Bits & Pieces

It's a new morning of gray cloudy skies pregnant with rain and the wind is gentle and warm. The storms will follow. This is the heartbeat of a Florida July. Mildew covers our scalps and grows between our toes and we replace our pets with frogs and tadpoles. They make great stew come October.

*****

An article in this morning's liberal rag said the Odyssey Project lifted sixty-one tons of silver ingots from the SS Gairsoppa. The ship was sank by a German submarine off the coast of Ireland in 1941. Each bar contains 1,994.8 ounces of .999.2 silver. If my math is correct, at today's spot price, each bar is worth approximately thirty-nine thousand, eight hundred ninety six dollars.The stash is valued at thirty-four million dollars.

I shall place an order for one bar. It'll look nice in my collection. That is, if the Brits will share.

(Yeah, right.)
*****

 Oops, time to punch the time clock.....

My boss is a butthole.

Later,

Stephen

Ah, October

One of the few television programs I enjoy.

Stephen

Rain

Seems we are in for a rainy weekend, which I shall spend alone. SW has hit the road to spend some time with her mother. What to do....

Well, there is a gun show in town. I've a nice stack of books.

Do you suppose the combination of the two would hurt....

I'll let you know.

Stephen

The Old Man's Promise

The phone call came early this morning. 

"Stephen, you know Percy died."

"Yes, mam,  I'm very sorry."

"Well, he promised you this gun, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to drop it off today."

Percy had been a customer for well over twenty years. He wasn't the most likeable man in the world and as far as firearms, well, he didn't think much of them. Percy liked to fish and as an aside to his hobby crafted some of the finest handmade surf rods in Florida. When it came to reel repair he had the touch of a watchmaker. Yet if push came to shove his greatest passion was literature. Books, we  had in common. Thus, our friendship.

One day, years ago, he said, "When I cop a squat at the gates of heaven I want you to have my rifle." Percy had a way with words.

I'd never seen his rifle. Didn't give it a second thought. Until this morning.

I was busy when she parked and rang the doorbell. She asked if I'd walk outside and carry the bundle inside for her. She had it packed within two black trash bags. I removed it and found a beautiful Savage model 24 over and under chambered in .22/.410. The date code indicated she'd left the shop in 1960. Good 'ole Percy.

"He wanted you to have it. He made me promise to give this rifle to you."

"No, mam."

"But....."

 I smiled at her and gave her a rub on her shoulders. She's such a tiny little lady. "Tell 'ya what. Let's break out the Bluebook and check its value."

She didn't argue. I paid for Percy's gift.

Later, we spoke of Percy and his last days. I asked after her health and if the adjustment to a life without her husband had been difficult. She replied, "At first, yes. Now, well, I haven't the time to think about it. The garage needs to be cleaned and my goodness his junk is stacked knee deep. When I find them old bullets I'll bring them to you too."

I smiled and said thanks.

Then, she said,  "You know, he left that old pistol in his sock drawer. I don't know if its loaded or not. I took the awful thing and stuck it into a paper bag. When I get the time you want me to drive it over?"

Please, don't judge me.

I said, "Yes, mam, that would be just fine."

"I'm scared of guns, Stephen."

"Understandable, Mrs. Campbell."

She's such a sweet little lady....

*****

If you, dear reader, would like to learn more about this wonderful firearm, a highly collectable piece, visit, here.

Stephen

Just a Note

Late this afternoon I received a text from SW. She asked if we'd please have dinner out as she'd missed lunch. I said fine.

We both chose BBQ.

We arrive and are escorted to a booth. She orders turkey. I ask for a rack of ribs. She eats her turkey with a big smile. My ribs, suck.

They were, without a doubt, the most awful ribs I've ever tried to eat. Mushy, foul tasting pieces of crap. I wouldn't throw 'em to a dog. I knew I should have ordered the baby backs. 

Me, all sad and stuff.

It's been a long day. At least there's a gunshow this weekend.

Stephen

Good Evening

I've found dust is best eaten with a few grains of salt. Or better yet, made into soup. I've spent the last two days giving my shop a top to bottom deep clean. I even tried to enlist the help from a few customers. Most of the bums turned me down cold. I've been home for several hours and still taste the dirt and mold spores.

Behind the shop there is a new pile of discarded junk, piled black bags and exactly six cardboard boxes of old magazines and books, about fifteen metal coffee cans and a fairly good 1985 copy of Playboy, centerfold intact.

My office refrigerator has been defrosted (it took two hours in our heat) and now shines and smells great. I still need to dust my desk and computer but the toilet sparkles and gives the scent of high mountain pines. Sadly my office carpet, though deeply vacuumed, still holds spots. One rich dark stain, as a result of spilled coffee, I blame on Duke or Senior, since both are slobs of the highest order.

I tried but failed to remove magnet and tape held drawings and one class paper, gifts from Little Bit to me, from the side of my gun cabinet and frig....they will remain, besides they give my office a cluttered charm. Certain items are sacred.

High on a back shelf was discovered fifteen years of back calendars, sixteen coffee table books, and a long lost paper bag of framed art and photos, a twenty share stock certificate (Winn-Dixie, worthless) and six copies of First Edition magazine, and several different calibers of handgun ammunition now housed within a medicine bottle.

I really should hire undocumented help.

Then again hired help might chunk great treasures into the can and tick me off. Like the one artificial rose Little Bit gave me for Valentines Day, or my Vietnam stick-pin taken from one of my old hats which now graces the back door frame. A special broken thermometer, the string of fifty caliber ammo along the back wall, or any of the many research books stacked high on the green cabinet - all weighted by an unopened green can of gun grease. I just cannot take the chance.

So, I guess I'll keep the job, dust and all.


Stephen

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