Just a quick note for any stubby men or women – Duluth Trading has their famous Firehose pants on sale – they say they’re defective but my pair are fine. They’ve only got 30/30, 32 & 34 and 36/28’s so you’ll have to be thin and tall or standard and short.
Search for part # 92204SEC and get a pair of pants that will last FOREVER for less than half the normal price. I’ll be getting a few more if the stock holds out!
Like so many, I traveled on Sunday to make a visit that is not made often enough. My father isn’t that far away, now – just a couple hours’ drive – but I will admit we do not travel that road with the frequency I’d imagined when he moved to Texas. I think I’ll be adding it to my calendar as a Must Do.
Someone brought all the old photos along which was very wise – the usual familial sqaubbling was avoided as we laughed at and talked about the old homes, antique clothes, and of how “gee, mom, you were PRETTY”. Yeah. I smiled at that as my sister gasped in mock indignation.
My father watched us all, keeping up the conversation as is his skill – a raconteur of sorts and a natural showman. One could almost feel the cruel twist of time in his heart…how many more of these will he be allowed to see? How much longer can he continue with the small defribrillator maintaining his tick tocking? Its presence is always subtle but announced with every hug of his slender frame, that small, hard box just under his skin and always right where a daughter will place her hand to reach for a kiss. My flinch is unavoidable as I snatch my hand away, terrified the smallest pressure will be his undoing.
The photos of him in his youth were what captivated me. He was strong, a gymnast, and had that gruff Germanic nature that declared one must THINK, damn it. But it has always been muffled with that innate jester – the musician, the actor – that would prefer to play. No need to grow up, not just yet…and even with that tiny metronome in his chest ticking out his hours, he will still cling to those ways…
I looked at images like this one and wished I’d been born earlier in the pack, to have had more of him than I had before his Peter Pan needs supplanted that of fatherhood. He must have been quite the sight to my mother, small town creature that she was. How he must have stood like a tall wave pushing her to new shores…
No matter – I always knew. He gave me my words. He gave me my strength. He made me what I am even when he wasn’t there. I owe him a great deal for that.
A long drive now and then seems a pittance against it.
I have been pouting lately over the sad demise of my Explorer – it saw me through many a long road and is just a sentimental darling but…with something awry in the transmission it was time to let go.
And did I evah!
It’s used and came from an engineer type with a meticulous little book of his maintenance. It made me feel immediately better about the purchase. He also added in a number of neat options (Hella lights, MP3 connection, iPhone dongle…)
I can finally cart both dogs around! For awhile, now, they’ve been homebound as only one could fit in the backseat of the truck. I’ll have to find some good local water holes to let them swim in – the heat is a bit much for these spoiled inside types.
Cool pic, eh? Pretty sunset of pinks and purples gave the silver a mythic kind of glow – appropriate because it came with a name – one that made me grin and cheer, being a fan of the Scandihoovian archetypes – Thor.
I think its call sign will be The Hammer.
Crap – there I go grinning again.
Just missing our friend. Brings out the melancholy.
There but for the grace of someone or something…
These days I have more time to myself, Trooper off on his new role standing guard as dark falls each night. I pack two meals, coolers full of chilly snacks to ease the heat of the duty. Alone, my thoughts turn eastward to the quiet of a ranch and just the songs in my head for company. But there’s no going alone – rules and wise ones, true. So it’s home and hiding in the shade.
Except that today my mind turns to the sky. No rain, none pending, and the ground cracking underfoot. Anything for a prominence and a breeze. Wings or no…
It was a rare night out for my stepdaughter, a Saturday in-town rather than at work. I think she is still becoming accustomed to the distances – that one cannot just take a quick drive to entertainments. It was a Greek meal out – a divine lamb chop, a savory beeftekee, and then off to stroll the promenade. But first…dessert.
Really very good…one could taste the good vanilla in the cake and the frosting wasn’t a shortening short-cut but full of butter. I slipped out the wee Kershaw Leek and cut it in half to the surprise of several in line. It was a snack I’d been wanting to try out for some time. But what the hell is the whole “fat free whip” addition about? I mean, you’re shoving a cupcake in your face – what does full fat whipped cream do to make that worse?
We’d found some lovely apricots at the store and, since their season is brief, I decided I’d try to can them. It was a quiet afternoon’s task – the blanching, slipping off the blushed skins – waterlogged fingers struggling with the slippery fruit. I enjoyed the solo work, ignoring everything but the process.
I think the hardest aspect is that the final product is so small for the labor involved. Just 4 pints of goodness for almost 2 hours of work. And who knows if they will pop their little tops and be safe come winter? A gamble…but I think it worthwhile. At worst we have a delicious topping for the yogurt or ice cream snacks to come. It is only my third attempt at canning but the’re so pretty…so delicate. I cannot wait to taste them, summer on my tongue…
Damned proud of this – not the video skills of the beloved – but of hitting the 500 yard target twice, my first attempts at it. He’s a great teacher…and it’s a sweet shooting gun…