, I never pass over a piece when I stumble across a find.

Fun hobby. I frame mine and display them in my office.

Stephen
 

Blank

I've tried several times this morning to write a half decent post. A post not related to my current problems. I can't do it. My mind is blank. I have subject matter, ideas, but I just can't get the words to flow. I hate to post filler. Sure, there are a few Youtube videos I could post - but why. News, current events are easily accessible to the general public so for me to bring your attention to such is redundant, silly even, and I shall not take that direction.

Which leaves me with this ramble. I need peace to write. I have two long works stashed away for the day I can sit and give the subject matter my full attention; seems a waste.

This morning my feet hit the deck at 0400. I walked aimlessly about the house. I argued with myself, not sure which took the upper hand.

 I need to take a long walk. Until then it's time for a cup of coffee.

Stephen