I Have Nothing

Move on.

But not too far. I have a fine lineup of great bloggers on my sidebar. Please, visit and say hello. I'll be back tomorrow.

Oh, if anyone out there works in leather craft and has the ability to stitch together a Cheyenne knife sheath, please, contact me.

Thanks, and hey, be careful out there.

Stephen

Supper

When I was child the late evening meal was supper. Dinner was what we ate at high noon. Either way, it's time for me to get to work on tonight's meal.

The stove awaits, see 'ya later.

Stephen

Sunday

As is my habit I walked into the kitchen this morning and built a pot of coffee. As the pot brewed my life's blood, I threw a couple of English muffins into the toaster, and then slipped on my comfortable old house shoes and walked outside to search for the morning paper.

It's a nice morning. Very damp after three inches of rain. I stood a moment and listened as the birds sang, no breeze. Warm. I eased down the driveway. No newspaper. Even the neighbors yards appear empty...so much for nicking their copy.

I suppose Zimmerman's verdict threw the printers for a late night loop. When my copy arrives, and it will, I have plans for the front page. I shall cut, paste and post it on the front window of my shop. Should prove interesting.

*****

She's on her way to church. Last evening she asked if, after church, we might take in a movie. I said, "Sure."

In fact, I hate theaters. Still it's what she wants. I'm sure as soon as we're settled some pack of democritters will whip out their cells and make the place unbearable. I've come close, several times, to fist fights in crowded dark movies over some boogers inability to keep his mouth shut. Then, one night, I indeed came out of my seat and reached and jerked one oily haired dude from his chair. I then explained, as nicely as possible, if he didn't remove himself from the room, exactly how I'd remove his teeth instead. Shamefully, back then, I wasn't a very nice person.

Sweet Wife wasn't happy with my loss of self-control. I apologized. She didn't accept. This was early in our marriage and I'm sure she had second thoughts about the man she'd married. She's since changed my outlook and patience.

Afterwards it was years before she again agreed to attend the theater with me. Nowadays we have Netflix. The service is convenient and my family room is quiet. I can actually follow the dialog, and I've had few problems with greasy foul mouthed critters. Even the cat is well behaved.

So, it seems this afternoon we'll check the listings and give it another try. Maybe I can convince her to attend the new zombie movie with that Hollywood fruitcake Brad Pitt.

Hey, just remembered...I'm now eligible for a senior citizen discount. Hope they serve good popcorn.

*****

1006, the newspaper flopped against my front door. Didn't even bother to ring my doorbell.

Bet the driver voted for Obama.

*****

Couple of days back a fella rang the shops bell and asked if I wanted to buy a shotgun. I though, one shouldn't be afraid to ask stupid questions, it's how we learn.

Anyway, as is their habit, he came inside with a bundle wrapped in bed sheets. As he removed the covers, "This here is a fine shotgun. High class." A black stock was revealed. "I'm telling 'ya man this here shotgun be worth nine hundred dollars."

Me, "Really."

"Yeah, man. this here is one fine shotgun. It'll shot bullets all day long, man. I bet you could ask more than nine hundred. All I wants is eight."

I laughed and took the firearm from his hands, slapped the bolt back and a shell ejected. Rolled across the floor. "Ah, man, I didn't know it had a bullet in it."

It was a Benelli Nova, pump, twelve gauge. Nothing special and to tell you the truth I don't really care for 'em.

"I'll give you two hundred. Period."

He took the cash and walked. I did give back his 'bullet.'

Then again, I'm considerate like that.

Stephen

It's Yellow

Haven't the time to write but I wanted to share this picture, because, well -

It's yellow.

h/t, AmishStories

Stephen

My Old Friend

My old friend, a fine writer of all things survivalist related, has returned.  Please, take a stroll over the mountain and say hello.

Tell him Stephen sent you.

Self Sufficient Mountain Living.

Thanks.

Stephen

Unsettled Weather

Our local weather forecasters warn of unsettled weather for North Florida this weekend. Fine with me.

For the last couple of days I've stepped from my front door into warmth filled with birdsong and the scent of salt marsh. As I walk towards my truck squirrel cut pine cones litter our walkway and the cicadas sing at full roar - a gentle entry into an otherwise long hot day.

The storms will arrive, I'm sure, and I will ride out its winds and rain with a cup of coffee and a smug smile all tight and secure within the shell of this vintage building.

Elsewhere in Florida another storm is forecast. Many believe the Zimmerman case will slam shut and riots will place the period to his fifteen minutes of fame.

I doubt it.

Then again human nature is almost impossible to predict. There is the possibility critters will jump and howl and show their collective asses. Some are sure to bust a window or two. It's the truly black souled moon fleas one must always keep in mind.

This morning, in the truck, I took a few extra minutes and pulled my critter getter from its case. I swapped magazines and refreshed the fodder. She's ready for action, should opportunity present a target rich environment.

As I've said, I doubt the storm predictions. Still, I've taken a nice piece of 550 cord and made it ready to accept trophy ears. The line, once filled, should look nice against the background of my black shirt.

We're in for a stormy day, if the forecast is correct.

Should be fun.

Stephen
 

What I Hate

You know what I hate?

Okay, I'll tell you. I hate the fact it's me and not you saddled with the job of balancing my accounts and writing these offending checks. My head hurts, my coffee is lukewarm and it's a beautiful warm morning - yet here I sit.

*****

By the way, today is the official 'switch out your carry piece day.'   (um, or what the heck ever you wish to refer to it day.) For the next quarter I shall pack a sweet little nickled Chief's Special. If you need me to explain why a member of the gun culture should swap his or her carry piece on occasion - well, never mind. Please burn your membership cards.

If you haven't as yet read my friend Duke's blog this week you should know he has written two great articles on the philosophy of concealed carry. Give 'em a read.

Now, run along and give your black polymer handgun a rest. Open the safe and remove a dusty queen and give her a place on your belt. As you rush about your day, reach back and give her a tug, present her to that faraway target on the office wall and say, pew, pew, pew.

She'll appreciate it.

Later.

Stephen